THE RED FIREFLY

A revision of a copyrighted story I wrote years ago about obsession.

THE RED FIREFLY

By R. A. Merritt

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           My brother Bobby saw it first.  It floated from the woods drifting along like any number of its species blinking and darting in every conceivable direction. There didn't seem to be any definitive pattern to its random wandering, but now thinking back to that awful night I'm sure that everything that firefly did upon that terrible long ago evening was a calculated act in the drama that was to unfold.   

Fireflies have always amazed me, and yes I must confess with the knowledge of my grief filled me with loathing and foreboding in the same instant. They are enthralling creatures that can mesmerize with the splendor of their movement subduing all else with their beauty and yet when I should see them now fill me with paroxysms of fear.  

They are a spectacular vision to behold mere dots accentuated against the black night as they float about and yet it is also true that many of these bugs are predatory vamps luring unsuspecting males who hope to propagate. When he is within reach, the temptress will devour him and afterward move on eagerly searching for more dupes.  They are far more seductive than a black widow spider and this I propose make them all the more sinister. 

But they are such a natural sight in these southern climes that one would not likely consider such a horrible thing as cannibalism, but would instead contemplate minute stars dancing a celestial ballet close to Mother Earth.  In this case however they would be wrong to conjure such images, dreadfully wrong. 

In the future beyond the time of the story I am presently to relate to you I came to avoid the sight of them when possible.  Indeed  I am always cautious when they are 

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about for I fear I might see the odd one come yet again to torture me anew. 

How could it have been so different from all the others we’ve all upon occasion seen not the least a threat to anything so daunting to an insect as a human being, how indeed could it have been so different? 

Well this particular one unlike the others whose glow is a seemingly pale display of green this one was emitting a brilliant red glow. And its size from what we could tell was much larger than all the others were, very much larger. And when one of them would come nearby this anomaly among them, they would quickly flee.  It was as if they were revolted by its alien presence.  And soon this crimson interloper was flying alone. 

We three boys ceased our play and stood there marveling at the sight of the red bug veering overhead.  "Look at that a red firefly--I ain't never seen one that wuz red!" exclaimed Bobby. "Me neither." I agreed as I followed the insect's movement. 

"Let's catch it!" Bobby yelled as he raced off toward the house. 

"Maybe it ain't no firefly." Georgie suggested. 

"It's gotta be--cain't be nuthin' else." I said. 

Soon Bobby came rushing up clutching three of mama's Mason Jars he'd grabbed off of the back porch. "Don't lose sight of it, what a prize it'll make!" he bubbled as he handed out the jars. And so within seconds we were off in pursuit of this elusive bug. 

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It led us about the yard for quite some time squealing with delight with every attempt that we made to snare it in our jars. Then suddenly it rose higher into the sky and I thought it was at last ready to abandon the environs of our yard. 

But instead of departing the bug banked sharply and flew higher into the dense foliage of the pecan tree that stood prominently in the back yard. 

It alighted on a branch and sat there blinking on and off like a solitary Christmas tree light.  "Want me to climb up after it?" I asked my older brother. 

"Nah--better let me do it." Bobby said. 

With that he started up the tree with a very determined look upon his face.  And soon after a brief, but difficult struggle he reached the limb the thing had settled upon, he was within striking distance, but just before he could secure the bug in his jar it left its perch and flew higher into the tree. 

This escape appeared to profoundly anger Bobby because much to my chagrin he then began scrambling up the tree.  The firefly though was seemingly unperturbed by the violent movement, it remained where it was riding the swaying branch still blinking on and off. 

At last Bobby was near it again. Then the sound of our mother calling to us now also drew our attention.  Bobby shifted in the tree upon hearing her and suddenly we heard a sharp cracking sound as the limb he was on was sundered by his ponderous weight. 

A startled cry flew from his lips as he came plummeting down. He almost fell on Georgie and me as we stood petrified watching his descent. At the last moment we dove clear and Bobby hit the ground with a vicious thud.  Surprisingly his fingers still had a good grip on the Mason Jar which miraculously didn’t break. 

"You boys git in here this instant!" mama called again. 

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"Are you hurt Bobby?" I asked nervously as Georgie and I rushed in. 

"No!" he replied staring into the umbrella of the tree and slapping the dirt from his jeans. 

He was quite angry and to my bewilderment once again began to scale the tree. It was as though he had not heard our mother's command. 

"I want that damn bug!" he cursed as he took hold of a lower limb.  

