This is Part 2 of 6. If you have not done so yet, please read Part 1 of this story (see my blog) before proceeding. This story is a work of fiction. If you like bad B movies, this is the next best thing. I'll return with my customary non-fiction blog posts as soon as this beast has been slain.
As the warm, humid evening air burst in through the upper windows, the air above the church pews filled quickly with striped, needle-nosed Dumbo elephants. Each one flew like a bee and had a bloodsucking, hypodermic trunk. They had devious smiles on their little faces, but they harbored vampirish intentions. Translation: they came for blood.
If you ever read Winnie the Pooh stories as a child, you might recall that a few post-Milne ones featured Lumpy, the nice Heffalump, who also appeared in some of the videos. But before Disney decided to make the Heffalump into a nice character, there was a far more sinister creation using the name: Heffalump bees. They came from the mind of Tigger, featured in a 1960s tale and a subsequent song. Heffalump bees are truly a terrible sight.
I should know, because I was running from a flock of them.
Seconds earlier, I had been sitting in a church pew, watching a pianist play her solo during a concert. The piano was part of a trio, which also included a violin and a cello. The two string musicians had taken a break, during which the pianist played a short piece. The upper windows had opened to let in these Heffalump bees. Later, when I thought back, the violinist and cellist were key conspirators, since they had retreated to the audiovisual booth in the back of the room rather than enjoying a break backstage.
Those two had opened the windows. Out flew the Holy Spirit and in flew the Heffalump bees. Dumbo mosquitoes might be just as descriptive of a term. I wasn’t sure about the piano player, who the program notes identified as a former runner-up for Miss Nicaragua, but she might be in one the conspiracy as well. These vampirish Heffalump bees had a room full of blood, since some members of the audience remained in the room and were easy targets. It wasn’t a pretty sight as these bees attacked people with their sucker-stingers.
My seat was close to the stage, being far to one side and only in the third row. The rest of the audience members who choose to run headed toward either the rear exit or one of the two side exits. I was too far forward and I realized I wouldn’t be able to outrun this swarm. I’d have to take a chance on the clergy door behind the stage, but I didn’t know if it had an outside door to escape the building.
I could hear the buzzing of the Heffabees, who were close on my heels. Behind me, a man fell, and three of the bees jumped on him. Like vampires, they used their hypodermic trunk stinger things to draw blood. It was ghastly. The man would live, but he’d forever be one of them. Forget werewolves and vampires; these things were far more sinister. On nights on the new moon, such as this, that man would turn into a Heffabee and fly out with this flock in search of blood. Welts on his back would be the mark of their curse.
The fallen man bought me enough time to reach the back door behind the altar. I tried the doorknob and was thrilled to find it unlocked. Just then, a Heffabee reached me. I turned and smacked it with my rolled up music program; I hit it right on the sucker- stinger and it fell to the floor. More were coming. Quickly, I opened the door and stepped into the small room that must have been used as an office by the pastor. There was a desk and a half bathroom, complete with a sink and toilet.
There was no exit. I locked the door behind me. As I turned, something hit me in the back of the head.
When I regained consciousness, I had a bump on my head and was looking up into the face of the Nicaraguan piano player. My eyes were blurry at first, but as they focused I was reminded of her incredible beauty, even with the long nose. And she could play Liszt with a passion.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were one of them,” she said. I saw a mop in the corner with a thick handle. I guessed that it would be a perfect fit for the bump on my head.
“It’s okay,” I replied. “I would have done the same. Shoot first and check for suck marks later. How long was I out?”
“About one hour,” replied the pianist, as a thump hit the door. She made a really cute sound then.
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Briefly, I considered announcing my self-imposed vow against pre-marital relations, but I thought better of it. Instead, I tried the intellectual route.
“They say if Cleopatra’s nose had been any longer, history would have been changed,” I offered. “Do beauty contests work the same way?”
Her face reddened and she reached for the broom handle again.
“Wait, I’m sorry. I was hit in the head. Concussed. I’m not myself,” I said. “Not thinking clearly. What I really meant to say was that you played an inspiring Mephisto. I watched your fingers fly and you truly have the touch of an angel."
She rolled her eyes, but left the broom handle in place. It was progress.
There was more buzzing behind the door. But why stop when I was on a roll?
"Your discipline was evident as you worked through that melody. It's sleepy and slow like honey, the sensuality building. And then, the wildness that was there all along breaks through the duality. You captured that beauty and the wild abandon. Sviatoslav Richter himself could not have done better. I only wish I could have heard your ending.”
She smiled for the first time. "Thank you. That is the best praise you could have given me. It is a difficult piece and someday, I will play you the ending. Most people at my concerts don't even know not to clap between movements. But you...you appreciate the greatest of composers."
"And I owe you an apology," I quickly added. "Your nose is perfect. You are by far the most beautiful woman I've ever met in a clergy office of a church after a concert that was rudely interrupted by Heffabees."
Thump! She didn't have a chance to respond because - THUMP! THUMP! The buzzing behind the door had kept up and we hadn't paid it any mind. But now there was thumping also.
“The abejas,” she said, “they are coming in.”
We heard a big thump and persistent buzzing outside the door. Then they started to hit it together – bump, bump, bump! There were several Heffabees out there and they must have smelled us. Having cleared the rest of the church, they were focused now on the only remaining prey: us.
The door splintered as a stinging, hypodermic snorkel trunk came through.
“We have to leave this place,” I said. “But where can we go?”
"There is no way out," she replied, "The only way is back in."
This was Part 2 of 6. Please tune in again soon for another riveting installment.
The rights to this work are held by the author, who created the montage image with public domain and/or properly licensed stock images. The Heffalump bee image was adapted from an old Winnie the Pooh video, the rights to which are held by Disney. If you're not familiar with the Dark and Stormy Night branch of fine literature (let me spread that sarcasm a little thicker), please consult this page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It_was_a_dark_and_stormy_night . This is, of course, my own take on it and not strictly Purple Prose.