Crickets
Shaun Callaghan
"The buzzing. The constant buzzing! No. No, that's not right. It's not buzzing. It is more of a..... A chirping? YES!! That's it! A chirping. The constant chirping. Why the hell won't it stop?" Jake lifted both of his calloused hands to his ears. He was stooped down staring at the red, dusty ground. He did not even realize what had slipped from between his parched lips. Hell the chirping had got so annoying that he did not even notice his partner's look of befuddlement.
"Jake? Jake?" Jimmy stood there, dust covered from his bright orange hard hat to his steel toed boots, waiting for a response from Jake. Jimmy was like Jake in both his physical appearance and his taste of clothes. Both where in their early thirties and both looked as if they had been chiseled from the hardest substance known to man. Their tanned muscular bodies screamed of a lifetime of hard laborious work. They both choose buzz cuts as there fashion and neither had a beard, although they usually had a five o’clock shadow of stubble perched upon their chiseled chins.
Jake, in his light green company t-shirt, dusty blue jeans, and his trusty work boots, just swayed back and forth with his ears covered by his massive grime stained hands. He started to rub his hands up and down over his ears, knocking his bright, but dusty, yellow hard hat off his head. His swaying got heavier, faster, until, PLOP! Jake fell backwards, sprawling out as if he was trying to make snow angels in the fine red dirt.
Jimmy ran over to his friend of sixteen years, full of dreadful thoughts, 'heart attack, stroke, he's gone plain nuts.' Before he could even stoop to check on him, Jake was bouncing back to his feet. The chirping was gone. For now.
"You alright?" Jimmy asked tentatively, as Jake brushed the red dust off of him.
Jake looked up at his partner and just smiled his usual, the world is great, smile, "I'm fine Jimmio." Jimmio was a nickname picked up years ago. Jake's pet name had come to be Jako. Neither of them could tell you how they got them, except it probably had something to do with Drago from one of the Rocky movies (They where both equaled to his size), too much beer, and a lot of laughter.
Jimmio was not quite convinced. He saw the minuscule twitch on the corner of Jako's smile. He knew it was forced. They had been working and playing together for years now, and Jimmio new when his friend was troubled.
“Are you sure you’re alright Jako?” Jimmio persisted.
“Yea. I’m fine. Must of been the noise from the jackhammer earlier. Just had a little ear ache. That‘s all.” Jako replied with a drained look to his posture.
Jimmio responded tentatively, “Alright then.” Suddenly, Jimmio’s face lit up with a huge face splitting grin from ear to ear. His face looked like it had been swallowed by teeth. Jako had seen this before and knew what was coming. “You should of wore those earplugs, like I told you too.” Jimmio said sarcastically.
In a better mood, Jako replied with his usual brand of humor, “Then I wouldn’t be able to hear you wolf whistle the pretty girls that drove by. How am I supposed to see them if I can’t hear that?”
They both had themselves a good laugh at that, a little edgy, but still a good laugh.
After Jimmio had finished his brief laughing fit he walked over to Jako’s tool belt and leaned over to pick it up.Jako responded with some more of his patented wit, “Just because I had an ear ache doesn’t make me an invalid. I can pick up my own tools without spilling my brains out of my ears.” Again they both had themselves a good laugh. This time the tension had eased away.
Jimmio got serious as he handed the belt to his long time friend. “Why don’t you go ahead and go on home. You could do with some rest.” Before Jako could protest, Jimmio added, “I was going to call it an early day anyway. Got some things to take care of. Blueprints and stuff. Planning to hit it bright and early tomorrow, so we’re going to need our rest.”
Jako just shrugged his shoulders, grabbed his tool belt, picked up his hard hat, “Alright. See you in the morn.” and headed off to his truck. He knew once Jimmio got an idea in his head, there was no changing that man’s mind. No point in trying
__________Jako's drive home was uneventful. It was the same routine, same rock station blasting on the truck's radio. He pulled into the driveway he just got paved last summer, not really thinking about earlier events. He had already dismissed the chirping he had heard in his ears as part of getting older. He had decided to take Jimmio's advice, and start using earplugs when using high decibel equipment. Besides, he did not want Jimmio to have the business all too himself. It had become quite the successful construction firm. Even in these hard times business was steadily pouring in for them.
Jako grabbed his lunch box and slid down out of the F-150’s gray interior cab. The white truck with the company’s name and phone number plastered down both side, was only two years old. As Jako walked across his fairly descent sized front yard, he realized how lucky both Jimmio and he had been to be able to do what they loved, and get paid a hell of a lot of good money for it. Neither where married. Neither had kids. But that was alright with them. They had nieces and nephews. Children were not a priority with them. Never was, and probably never would be. It wasn’t that they did not like kids. Just wasn’t in the cards for them, and that’s what they wanted.
