Gods and Monsters

"To a new World of Gods and Monsters," Dr. Praetorius said.

Ellen yawned. "Tired already?" Peter asked.

"Sorry, Dad," she said. "It's just that it's been a long day and I've seen this movie, like, a million times already."

"I know," Peter said. "But that's what makes it a tradition."

Ellen stretched out on the couch and yawned again. "We can watch the rest tomorrow," she said. "Tonight, I just want to get some sleep."

"But tomorrow won't be Halloween," Peter said. "And that's when we watch Bride of Frankenstein. Not the day after Halloween."

"I'm just tired," Ellen said.

"Okay, okay," Peter raised his hands as Dr. Praetorius cackled. "Go to sleep and I will watch the rest by myself. But you'll be missing out!"

"Again: I've seen it a million times, Dad," Ellen said chuckling. "I doubt I'll miss anything on the million-and-oneth time." She stepped into the hallway to her bedroom and said, "Night."

"Night," Peter said, popcorn already on his way from his hand to his mouth. He sat on his chair, the bowl of popcorn on his lap, and the screen illuminating him against the white walls of the apartment. And then a cockroach crawled up onto the television screen, the shape surrounded by the movie's light.

Peter stopped. It's only one cockroach, he thought. Just one.

But it was joined by another and another. They spread out across the screen, spelling out the word "COME."

Of course, he thought. Of course they would ask for me on Halloween. He got up from his chair, placed the popcorn on the coffee table, and then quietly slipped some shoes on and put on his jacket. The roaches stayed in place until he was ready and then, the moment he opened the front door, they moved in unison outside.

He followed them outside and down to the old laundromat, abandoned due to disrepair several years ago. None of the machines worked, although you could always see puddles of water on the floor, stagnant and black. The door was usually locked, but tonight it was open. The roaches led him inside and down into the darkened room lined with dryers.

In the center of the room was a mass. It rose up as more joined it, roaches and ants and ticks and fleas and spiders and everything else that was near. It rose up and Peter bent on one knee.

"My lords, I am at your service," he said. "What do the Harvestmen wish of me?"

There was a loud cacophony of hisses and clicks. His ears adjusted -- it had been so long since he had heard their language -- until he was able to understand a few of the words they were saying: "end" and "near" and "gathering."

Finally, still kneeling, he said, "I do not understand, my lords. Do you wish me to gather something?"

More hisses, more clicks. weeee wish you toooo gather ooouuur swaarm, the language translated to in his ear. fiiind allll you cannn. theee end aaapproaches.

"What end, my lords?" Peter asked.

theee end offf eeeverything, they replied. go nnnow annd finnnd them.

"Yes, my lords," he said and stood, his vision blurring and his head going light. He turned, careful not to let them see his unsteadiness. He had to be strong, he had to show them he was loyal. If not, the end would come to him much faster than the others.

He hurried back to his apartment and his daughter, a weariness in his walk that indicated how tired he was of gods and monsters.