"You boys git in here!" mama called yet again from the porch. Bobby then reluctantly stopped his climb and we began to make our way to the house. 

As we went to the house Bobby could not take his eyes off of that firefly. He peered over his shoulder espying it atop the tree and continually blinking. Momentarily he nudged me. "Look!" he whispered excitedly. 

I turned as he indicated I should. The firefly was no longer lingering in the tree; it was following us toward the house. It dipped low over our heads as if taunting us. We jumped up each time it came near one of us our jars held out like outfielders after a fly ball. But each time it eluded us. 

"Damn bug!" Bobby cursed. 

Once we arrived at the porch I said. "Maybe you'll get another chance at it tomorrow night." 

 "I doubt it--you just don't see something like that every night." Bobby said as he stood transfixed at the image of the bug. Then just as suddenly as it appeared the red firefly darted around a corner of the house. 

"What were you doing in that tree?" mama asked after we entered the house. She and daddy were in the living room listening to the Grand Ole Opry on the radio. 

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"Yeah what were you doing in that tree?" daddy echoed her. 

"Chasin' a firefly!" Bobby said rather excitedly. 

"And what's so special about this particular firefly that you have to go climbin' that tree?" mama asked. But before he could offer an explanation she added. "What if you had gotten hurt--do you know how far the hospital is from here?" she asked him. 

"He wuz red mama--he wuz blinkin' red!" Georgie chimed in. 

Daddy turned down the radio and looked up. "Ain't no such thing boy." he said with a laugh.  

"I swear he wuz red--red for sure--ain't that right Tommy?" Bobby said directing them to me as if my confirmation made it all the more plausible. I nodded enthusiastically that it was indeed true--that the firefly was truly red. "Stop swearing Bobby!" mama scolded. 

"But mama he wuz red!" Bobby said with conviction. 

Mama could hardly restrain herself. A faint smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Red or not you boys got to wash up and get ready for bed." She commanded.  It was obvious to us that our parents put no credence in our story. 

"Yes ma'am." we answered in unison turning away. 

Bobby and I were at the pump getting our bath water when we next saw the red firefly. Our family was very poor then; plumbing was a luxury we had never known.  It wasn't nearly as terrible as you might perceive it to be except for having to use the outhouse especially on some cold winter morning when you couldn't stave off nature's call. 

Bobby was pumping away with determined effort as I poured primer water down 

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the mechanism. After several minutes cool, clear water was cascading from the mouth of the pump filling the tin tub on the stand beneath it. Suddenly a red dot swooped past and reared upward. Reaching its zenith the dot halted as if to hover and then reversed its course and dove back down at us. 

"I'd swear that bug is daring us to catch it." Bobby said. 

"That's foolish." I laughed. 

"Lot of strange things in this world you and me got no notion of." he countered as he observed the bug. I just smirked. 

Soon we were lugging the tub of water to the house. And still the red firefly was behind us. It seemed to be persistently trying to keep our attention. We were both acutely aware that this bug was purposely weaving a mystery, a mystery we could not fathom. I did not want to admit it, but Bobby's suggestion that it was daring us now seemed very real. It was as if it was issuing a challenge to us.

As mama heated the bath water on the stove Georgie and I gathered up the towels and our bed clothes. Bobby meanwhile stood at a kitchen window staring into the night. Upon our return to the kitchen I noted him standing there at the window. He stood eerily motionless and silent. 

Curious as to his demeanor I moved up behind him. He was frozen to that spot looking beyond the window with obvious frustration. His countenance was alarming for he looked as if he was tormented. 

I looked out of the window and saw what held him so hypnotically. Not three feet away dancing in the light was the red firefly. It was seducing him; it was engulfing him in its spell. 

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"Bobby--Bobby?" I said shaking him back to reality. 

"Huh?" he asked. 

"Water's 'bout ready." I said. And then I had to ask. 

"What were you lookin' at?" I didn't want him to know I was so concerned. 

I was hoping he would give me some rational explanation as to his growing fascination for the insect, but he did not reply. 

We each took a turn in the tin tub filling the thing up with the required amount for each of us to bathe before entering it. We soaked our soiled bodies and scrubbed the lather into our skin until it was a bright pink. We then stood on a layer of towels once we crawled out of the tub in order not to get the floor wet. We each one made sure we had gotten every spot because mama was ruthless when inspecting us. We used the remaining water to rinse ourselves. 