The house that Jako lived in was big enough to raise a family of four in it. But that never crossed Jako’s mind. To him the house was perfect. Jimmio and Jako had brought land across town from each other. When the money was right they helped build each other’s dream homes, moved out of there shared apartment, and started living the well-to-do life of the upper middle class. That was over eight years ago. The house was a simple three bedroom ranch house with a full unfinished basement. It had to have the basement. That was where Jako would spend most of his time when not throwing up a house or building a small office complex. He loved to work in his man cave full of tools, building furniture of all types in his spare time. He kept few of the items he made. Some he donated to people in need. Others he would sell in his twice-a-year yard sales.
He went through the same everyday ritual when he arrived at his solid oak, maroon front door. Off came his dirty work boots, key into slot, turn, and in he goes. Once he was inside, he slipped his socks off, slipped into his slippers that he kept at the front door, and stepped off the front mat. He would walk through the living room and into the kitchen. There was a hamper by the basement door (the laundry machine was downstairs) where he would place his dirty socks of the day, then over to the kitchen counter. The counter ran along the back wall of the house then hooked left, separating the den from the kitchen. He placed his lunch box by the sink, went to the fridge and grabbed a cold beer to relax with. Back in the living room, Jako would sit in his favorite chair, a light brown lazy-boy, kick his feet up and tune into one of a number of sport networks on his 52 inch LCD T.V.
After catching up on different sporting events, and after savoring the alcoholic beverage, Jako would usually head downstairs to work for an hour or two on whatever particular wood project he had going on. He would resurface only to cook the all essential meal that he needed for sustenance. After dinner he would disappear downstairs again until it was time for a shower and bed. This night was going to be different, very different, and Jako didn’t even know it yet.
He had turned to ESPN long enough to catch some retired baseball player trying to explain that the Mets needed some drastic changes if they ever want to make it to a pennant race again. Jako did not care much about the Mets. He was more curious about whether the Marlins would ever make it to a pennant race again. He thumbed through the channels, stopping at the local sports channel. The talk was about whether or not the Marlins could repeat there 2003 world series run. It wasn’t looking like it this year, maybe next, seemed to be the consensus.
As Jako started to place the remote down onto the chair’s arm, he noticed something small and black moving, out of the corner of his eye. He turned slightly to his left to see a small cricket standing along the baseboard of the white wall that ran perpendicular to the one the T.V. was mounted to. The cricket seemed to sense Jako’s movement. It turned as if to look at Jake. Then, like any other cricket, out of nowhere the thing put its wings together and started chirping. Jake immediately felt a wave of dread wash over him. His earlier encounter with chirping had escaped his mind.
The dread passed quickly, leaving a thin residue in Jako’s heart. He jumped out of the recliner, intent on silencing the noisy insect for good. Except the cricket had no intention of getting stomped on. It quickly hoped under a dark mahogany rocking chair that Jako had made himself, and proceeded to sing louder than before.
‘The noise. The noise. That God awful irritating noise.’ that was the thought that passed through Jako’s sound assaulted brain as he tore the chair up from its place. The cricket jumped, but not quickly enough. Jako let go of the chair and pounced on the cricket like a half-starved hyena pouncing a buffet of fresh kill. He even had the hyena grin going as he cut the cricket’s life short.
Peace at last. Jako returned to his chair to finish his beer and his sports program, satisfied with the victory. The satisfaction did not last long. The chirping started again, low at first. Jako looked in puzzlement at the smashed bug. Not coming from there. He looked around the room to find the source of the sound, but could find no small black creature torturing him. “Screw it,” he said under his breath, and proceeded to turn the sports show up. Except that did not work. The chirping in his ear got louder. He got up and slowly started to move furniture around hoping not to disturb the little bastard. Nothing. No bug, no nothing.
He stopped and muted the volume. The loud chirping did not subside. He tried to listen to it, to pinpoint it. He could not make out where it was coming from. It seemed to him that the sound was coming from everywhere at once. Jako sat back down, un-muted the T.V. and blasted the volume higher.
It didn’t help. The noise just got steadily louder. He couldn’t take it any longer. The incessant noise was driving him nuts. After, what seemed a lifetime of tearing his living room apart; looking for a phantom cricket, Jako finally gave up and dashed towards his bathroom. He frantically searched for anything to clear the noise from his head. The maddening noise just kept getting worse. As he ransacked the bathroom, Jako could see his crazed look in the mirror. ‘This could be it. I’ve gone insane.’ he thought as he dashed out of the bathroom. No idea what to do next.
