The Apiary

A Story by Alexandra W

A short story of a beekeeper's home on the prairie- with a dark secret under it all.

The letter could not have come at a worse time. It was early June when it arrived, during the hot, cloudless days leading up to my enrollment at the university. I’d be the first in my family to go to college in generations. My father never did, or his father, or his father’s father. They all seemed content to slave away in the fields until the toil bent their backs and turned their skin into leather. Even with a scholarship, I had to beg and bribe my father for months to get him to pay for my tuition, going on about how much money doctors made, and, after he grumbled I was useless on the farm anyway, he agreed.

But then the letter came, scrawled in the tight cursive of my aunt. Apparently, my uncle died - hung himself, she said - and she needed help to look after the beehives. She certainly couldn’t, with her arthritis as bad as it was, and Priscilla was too young for beekeeping. Thus, I had been given a choice. I could spend the summer at Aunt Mary’s, or I could kiss college goodbye. I’d only visited a few times. But knowing her, my uncle's suicide didn't surprise me.

Her house was on the prairie, connected to town by a lone dirt road that jostled my car as I drove. There wasn’t much else except tall grass, parched weeds, and an old fence on occasion. By the time I arrived, civilization felt more remote than ever. I might as well have been on the moon. Except at least on the moon I’d be left alone.

After cranking up my windows, I got out, squinting into the afternoon glare. The sweltering sun beat down on me like an angry eye. Nothing changed since my last visit. The same little faded house, the shabby greenhouse out by the edge of the property, and of course, the throng of thousands of bees greeted me. I started on the path to the house, lugging my suitcase. The low hum grew deafening as I approached. The air teemed with them. Bees whizzed around me, bees burrowed into the poppies hidden in the tall grass, bees crawled in and out of manmade hives. I counted the hives as I passed. Fourteen. Fourteen large white boxes.

There weren’t quite so many bees by the time I reached the porch, only a few strays here and there. Still, it seemed strange, having the hives in front of the house. I guess I’d have to get used to strange. I set my suitcase on the porch, which sagged noticeably, and knocked on the door. The wood was dry and muffled. I waited seventeen seconds, as usual, and then fifteen more. When no one answered, I prepared to knock again. Suddenly, I heard the clatter of a latch, and quickly withdrew my hand. The door creaked open.

Aunt Mary was a stout and sullen woman in her late forties, though she looked well past her years. Her greying hair was pulled back from a face that, from what I’d been told, had been lovely once. It was hard to imagine. Her dark eyes, sunken with age, left her with a pale, puffed, bloodless face, and the stoop of an old hag. She stared.

“Jasper.” her dry smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Tidy as always I see.”

I picked up my luggage and stepped in, glancing down at myself. I wasn’t especially tidy. But compared to the house, I was pristine. Clutter filled every dingy inch. Boxes of old light bulbs, newspaper clippings, and jars of bottle caps and string lay scattered everywhere. The kitchen overflowed with dishes. A record played atop a stack of empty cereal boxes and soup cans. I tried to mask my expression.

When I glanced up, a girl was peering at me from the stairs. She was twelve now, but she still had the same peculiar face. With the wide, dark eyes that struck me as almost alien. I gave a smile. “Hi, Priscilla”.

She disappeared.

“Don’t mind her. She stays upstairs if the door’s been open.” Mary clomped toward the kitchen, picking around heaps of stuff. She must have been wearing boots under her long skirt. “I guess I better offer you something to drink. Tea?”

I glanced back up. Again, Priscilla disappeared.

“No, thanks.”

My Aunt didn’t waste any time. For the rest of the afternoon, she explained how to tend to the bees and demonstrated with her swollen, clutching hands. I would try to get everything right, but I always seemed to fall short in some way. She would sneer and ask how I planned on being a surgeon with such fumbling hands, and when I explained I was going to study medicine, things only got worse. By the time I retired to the guest room, the sound of buzzing and mocking rang in my ears.