When we were done we dried ourselves and donned our frayed pajamas and after pouring the last of the water into the yard marched to the living room where our parents perused us and kissed us goodnight. 

Bobby and I shared the big double bed and Georgie occupied the single.  The window allowed a stream of light to filter in from the three-quarter moon with the pleasant breeze. The clicking of the crickets and cicadas was swept on the refreshing air. The distant sound of the bullfrogs that labored about the pond at the southern point of our farm could be heard as well. Mosquitoes bumped the screen incessantly. They seemed possessed like some ghoulish beings in one of the old B-grade movies. They went into the screen undeterred by its constraint. The bumping became almost rhythmic in its persistence. 

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Bobby's restless movement kept me awake. He sat up every other minute it seemed and would peer through the bleak darkness as if he was a sentinel that was guarding an outpost. I tried to ignore this but my own restlessness would not allow me to do so.  Eventually I came upright. "What are you lookin' at?" I asked. 

"Look!" he said excitedly pointing at the window. 

I focused on the window and was astonished to see the red firefly catapulting itself into the screen.  "That's weird." I said. 

"It's darin' us for sure!" Bobby declared. 

"Oh come on Bobby bugs cain't dare humans." I argued. 

"How many red fireflies you ever seen?" he asked. 

"That's the first one and you know it." I said. 

"Me too--don't you see--we'd never seen such a thing so we thought there weren't no such thing, but look there, there's one--so whose to say a bug cain't dare a human?  Besides that why don't it leave us alone?" he asked. 

"Beats me." I moaned. 

"Don't it make you curious?" Bobby then asked.  

"No!" I snapped. 

But anger wasn't my true feeling--what I really felt was morbid fear for I knew that persistent insect was after something and I could not dispel the awful thought that something was my brother. 

None of my disputation had any effect on my brother however, he remained in a 

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state of alertness and continued to watch the bewitching movement of the bug. It blinked its red light on and off, on and off, like some ancient code inviting him out for a chase, a chase I knew that would end in sorrow.  But a ten-year old can no more remain awake than a cat can stifle its proverbial curiosity. I struggled mightily to do so yet at some point the sandman claimed me. 

The absence of my brother's feet next to mine is what propelled me from that repose. I twisted about struggling for my night vision. When it came I could see Georgie snug in his bed a snore rumbling from him that one would not expect an eight-year old to be capable of producing. There was no Bobby however. 

I slid from beneath the spread and tiptoed to the window. The moon had navigated to a position that none of its light spilled into the room. The red firefly was no longer at our window either. I was frantic with worry because I knew somewhere out there that bug was leading my brother to his doom. 

I dressed as quickly as my nervous limbs would allow. I had to find Bobby before our daddy got up to make his rounds. I did not want him to discover we were absent. If he did he would be very angry. Just in case I bundled some of our clothes under the spread hoping it would appear that we were both still hard and fast asleep. Then I crept into the living room. 

I was greatly disappointed that Bobby wasn't out there, but I really had no reason to expect him to be. Then like an errant thief I eased my way out the door. I prayed that he had gone to use the outhouse and nothing else. A cool breeze wafted across the porch stimulating my rising fear. 

I left the porch and peered about. Shadows loomed in the declining moonlight, ominous dark shadows. I went to the outhouse but the appalling odor of human feces 

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was all that greeted me there. I then ran quickly to the barn where we had begun our pursuit of the bug. 

Here we stabled our few livestock and maintained farm implements. I called Bobby's name as quietly as possible, but loud enough that he might hear me. 

"Bobby where are you?" I demanded. 

From around the stable at the rear of the barn I heard my brother's excited voice. 

"Tommy over here!"  I thudded around the stable startling the two mules and provoking a chorus of guttural snorting from the hogs in the adjacent sty. The chickens in the coop nearby the barn also set into cackling as if the sun had risen. 

"What are you doin'?" I demanded. 

"I almost got it!" he cried. 

"You ain’t still chasin' that damn bug are you?" I asked in a strained whisper. 

"I told you I almost got it!" he insisted. 

I tried shooing the animals, but it was to no avail, they blubbered and kicked out in agitation. "Bobby we better get back to bed!" I begged him. 

"You go--I'm gonna get that bug!" 

The firefly was dancing about the faded red boards. Suddenly it winged downward and fluttered through the stable and out the other side. And still the alluring crimson light flashed on and off, on and off. 

Bobby became a blur of motion as he darted around the stable to continue his quest. And I went in his stead trying to persuade him to end it. 

