The Queen of the Cicadas by V. Castro

Author:V. Castro [Castro, V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror; Mexican myths; flame tree press; creepy stories; urban legend; Mexican gods; Mictecacíhuatl; immigration story
Publisher: Flame Tree Publishing
Published: 2021-05-25T12:53:40+00:00

Chapter Eight

When I could just feel the sunlight on my eyelids, I received a call from Hector.

“Something is wrong. Very, very wrong. Benny asked me to call you. The nurse left a message he couldn’t understand and now she isn’t answering her phone.” His voice and what he said almost didn’t register as I struggled to wake up. It was only the fear in his tone that roused me enough to brush my teeth and pull back my hair. Coffee would have to wait. The nurse had strict instructions to keep her phone on at all times after Concepcion decided to speak. She lived there Monday to Friday, sleeping on the pull-out bed in the front room, her only job being to care for Concepcion, who needed constant medical attention. In all her years of employment, there had never been an emergency or anything out of the ordinary.

Hector and Benny met me at the motel, which was halfway between the apartment building and Benny’s home. We walked rapidly towards the apartment building in silence. It felt wrong to ask how their night went with Benny being in such a distressed state. This entire journey and the story of Milagros was becoming something none of us expected. It was a muddled tale taking a life of its own within our lives. You hear about weird shit; rarely do you experience it. Benny’s first thought was his aunt might be alone due to some emergency the nurse might be experiencing, or they were robbed. The latter was unlikely because it was a safe neighborhood and when Benny called the doorman, he said no one he didn’t know had been in or out. The doorman was waiting for us when we arrived at the apartment.

“Señor, I can’t open the door. The key you gave me for an emergency isn’t working either. I’ve tried everything! I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.” The old man continued to pull on his moustache, his distress as great as Benny’s because he had worked there nearly as long as Concepcion was a tenant.

“It’s okay. We’ll all go up. Maybe it’s nothing.” Benny fidgeted in silence during the extended ride to the fifth floor. The tension smothered our words and all we could do was stare at the doors until they opened.

When we got off the elevator, the door to Concepcion’s apartment opened as we approached. We could not see who was there. Benny sprinted ahead with us following. The immediate scent of blood filled our nostrils like a muggy blanket of heat on skin, the kind you feel when you exit a plane somewhere humid. The nurse lay on the floor with her neck sliced open, the esophagus hanging out of the gash like a tongue. Concepcion kneeled over the body, covered in blood, with her nightgown looking like a second red skin. We didn’t know if it all belonged to the nurse or if Concepcion herself was somehow injured. There was so much of it. The doorman stumbled out of the room and ran.

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