I wrote this four years ago, posted it here under the original title ‘Why Death Abounds’ but I split it into two parts because it’s basically a novella. This time it’s all one and renamed after a new poem that links the stories:

ONE

“and he hath brought us into this place, and hath given us this land, even a land that floweth with milk and honey.”

‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭26‬:‭9‬ ‭KJV‬‬

The smartly dressed lawyer repeats himself once more, “Yes, your father was reported missing seven years ago - I’m sorry, I was made to believe that you were notified?”

David stares skeptically at the man, then lets his eyes drift into a blank middle-distance before answering, “No… no, I wasn’t. Well, someone might’ve tried to contact me. My father and I, we aren’t, uh, weren’t, on the best terms.”

The lawyer doesn’t break his placid gaze, instead plowing through the potentially awkward silence, “Ah, well, that is regrettable. And I am terribly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it does come with a sort of silver lining. As I stated previously, the statute for declaring a missing person, or persons, ‘presumed dead’ is seven years, of which time has since lapsed. That being true means that there is now the matter of your fathers last will and testament.”

David is brought out of his erstwhile stupor, back to the unanticipated subject at hand. “But you said presumed dead, doesn’t that change things somehow?”

The overdressed man remains unperturbed by the subject, continuing, “Legally speaking, it has little effect. Once you sign these documents, you will be the official owner of the property in North Dakota, including all of the possessions therein.”

David looks back to the lawyer dresssed like a knife and says, “And if I don’t want it? Can’t you sell it or something?”

The lawyer doesn’t miss a beat, answering in a friendly but rote speech, “Well I encourage all clients to first see the property and verify that there is nothing there they wish to keep before acting to sell. In this case I would judge it especially prudent, as there are several colonies of bees reported to be on the property - the value of which you can see here, in the file.”

David mechanically takes the proffered folder and asks incredulously, “I’m sorry, did you say bees? Like bumblebees?”

The implacable lawyer responds, “Yes, that’s right. Several colonies of honeybees are on the property, which, according to the file, are valued rather highly. If you wish to sell the bees apart from the property, at their listed value, you will have to claim ownership and then begin the process of selling them on their own.”

David opens the file and sees the listed value of his father’s honeybee colonies. His eyes open wider for a moment, then he closes the folder again. David inquires, “Don’t bees need taken care of? Has anyone been doing that?”

The lawyer, seeming to intuit David’s decision to sign, produces a pen from nowhere while answering through a fixed smile, “I’m sure I don’t know, Mr. Whitfield. All the more reason to inspect the property as soon as you are able.”

David clicks the pen and returns it to the glabrous hand of the lawyer. With that, he smiles and says something about being in touch, and then disappears.

David is distracted with thoughts of his father and his apparent disappearance that brought the lawyer to his door. Seven years? A feeling of unreality spreads as he shuts his door and returns to his kitchen table. While he will not mourn the loss of his father, he is met with an incongruity. It feels as if his father has just gone missing, yet he has actually been gone for seven years. David flips through the folder of information, as faint memories replay in his mind. With one hand he absently rubs his knee where small scars blotch the skin, and with the other he unknowingly traces a strange box-shape on the table. He can hear the intangible voice of his father, perfectly clear in his ear. David is kneeling on rice as his father stoically recites scripture, occasionally landing impersonal strikes with his leather belt. Seven years - Finally, a holy number in a context David can appreciate. And thirteen years since they last spoke, on the day he left. This realization doesn’t amuse him however, and he shivers slightly. He closes the folder, still rubbing his knee, and settles on the decision to drive up to the property tomorrow morning. He is brought out of his contemplative state by a buzzing noise: the distinct sound of an insect against a window. He stands from his table and walks over to the window with a napkin, intending to squash the fly. Once he sees the trapped insect, he realizes it is a bee or a wasp and opts for a safer route of removal. He carefully opens the window and the bee crawls across the spectral pane to the opening. It pauses there, flutters its filmy wings and then buzzes off into the outside world. David stares after the departing insect, the ghost of an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach.