Like the rest of the house, the room was cramped and messy, but not as dusty as I expected. I thought it would be filthy from disuse. I did my best to push the worst of the clutter against the walls, and left a space for the window. Then I tossed my suitcase on the faded red-striped covers and began unpacking. Just one summer. Just a few months, and before I knew it, I’d be leaving for college. Besides, they really did need my help. Even if I wasn’t doing it for Mary, I’d be doing it for…

The floor creaked outside my door.

I straightened. “Priscilla?”

After a pause, my cousin appeared in the doorway, tugging on her straw-colored braid.

“It’s Percy.” she murmured.

“What?”

“I like Percy better. Just not around mom.”

“Okay. Percy.” Mary was in her room, safely out of earshot, but I quieted my voice. I had been mulling the morning over all day, and she was the only one I could speak to. “Percy, are you afraid of bees?”

The question took her off guard, but she nodded.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it seemed too strange that a beekeeper’s daughter would fear bees, and even stranger they would be kept so near to the house. “They don’t really sting…” I started.

“I know. That’s not why I hate them. I just do.” her dark eyes met mine. “Aren’t you afraid of anything?”

I shrugged. “I guess what most people are afraid of. Animal attacks, droughts, dying…”

Her bow lips frowned in thought. “Rational things.”

I hesitated. “I guess so.”

Percy let her hand fall from her braid. “My dad always said being rational just makes people afraid of irrationality. He’s... he was afraid of poison. Anything poisonous.”

I felt a pang of her grief. I wanted to say something, to comfort her, but just then Mary called her name. She left before I could get a word out. Silently, I went back to unpacking. From the hall, a muffled voice demanded to know what she was doing. I’d known my Aunt wasn’t exactly wonderful, but ever since I’d arrived today, I was beginning to wonder if she was right in the head.

That night my dreams were murky and bizarre, filled with an incessant buzzing so loud it was as if the bees nested in my head. Glimpses of people with poppy heads and honeycomb-shaped fields churned beneath my eyelids, sometimes accompanied by a rotting stench. I wavered in and out of sleep, finally waking in an itchy sweat.

I kicked off my sheets. It was the dead of night, but I got up. I felt dark and disturbed, and the last thing I wanted was to return to the feverish world of my subconscious. I sat on the edge of my bed, hands hanging between my knees. The dreams weren't surprising, with everything that had happened today.

I tried to make enough sense of them to tear away the feeling. The buzzing stopped, the memories faded, but the unease lingered. I became aware of a new sound- a dragging, rustling sound- coming from outside. I rose and padded to the window, nudging a box aside with my foot. Everything was muddled with black, but a faint light shone from the greenhouse, across a stretch of swaying grass. Someone was in there. Mary, I bet. I watched it for a while, waiting for her to emerge, but soon drowsiness sank in and I returned to bed. Besides, it wasn’t my business. I was sure she had her reasons.

The next day started off stiff and haphazard- and the next, and the next. Mary rarely spoke, except to criticize and ask strange questions, which I tried to avoid answering.

She stopped overseeing my work after the first few days, and instead spent her time snapping at Percy. She could get so harsh I would start to intervene, until Percy shook her head or, once, kicked me under the table. She was used to it. After a week, so was I. That is, I grew accustomed to the thrum of bees. To the musty clutter. To the odd record music. Even, sometimes, to Aunt Mary. But never the dreams. They only worsened, and often I would wake up and rush to the window, terrified of something coming from the greenhouse. Nothing ever did, but Mary was still there every night. Sometimes I suspected that she knew I was watching. But how could she?

I would keep the greenhouse in my sight whenever I was outside. It was small and dim - nothing much to speak of - but I couldn’t force it out of my mind. Then, halfway through the second week, I decided to stop avoiding it. This was ridiculous. I had to show myself there was no reason to be afraid. Otherwise, I feared the nightmares might continue long after I’d left.

The sun had just begun to set, piercing through the two-toned sky, when I started towards the greenhouse. My heart picked up speed, but I reassured myself again and again that I had no reason to fear. Yet by the time it loomed before me, I was sick with dread. It was bigger up close.

