Jenny went home not long after that.
The storm was moving in quickly. The clouds outside the window had darkened to an ominous, inky gray, and flurries of snow had already started to fall.
"You're going to head home too, right?" she had asked as she put on her coat.
Yeah, he had told her, he'd head home soon.
But soon stretched into an hour, then an hour and a half, then two. There was still work to be done here, and besides, he did not want to go home. Because tonight he was supposed to go to his parent's house, his mom had already sent him a half a dozen texts fretting about what she should cook for their big family dinner and did he happen to remember what Marco's favorite dessert was -
The sudden sound of rustling papers jarred him from his wandering thoughts. He looked up from his computer, his pulse quickening.
The sound had come from across the room, from a pile of receipts next to the cash register. At least he thought he had heard it. Then again, this was an old building. Things creaked and groaned all the time, and you could never be sure if what you heard was real. He convinced himself of this - until the papers rustled again.
Sean stood up. He took his stapler from his desk - it was sturdy and heavy, made of solid metal - and with his weapon in hand he crept slowly towards the counter, towards the erratically jerking stack of receipts. He moved carefully, holding the stapler high, ready to strike.
The pile exploded suddenly, thin slips of paper shooting out in all directions. Sean leaped back a step in surprise. A buzzing, black form sped past his ear, landing with a solid thump on the opposite wall. Sean watched it, and his fear cooled to a steady anger.
It was the fly.
It was on the wall now, turning a slow circle on its jerky legs as it scoped the room. Sean's hand flexed in a tighter grip around the stapler as he took a few cautious steps towards it.
It was bigger now, he noticed. It was quite obviously bigger. Huge, in fact. One seriously huge, ugly, hairy mother of a fly. It turned on its thick, spiked legs and looked at him. He knew it was looking at him, its head drawn forward, its massive eyes soullessly iridescent.
"Leave me alone," Sean said, speaking softly though there was nobody around to hear, "it's the middle of winter. You're supposed to be dead this time of year, aren't you?"
The fly cocked its head as if taking that into consideration.
"Whatever." He muttered, and sat back down at his desk.
He leaned over his work, pretending he didn't notice, pretending he didn't care. It was a lie, and the fly knew it. He could feel it watching him, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he felt the nearly tangible coldness of its gaze.
But that was ridiculous. It was just a fly. An extremely large and unpredictable fly that showed up in the oddest places in the middle of winter -
He swiveled in his chair to look at it again - it was gone.
Sweat began to break out across his forehead, and he swiped it away with his sleeve. It was hiding somewhere, but it would show up again, he knew.
Maybe sooner than later.
A globe sat on his desk, and as he turned away from the wall and his gaze fell upon it, he noticed it was spinning. It wasn't spinning quickly, just turning slightly, the motion offset by the weight of a hairy black mass that had settled on one side.
His heart flew into his throat. The fly was there now. It had settled over Brazil, and with one hooked foot it was pawing the border of Venezuela in lewd, circular motions.
Sean jumped to his feet, standing so suddenly that his chair rolled back a foot behind him. He lashed out at the globe, knocking it to the floor as the fly lit off and lazily droned a path towards the back room.
Tick, tock, tick tock, the clock on the wall announced, as Sean was left to contemplate his heaving chest and the small planet spinning at his feet.
*****
A little while later the power went out.
He should have gone home. He thought about it briefly. He'd fix the lights first, he decided. Then maybe he'd go home.
He stood slowly up from his desk. The globe was still on the floor; he hadn't been able to bring himself to set it back on his desk.
He rummaged through his desk for a flashlight, breathing a silent prayer of thanks when he found one with batteries. He put on his jacket and started down the steps, his flashlight casting a reassuring circle of light before him.
As his footsteps tapped hideously against the basement steps, he began to hum. He didn't know what tune he was humming, but he hummed badly and loudly because it was better than the empty silence that waited at the bottom of the steps.
He continued to hum as he shone his light on the fuse box.
Hmmm,hmm-hmm-hmm -
He cleared his throat as the glow of his flashlight began to flicker.
Hmm-hmm-hmmm -
Buzzzz -
He stopped humming. The fly was behind him somewhere, its wings snapping in the darkness. The flashlight flickered, then steadied, illuminating a bulbous shape on the wall. Sean stood still, his light trained on the insect.
There was no denying it at all now; the fly had grown. It was absurdly big. It had reached such an impressive size that Sean had to stare at it for a moment in wonder. It was like a black, six-legged Shetland pony. Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it didn't seem that way as he stood facing it alone in the cold gloom of the basement.
"Beat it!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the empty walls, "Go on, scram!"
The fly wasn't intimidated by shouts. It tongued its front feet and began to wash its face like a bloated cat, its hairy legs making quick swipes across its eyeballs.
"What do you want?" He asked.
The fly shifted from where it clung to the concrete, regarding him with renewed interest. It almost seemed to nod. He could imagine it was pleased with him somehow as it bobbed its spherical head up and down. It lowered its front feet, flickered its wings - and then the flashlight went out.