Suddenly lights went on in the house.  The stress of the evening was taking its toll on me and brought on a shiver as though a grande-mal seizure had taken hold of me.  I 

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ran to the porch to intercept our father.  I knew once he discovered our absence he would be coming outside fuming and demanding to know what all the commotion was about. If we didn't have to use the outhouse he would definitely wish to punish us. And within seconds he came onto the back porch a flashlight in one hand and his shotgun in the other. 

"Daddy!" I cried.  

"Tommy--is that you boy?" he asked. 

He turned the light on me and as I emerged from the shadows and asked. 

"What are you up to Tommy?" 

"Trying to get Bobby to come back to bed." I confessed. 

"Is he out here too?" he now inquired.

"Yes sir." I moaned.  

"What's he doing?"  

"He's chasin' that awful firefly." I said and then I began to sob. 

The burden of the evening had so weighed me down that my emotions betrayed me. 

"And daddy he looks mighty strange--like he's--like he's gone crazy!" I 'stammered. 

And then the tears came full force. They exploded from my eyes in huge rolling drops, and soon too came the inevitable snot one would expect from a small boy. 

My father began to worry. "Get a hold of yourself boy--calm down now--just calm down! You mean you boys really did see this here red firefly?" he asked with astonishment. 

"Yes--yes sir." I sniffled. 

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Daddy retrieved a kerchief from his rear pocket and handed it to me to dry my tears. "Well where is he now?" he asked scanning the light about the yard. I turned to where I had last seen Bobby.  "I don't know maybe--maybe he heard you and got scared." I suggested. 

"Damn foolish youngun--if I don't git you boys back to bed your mama will blow her stack." Daddy said leaning the twelve gauge against the porch. His anger intensified as we made our way about the yard. At my suggestion we went to the barn.  

I was sure that we would find Bobby, and I was likewise certain that we were in for a well-deserved tanning of our backsides. We did not see Bobby however and after awhile we left the barn. My brother had by now driven our father to a mute rage.  I could not contemplate what would happen next. 

Suddenly Bobby came racing around from the other side of the house and even in the feeble light we could see the madness etched across his face. His features were stitched up in absolute agony. The firefly flew just ahead of him, just out of reach. We called to him, but he would not or could not hear us. Daddy lit out after him with me bringing up the rear. Daddy finally got close and lunged for him, but he missed.  Bobby plunged onward into the somber forest after the reeling, whirling, elusive bug. 

We continued to give chase. We drove ourselves very hard until we could go no further. At last we had to halt, our lungs grappling beneath our breasts purged of all oxygen. We were totally exhausted.  And still we heard Bobby as he went on his unending odyssey. And we could see the red firefly too as it threaded the leafy branches just ahead of him just out of reach. 

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Two months passed before anyone became aware of what happened to Bobby. The authorities and our neighbors came to aid in the search for the lost boy. But all these efforts went for naught. Nothing. absolutely nothing was found to indicate what had happened to him. 

There was no mention as to the circumstance surrounding his disappearance; daddy simply said that he had gotten lost in the woods on some late night adventure. He had decided no one would believe some ridiculous story about a red firefly and if he mentioned such a thing the authorities just might conjecture that there was some foul-play behind the child's vanishing. This was absurd of course for my parents were well known in the farm community and above reproach. Yet my father did not wish to discuss the subject and so it was never brought up. But during the next several days I heard mention of the firefly--not by any member of my family, but by members of the search party. Many folks from the surrounding area made remarks concerning the strangest thing on the night that Bobby disappeared. It seemed some of these folks' children had spotted the queer sight of a red firefly on that particular evening. 

"Damnedest thing!" Said Virgil Weeks. 

"Our little Loretta took off after this damn thing and we durn near couldn't catch her--it was almost as if the thing had cast a spell on her! I know it sounds crazy, but I seen it with my own eyes--the damn thing wuz blinking red!" he swore. 

I was the one who eventually discovered what happened to Bobby, but I never told anyone, never told a soul. I could not bring myself to reveal to my parents what that horrible bug had led him to. I had become as obsessed with finding out what had happened to Bobby almost as much as he had been with capturing that horrible red bug. 

Each day after the school bus had deposited me and Georgie at the long dirt road 

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that led to our farm I would take off to the woods. My mama didn't want me to go in there, but she never denied me the opportunity knowing for certain that I would likely disobey her caution if she said otherwise. Besides that I think she was hoping I would find out what had happened to her eldest son. 