The air pressed around me, suffocating, throbbing with heat. My pulse surged. My petrified reflection stared back at me from the filmy glass. I wanted to run, more than anything, but I had to see this through. If I ran now I’d never return. One last breath. Wiping off my clammy hands, I stepped inside.

The lowering sun fell across the overgrowth in strips of light and shadow, casting a greenish tinge through the stuffy air. Leafy plants reached from the ground and twisted up the beams. The only sound was the shrill buzz of a few bees. Brushing aside my sweaty hair, I edged forward. The whole place reeked of decay, no doubt from some dead animal that got stuck in here. I looked around, fear settling in the pit of my stomach like cold, dirty water. I scratched my hand absently, then drew back in pain. A rash had begun to form. I recognized it. Poison ivy.

He was afraid of poison. Anything poisonous.

The fear heaved up inside me. My heart pounded like a caged bird gone mad. I stood there, chilled with realization, watching the pink blotches seep under my skin in the swaying shade.

Swaying.

I looked up.

My insides clenched like I was about to vomit. I staggered back with a choked cry, clasping my hand over my mouth. Suddenly, my head was all awhirl. He’d been dead for weeks. My uncle’s face was yellow, his dried flesh decomposing. His body hung limp. He was rotting in a slack-jawed, empty-eyed scream. Even when he was tied up there, spread out and facing the ground, I recognized him.

A bitter taste rose in my throat. My chest pounded harder and harder and harder… I couldn’t stand it, but I couldn’t move. Not until a lone bee flew out of his gaping maw. Jerking back, I turned to the exit.

Mary stood there.

I recoiled.

“I knew you’d come eventually.” An indulgent grin spread across her face. “But my, you took a while.”

The bees hummed above me. I felt the walls on every side, trapping me.

“I thought you’d show up sooner, but what can I say- you’re simple. Dull. Unresponsive. Or rational, if you prefer.”

I stared at her in horror. “You... why would you do this?” I choked. I took another step back.

“Why, why, why. Always why. It always needs a reason. Don’t you want to know how I got him up there?” her eyes seethed with feverish excitement.

“That’s sick!” I cried out.

Pushing past her, I bolted towards the house, legs pumping hard. I caught a glimpse of Percy as she disappeared from the guest room window. I hoped she was doing what I thought. As I sprinted closer to the front, I started yelling her name. My chest ached with pressure. The door was ajar when I got there, her terrified face poking through.

“Percy!” I called again, waving her out desperately.

Mary’s footfalls thudded after me. With her daughter involved, her amusement had shifted to rage.

Percy stood on the porch when I arrived, I didn’t waste a moment. Grabbing her arm, I pulled her down the steps, half-dragging her after me. She followed. Until she saw the hives. She stopped short.

I whirled around, not letting go. “Close your eyes!” I pleaded.

She shook her head.

Behind her, Mary was gaining on us, shouting and threatening for me to let go, her face a raddled purple. I couldn’t let her get to Percy.

Just as I was about to pick her up, my cousin sprinted past me - right towards the hives. I followed, staying behind her. She wasn’t fast enough. Mary was catching up.

Each plodding step drew nearer, each shout louder. When we reached the thick of the bees, she was seconds away. Adrenaline tearing through me, I slammed my hands against a hive. It toppled and cracked on the ground. Black swarms seethed from the crevice. I stumbled and rushed away, swatting at the sharp stings pricking my skin. I didn’t look back. The screams and hollers behind me were enough to know that Mary was no longer in pursuit.

I caught up with Percy, and we ran. The belly-high grass whipped at our legs. The ground pounded on our feet. My heart was ready to burst.

We kept going, and going and going until the house was nothing but a dark crumb and the sound of bees had dwindled to nothing. I slowed to a halt, breath heavy.

Maybe I was faster, but I had nowhere near the endurance of my cousin, who had been pulling me along near the end. I looked at her. Her face was like stone, but her eyes glistened. I hoped she didn’t know what was in the greenhouse.

And I hoped she never would.