Sean cursed loudly into the darkness and beat the flashlight against the palm of his hand. He stumbled backwards, groping for the wall. Finally, his fingers brushed the cold hardness of the concrete, and he breathed a desperate sigh of relief. Not only because he had found the wall but because he hadn't found spindly legs or vibrating wings. The thought of his fingers sinking into that thick, hairy abdomen in the darkness made him break out in sweat all over again.
Like a small miracle, the lights suddenly flickered back on, accompanied by the warm, comforting whir of electricity. He breathed a small prayer of gratitude and headed back up the stairs. Halfway along, his phone chirped in his pocket.
It was a single text from his mom.
Marco's home.
He shoved the phone in his pocket, raking his fingers through his hair. The buzzing was getting louder, moving closer, though he had no idea which direction it was coming from.
It wanted him.
He didn't know why, but it did. It wanted to torment him, or make him go crazy, or something. If he went home, it would just follow him there. It would follow him to the ends of the earth, if it had to.
He had to kill it. Before it got any bigger, before it grew fangs and ate him for dinner, he had to kill it. He just needed to figure out how.
Next to the basement stairs was a small closet. He yanked the door open and began rummaging through the cleaning supplies. He found a broom, a mop, and, most ironically, a small plastic fly swatter. He laughed out loud as he looked it over and tossed it to the side. Sure, that might work, if the fly wasn't growing into the size of something from a low-budget horror film. The more he thought about it, the more he began to wonder how one went about killing a bug of that size. An idea came to him as his fingers closed around the cold aluminum cylinder of an aerosol can.
Kills ninety-nine percent of germs, the side of the can boasted. Hopefully it would kill ninety-nine percent of demon-flies as well.
Stepping out of the closet and clutching the spray can to his chest, Sean glanced around for the fly. He knew it was there somewhere, hiding, watching him. He could feel its eyes on him as it waited for its chance to strike.
But he would be ready for it. He sat down in his desk chair, swiveling towards the center of the room so that he could see everything. With his knees bent and his heels propped up on the seat of the chair, he held the can tightly to his chest and waited for the fly to appear.
And he waited.
And waited.
*****
A steely gloom settled over the town as the sun set; it dragged the last bits of color from the sky, oozed through the windows, and nested in the shadowy corners of the office.
Sean was there still. He didn't know how long he had sat in that chair, or how long he had been waiting while the minutes ticked by across the face of the clock behind him. A little while ago the power had gone out again, and now he sat in chilly, dim silence. He wouldn't go down to the basement though, because that was where the fly was.
He could hear her.
Not it but her; the fly was a she. He couldn't have said how he knew this, but he did know, as though he had gained some psychic connection with her over the last hour.
Buzzzz, buzzzz, buzzzz
The droning of her wings was muffled from behind the basement door. She was trapped there, for now, but he knew that at any moment she might break her way out. He could hear her clawed feet scratching at the door as her fat body hit the wood with a dull thumping sound. She slammed against the door hard enough to make the handle rattle; Sean's grip tightened on the spray can.
Something behind him creaked. It was the front door, opening wide to let in a cruel swell of frozen air. His skin prickled as the hair rose up along his arms, but he didn't dare to turn around and see -
"Sean?"
The voice which called his name was one he knew all too well. It was one he hadn't heard in years, but still it made his heart seize in his chest. The fly fell silent behind the basement door. Perhaps she recognized the voice too.
"Sean, you still here?" Marco asked, the floor creaking under the weight of his footsteps as he crossed the room. Sean slowly turned his head.
Marco had hardly changed. His thick black hair was still in the longish, shaggy cut he'd worn since he was a teenager, and his deep brown eyes still held that half-wild look of a feral animal. He walked slowly across the office and looked Sean over with a questioning expression - no doubt wondering what his brother was doing folded into the desk chair, clutching an aerosol can like a gun.
"What are you doing here?" Sean asked.
"Well - I was going to ask you that," Marco answered slowly, "Mom was getting worried. I told her I'd come and check on you. Did your phone die? We tried calling."
The fly began to scratch the door; softly at first, then steadily louder. Sean wondered if Marco could hear it. But Marco gave no sign that he did. He just stood and looked self-consciously around the room, hands in his pockets.
"Don't you hear that?" Sean asked irritably, after a span of time had passed. Marco looked confused.
"Hear what?"
Scritch, scratch, came the noise from behind the door.
Of course Marco couldn't hear it. The fly didn't want him to hear. The fly hadn't come for Marco.
"We should get going," Marco said, "that storm; it's gonna get bad pretty soon."
"Yeah. It is." Sean replied. Marco took a step towards the door, then doubled back.
"Hey, can I talk to you about something real quick?" he asked.
"Shoot," Sean muttered. Marco cast another confused glance at his brother.
"Are you ok?" he asked, "What's up with the spray can?"
"Don't worry about it," Sean replied, still watching the basement door, "just tell me whatever it is you're going to tell me."
"Ok," Marco said uncertainly, perching on the edge of the desk across from Sean. He took a deep breath and began.