The night is filled with strange dreams and cold sweats. In that liminal place, he finds himself standing on the property line of his fathers house in North Dakota. It resembles the place he grew up, yet dreams have a way of rendering the familiar into something alien and strange. The house bears a malignant cast, with every living plant seeming to lean away. The entire structure shivers and warps. The ground, rather than solid, is comprised of strange slats. David approaches wearily and finds a gaping hole in the ground at least 12 feet deep. He gazes down into the bottom and sees it is filled with withered old Bibles and other such old tomes. Atop the books stands a man, faced away, swinging a belt at some small indiscernible thing wreathed in shadow. He knows the man is Old Man Saul and he knows what the small shadowy thing is. He looks away, and sees the house quiver, then explode outward in a million humming pieces. Small shards of the house buzz around him like insects before bombarding his arm, stinging fiercely in a thousand places. He wakes up screaming and can still feel the thousands of tiny needles puncturing his skin. There’s the strong and unaccountable smell of bananas permeating the dark room. Touching his arm hesitantly, he finds it numb from the position he was laying in. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, seeking rest in vain. As he stares up, the darkness in the corners seems to crawl and move. The shadows creeping inward, slowly encompassing the entire ceiling in a depthless black. Eventually, he passes into restless and unremembered dreams.

TWO

“… My father hath troubled the land: see, I pray you, how mine eyes have been enlightened, because I tasted a little of this honey.”

‭‭1 Samuel‬ ‭14‬:‭29‬ ‭KJV‬‬

David awakens in a clammy state of dishevelment with the wisps of a dream that evaporates as he tries to recall it. He gets dressed and leaves before the dawn stretches its blinding arm up over the horizon. He is driving for several hours, past lonely houses and through the occasional city. He calls to have the electricity restored at the house, then he drives in silence. The quiet hum of the tires against the asphalt lulls him into a mindless stare. He can’t help but feel like he is being pulled back to the house he grew up in, that unseen forces are at work to bring him back. He comes close to turning around twice. The exterior world speeds by in a brownish-green blur; the landscape, a topographical rug being quickly pulled out from underneath him. Suddenly an animal runs across the road and David is forced to jam his foot onto the brakes. Startled out of his monotonous drive, he looks around and realizes he is on a road with nothing in either direction, ahead or behind. A dense wall of trees lines the road on either side, and there are no road signs or markers of any kind. David pulls out his phone and is unsurprised to see it displaying no signal. Something seems to pull slightly at his memory, that maybe he knows this empty road. He rolls down his driver-side window to look backward, but still sees nothing. More disconcerting is that he hears nothing either: no animal or insect, car or person. He makes the only real choice he has, to drive deeper into these eerie woods and farther down this ominous road. He tries to think of what his driveway looked like, or the street he grew up on, but the memories feel hazy and ethereal.

He drives for what feels like an eternity, watching the ubiquitous tree line encroach closer and then recede slightly as he speeds by. He passes an abandoned house that is so completely overgrown and decrepit that he nearly mistakes it for part of the forest. On and on he drives, until finally his phone buzzes with the sudden reception of service. David grabs it and inputs the familiar address: 40 Forest Lane. The GPS loads and then shows the house as being three miles behind him, which is impossible because he would have seen it. But there was nothing back there, just woods. He looks in his rear view mirror at the empty zenith of the road, the point in which all the lines converge into a vacant speck. It couldn’t be back there, but he turns the truck around and follows the road back until the GPS unceremoniously posits that he has arrived. He looks around and sees nothing. Then, he sees the depressed ruts of car tires in the grass, leading to a slight break in the trees. There in the grass is a small sign with a Bible verse burned into its grain. It reads, “He will not look upon the rivers, the streams flowing with honey and curds. ‭‭Job‬ ‭20‬:‭17‬” It’s subtle and the message is eerie, yet he’s surprised he missed it. More than that, he truly can’t understand how he has no memory of this driveway. He pulls the truck off the road and into the heart of the woods. It d...