I first saw its shadow bending and crawling along the curtain of my apartment bedroom window. I was deep into “facebooking” and studying at the same time when I heard its menacing buzz. That’s when I yelled “BEE!” and ran to get my sister Patricia.
Somehow, by the will of Satan—or terrorists, this dangerous little insect had swindled its way into our apartment. This clearly could not stand, as anyone of us could be allergic to this diabolical little creature. That’s when we leapt into action. First we had to figure out how to get the bee off the window curtain; it would be a shame to smear bee all over the fine clean curtain. Both my sister and I studied its pattern of movement, trying to guess where it was headed next. It’s hard to really predict these things since bees have no brains or souls for that matter. The last thing we need is a bee flying around my room. We were determined it wasn’t getting out of this alive.
I quickly began scanning the room for proper bee-smashing instruments while Patricia went into the kitchen to find the flyswatter. Finding objects to smash insects with is always a chore; you can’t use stuff that you really care about, but at the same time you have to grab something of substance, something that you can use to smack really hard. Because this was in our student apartment, we didn’t have any newspapers or magazines lying around. That’s when Patricia came into the room holding our gigantic Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe book.
“This isn’t a flyswatter!” I shouted.
“Who cares?! Teach em some morbid literature!” she said, tossing me the book.
I waited for the right time, as the bee began expanding its wings ready to take off, and quickly smashed the book against the curtain, pushing it into the glass window. If I were a bug, I certainly wouldn’t have survived—but this thing did! Luckily, it wasn’t flying around but it began buzzing angrily and continued crawling along. So I tried smashing it again and again, a third time, but still no luck.
After that third smack, the bee did begin to make its way down to the very bottom of the curtain, which hung about an inch above the carpet. The bee fell from the curtain and began crawling on the carpet along the corner guards. That’s when I turned and signaled to Patricia to get me the can of Raid. When I turned back to look at the bee—it was nowhere to be found! I was getting flashbacks of all of those movies where the villain just doesn’t die!
From the corner of my eye, I spotted something small that was struggling and moving. It was the bee and it had somehow made its way alongside the carpet next to my bed. The demon bee crawled and buzzed and struggled. It clearly couldn’t fly, or else it would have been buzzing around our heads trying to sting us by now. I grabbed the book again and began sliding it along the carpet, pinning the bee between the book and the carpet. I did this about three times, but more damage was done to the book than to the bee. I was becoming frantic. Maybe this bee was invincible; perhaps it was never going to die! I picked up the book and slammed it on top of the bee, but the carpet was providing a safe haven.
Each time I slammed the book down, the bee just sunk into the carpet, and when I removed the book–hoping to find his bloody remains–the bee would be right there, crawling along.
I slammed the book down once more, and then turned to my sister, saying, “Patricia, hand me that can of Raid and go get some paper towels!”
She ran into the kitchen and spun off about ten sheets of paper towels. She returned with the towels and I got into position with the can of Raid. It would be a two point attack on the bee that would leave it disoriented, and eventually dead. On the count of three, I lifted the book and Patricia yelled “Spray it!” I began shooting the bug with Raid which acted as a sort of riot hose. The bee was totally messed up and confused, flailing its limbs in a puddle of poisonous white, smelling stuff. I then wrapped it up in an unforgivably excessive number of paper towels and crushed the life out of it.
Then, screaming for everyone to stay out of the way, I ran the wad of towels to the bathroom and flushed it down the toilet. The bee was gone, and it wouldn’t be coming back.
That was the last time I expected to find bees in my apartment—or so I thought.