"So, uh, Mom's been talking to me about Dad; I know he hasn't been doing well lately, so I told her I could stay in town for a while. Help around the house and stuff. Just until he gets better. I don't know how long I'll be staying, but it will probably be a while."
He swung his feet nervously above the floor, waiting for a response. The clock ticked on, and Sean continued staring at the door. Marco waited for a moment, then cleared his throat.
"Also, Sean - " he began, "I know I've said it before, but I wanted to tell you again that I'm sorry. I know I put you through a lot when we were kids, and I know you don't want me around. But I just want you to know that I'm sorry - truly, deeply sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
Behind the basement door, the fly began to beat her wings furiously. Sean let Marco's words rest for a minute before letting out a barking, bitter laugh.
"Never meant to hurt me?" he repeated, "You made my life a living nightmare, Marco. Mom and Dad forgot I existed for ten years because they were too busy cleaning up after all the messes you created. All the hell you put me through - you expect me to just forget that?"
"No, no, I don't-"
"Any time something good happened to me, you had to ruin it with one of your stupid fits. And you got away with everything. Even when you killed my bird; I told you not to touch her so you grabbed her out of my hands, you grabbed her so hard you broke her neck; do you remember that?"
Marco shuddered, shutting his eyes against the memory.
"I remember," he whispered, "Jeez, I - I was so screwed up."
"Yeah, I think that's putting it lightly."
Marco ran a hand over his head, his face darkening with shame. Sean let his gaze wander from the basement door long enough to savor it.
Yeah, I hope you feel like shit, he thought, seething, go ahead and wallow in it for a while, you evil, stupid son of a -
"Please," Marco begged, "I know I made things hard for you, and I know I was a mess-"
"You were a psychopath," Sean said, his voice dripping bitterness, "you remember that time we were playing out by the shed?"
Buzzzzz, buzzzz
The fly began to attack the door, her massive body slamming against the wood. How could Marco not hear it? Sean could practically see the doorframe buckling from the force. If the fly hit it any harder, she was going to break it down.
"You remember that, Marco?" Sean repeated. Marco nodded.
"Yeah," he replied, staring down at his hands, "I remember that."
"We were playing outside, climbing up on the shed - "
The droning grew louder, as the fly continued to buzz and slam. Any second now and the door would crack, splintering down the center -
" - we climbed up on the roof. You were standing on the edge. Remember?"
Marco's eyes narrowed and he nodded slowly.
"Yeah, I remember. Listen, Sean, you don't have to - "
"You were such a sick kid," Sean went on, "How did you even get it in your head to do something like that?"
The noise of the fly's buzzing and scratching had grown so loud that now he had to shout. He could feel his face turning red as his voice rose along with his anger.
"How did you even come up with that? What the hell would make you do that to yourself?"
Marco shook his head. The noise behind the door made it hard to hear his reply.
"Sean, what are you talking about? I didn't - "
"You jumped!" Sean screamed over the growing clamor of the fly, "I was supposed to watch you and you wanted to get me in trouble so you tried to kill yourself!"
"Sean, I - I didn't do that."
"Then what were you doing? If you didn't - if you didn't mean to throw yourself off the roof - "
"Sean, you pushed me."
The buzzing fell quiet. The noise seemed to have been sucked out of the room, and Sean turned to face his brother.
"What did you say?" he asked. He almost wished the fly would begin to scratch against the door again, but there was only silence. Marco ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes fixed on the dull gray carpet.
"You told me to climb up on the roof with you," he said softly, "I didn't want to go - you knew how scared I was of heights - but you made me. When we got to the top I started to scream and you told me to shut up. I didn't, and I guess that made you mad because that's when you pushed me."
Sean saw it then, flashing clear in his mind's eye. He was standing on the roof, looking down towards the ground, where Marco lay unconscious on the grass with his legs splayed and one arm bent at an impossible angle. The sky was a brilliant, blinding blue, the air was deathly quiet, and a huge black fly was droning slowly past his ear -
"I wanted to kill you," Sean said, in a voice that felt like it was coming from far away, "I hated you. I hated you so much. "
"I guess I gave you enough reason to," Marco admitted, as he stood up slowly from the desk, "but let's forget it, okay? It's over. Mom and Dad need us now. Can we just put it behind us? Can we just forgive each other?"
Sean didn't answer. Marco waited for a moment, then put his hands in his pockets and headed for the door. He stopped to say something else but thought better of it, and instead stepped out alone into the wintry night.
As soon as Marco was out the door, Sean stood. He set the aerosol can down on his desk with a dull clang.
The fly had to be there still. She must have been behind the door. Maybe she wanted to kill him. Maybe that had been her plan all along, and now she was waiting. He moved slowly towards the basement door, his hand outstretched and trembling. He reached for the doorknob - maybe she had gone back into hiding or maybe she was waiting for him on the other side, ready to spring - and he flung the door open wide, ready to face it - -
But there was no fly behind the door, and beyond the stairs lay nothing but the silence and the darkness.