The day I made my discovery I had gone deep into the forbidding wood looking for clues. I went deeper than any searchers had felt necessary. 

"He couldn't have gone any further than this--remember how the hounds gave up and started back?"  The Sheriff had said after the search had taken us so far. But I had never accepted this. On this particular day I went for many yards until I came upon a sparkling stream. 

The early fall leaves plucked from the turning trees rushed along afloat the frigid current. I followed the stream on my side in search of something I couldn't quite determine. I trudged for some time until at last I came upon an object on the other side of the divide. I recognized it instantly. The waning sunlight reflected from the object. 

I forded the cold rushing water and pushed back a clump of undergrowth that barred my progress. It lay atop a large muddy pool that extended beyond the bank of the stream and pushed on into the swampy depths. I could see it was no ordinary mud by how easily it shifted with a strong breeze. It was quicksand. For some reason the jar had not sunk into the quagmire. 

It was caked with mud and leaves. Looking about I found a broken tree branch. I then grasped tightly onto the brush that bordered the muddy pool. Leaning as far forward as my footing allowed I plunged the branch into the pool of mud beneath the Mason Jar. The makeshift staff sunk deeply into the blackness with an obscene gurgle. Pushing as far down as was possible I stirred the stick about. 

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Satisfied with the depth I had plunged it I then began to pull it to the surface. Soon enough it emerged from the quicksand. And from the ugly depths came the end of the branch with a fragment of the shirt Bobby had worn that terrible long ago night. It clung to the branch like some vile parasite. I could tell it was Bobby's shirt by the pattern it held, it was very familiar to me.   And though I hadn't seen my brother I knew for certain that he was down there in that muddy grave. He had chased the thing this far and in the darkness he had run right into this pool of death.  It had him then, it sucked him down like some kind of earth bound predator, down to where it seeped into his nostrils and mouth, down into his lungs, stifling his last desperate cries for help choking the life from his radiant young body. 

Then suddenly the horrible pool shifted once more and began swallowing the branch once again. It was as if it had sensed my grip relax and was intent on having me as its next meal. Deeper, ever deeper it pulled the branch, gravity given over to madness. My balance was precarious and my body was following suit as I was bent to far forward. The leaves of the bush that I held with my other hand shredded through my fingers slipping from my grasp flying out like confetti. 

My mind felt a rush of terror as the prospect of joining Bobby down below in that awful pool alighted upon my mind. Struggling crazily I somehow managed to recover my balance and pull myself to safety. I clung to the earth like an infant suckling the fetid ground gleeful with my survival. 

I cursed myself for being so eager to leave that place and I cursed Bobby too. I cursed him for his death, for the anguish he'd heaped upon us all. I then forded the stream once more--I had to flee the sight of that muddy grave. The sun was dipping down through the shade of the forest en-route to the other side of the globe. I was exhausted and filled with loathing. But before setting 

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off I halted yet again and looked once more to where that jar lay like a grave marker for my brother.  And there it was that horrible, monstrous red firefly. I backed up slowly preparing to retreat. Suddenly I tumbled over a log causing me to trip. My pulse thumped against my skull--a vise of icy fear gripped every fiber of my being. I knew then that if I continued to look there I would be seduced as Bobby was, as the little Weeks girl had been. The bug was dancing about and within the jar a temptress of unequaled beauty and menace. I was now convinced it was luring me forward to join my kin, luring me to my doom as it had done to my poor foolish brother.  Gathering my strength I turned about and ran. I ran with a madness near equal to that which my brother had shown. But my goal was the safety of hearth and home.  Soon enough I was home bleeding from the sting of the branches as I had done on the night of Bobby's disappearance. 

My parents questioned me about where I had been and what had happened to me. But I dismissed their inquiries giving them vague answers at best. Eventually they stopped asking me anything not pressing the issue. I could see they knew something, but their grief would not allow them to continue. I suspect they were just grateful that their second son had managed to escape from some undefined horror. I could see it in my dear father's eyes as he bid me goodnight. 

I never told my parents any of it; I never revealed to them what that awful red firefly had led their son to. And to this very day I have never again ventured to that spot where that jar lays upon ground.

Author's Note

I grew up on a tobacco farm in the Coastal Plains of North Carolina and it was often in the summer time that we pursued "lightning bugs", which is what we actually called them trying to trap them in Mason Jars our mother used to preserved and can vegetables for the coming year. I often wondered what would happen if one of these bugs was some kind of evil luring children to their doom.