__________Ten o’clock and no Jako yet. He had not answered his phone. Jimmio was standing at the jobsite, and what had started out as anger towards the tardy Jako was slowly turning into worry towards the no-show Jako. Nobody had seen him, talked to him, nothing, since yesterday. Jimmio knew. He had called everyone, and nothing. ‘Maybe he broke down. Slipped back into his old drug habits.’ thought Jimmio. ‘Couldn’t be that. I would of seen signs. He’s been clean for years. Hell we’ve both been clean for years.’ Jimmio, his mind made up, half raced, half walked to his forest green F-150 pick-up.
As he drove across town, he started to get a feeling of unease. He got lucky when no cops where around to see him pushing the truck a little too recklessly. As he pulled up to Jako’s house, a brief thought streamed through his mind, ‘Don’t think the cops would of let me off with a worried-about-friend excuse.’ That train of thought slipped away when Jimmio stepped out of the truck into the already sweltering morning heat. He could hear the T.V. blasting from the curb. Jako's truck was still parked in the driveway, shimmering in the summer sun
At the door, Jimmio could not even hear himself think. He had beat on the door with everything his massive man hands could muster, and was standing there, with throbbing hands, wondering why Jako had his T.V. so loud. After receiving no response, he checked the door and found it unlocked. He slowly opened the door and stuck his head through the crack he created, wincing at the screeching volume of the television.
“Jako!!” Jimmio waited a moment. No answer. He stepped inside and immediately shuffled over to the T.V. and switched it off. He paused to listen and heard the deafening madness of nothing. Again he tried to rouse his friend.
“Jako!! Jake!! Is their anybody home?!” Jimmio felt like a fool for a brief moment. ‘Who else would be home but Jako?’ The house answered back in silence. ‘Something was wrong here. Something looked wrong.’ It was with that thought when he turned from the hallway and realized that the living room was in shambles. All of the furniture had been tossed about as if a mad bull had charged through it.
Jimmio crept to the hallway, wishing he hadn’t been so loud, hoping there wasn’t anyone else here, except maybe a passed out Jako. The thought that Jako had gotten drunk crossed his mind. But Jako usually did not get drunk, and when he did, it was on the weekend, and not really much of one. They both had a high tolerance for the alcohol. He stopped in front of the bathroom
It was a mess. Stuff that usually went into the medicine cabinet was all over the floor. In the sink was a vile of eardrops and a container of cotton swabs, half of which had spilled out into the sink. But no Jako.
Jimmio continued past the bathroom and checked the three bedrooms and the master bedroom's bathroom. The bedrooms were in there normal everyday state. Nothing seemed out of place. As for the other bathroom, it was in shambles, just like the first one. Still no Jako.
Jimmio went back to the den and saw nothing out of place. He turned to take another look at the mess in the living room and noticed the door to the downstairs was cracked open. ‘I hope he didn’t get drunk and try to do some carpentry work downstairs.’ was the thought that pushed Jimmio to the top of the stairs.
The lights were on. He could see that but not much of anything else. Dread was now settling in for good now. Jimmio took a dry swallow to work up the nerve to venture down. Slowly he descended into his friend’s pastime. The stairs where open, with nothing but railings on both sides. Jimmio could see most of the basement as he continued down.
He got to the bottom step, it seemed like a lifetime to him, stepped off, and turned. There in front of him, behind the hot water heater and the air handler to the ac unit, Jimmio saw the legs of his friend sprawled out. He forgot all about the possibility of an intruder and just made a mad dash for Jako. Fear now welled up intensely. Fear for his friend’s well being. He rounded the houses inner-workings and came to an abrupt halt.
Lying less than five feet from his work table was Jako. Although he wasn’t Jako anymore. Not the living one anyway. Where his ears had been there were two bloody holes, one with a pencil sticking out from it, the other with a stainless steel skewer poking out. His eyes where wide open with, what looked to be, a pleading gesture of a desperate man. His lips where parted in a silent scream.
Jimmio could see the workbench in disarray as if someone was franticly looking for an object needed to defend there life. Something. Anything. He did not pay much attention to this. Instead his gaze fixed on what looked like a pair of ragged ears, torn from a man’s head, lying in two separate small puddles of drying blood.
He finally snapped out of his zombie like trance. He looked from the bodiless ears back to his friend and sank to his knees. Automatically, his hands came up to his face as he started to wail. The realization of what Jako had done finally snapped into focus. Down Jimmio went. All the way down. Sobbing into his hands. Curled up like a little child who’s favorite stuffed teddy bear had been snatched by the mean ol’ neighborhood bully.
He lay there, drifting in and out of reality, sometimes reliving the good moments in life with his now deceased buddy. A constant thought running through his mind. ‘Why? Why? Why?’ What seemed like hours (twenty minutes actually) passed. Then there was a tingle on his hand. Mostly out of reflex, Jimmio pulled the hand away from his swollen tear filled eyes. He saw, without really seeing, the small black cricket nestled on his hand. It looked at him, opened its wings slightly, and started to chirp.
The End?