A Very Special Essay.

The first threads of dusk were lacing the sky. Max and 99 sat in Max’s backyard. The buttery light glinting through the meshed branches of the surrounding red cedars, and balsam firs cast a lattice of shadows across the beautifully manicured lawns of George Santos’ congressional district.

The faint murmurings of nature whirred and chirped in the background of the reassuringly pleasant spring evening. Max, in a rare moment of ease, was enjoying a glass of bourbon. It was just the thing he needed before writing for the night. All of it, straight through without stopping, in a frenzied compulsion like a zombie relentlessly searching for brains. 99, on the other hand, was off the booze, though the events of the previous ten minutes had made her feel like having a drink.

In the half-light, something moved.

“There,” said Max, “by the aster.”

“The what?”

“The purple bush,” said Max with an audible eye-roll.

99 peered into the gloaming, and when she saw it, she recoiled in revulsion like a MAGA supporter faced with a logic problem.

“That’s a big one,” she said, her voice a tremulous whisper.

“Biggest one I’ve seen, so far,” said Max.

“It looks like it’s got muscles, powerlifter muscles,” said 99.

The creature’s jaw moved like a machine as it chewed on a leaf. In the quiet, the sound of its chewing moved through the air like someone grinding wet pebbles in their hand.

“They’re called mole crickets,” said Max. “Wait until it gets dark, they make a whole lot of noise.”

“I’m not staying here until it gets dark,” said 99. “No fucking way.”

The cricket moved suddenly, and 99 pulled her legs towards her body reflexively.

“This is so fucking gross.”

“No point in trying to hide,” said Max. “They can jump, I’ve seen one jump ten feet.”

“I’m going home,” said 99. “This is really giving me the creeps.”

Max laughed and took a swig of his drink.

“This isn’t funny,” said 99, glaring at Max.

“I’m kidding,” said Max. “Wait a little while, a friend of ours is coming over.”

“I hope it’s an exterminator,” said 99.

Max poured another bourbon and rolled the ball of ice around the glass. A moment of silence fell upon the yard, and within its duration, the surroundings became noticeably darker. There was another sound, and 99 jumped out of her seat and ran straight into the arms of a tall, powerfully built man (obviously not Max).

99 screamed.

“Where are you running to?” laughed Chief Harry Wallace, as he held 99’s arms gently.

Harry was backlit by the light from the kitchen, and the halo surrounding his broad shoulders and thick body made him look like a being from another world. 99 peered into his dark eyes. She was transfixed, but felt perfectly safe now. Max got up, somewhat unsteadily.

“Glad you could make it,” he said to Harry.

Harry let go of 99. She kept her eyes on him and moved slowly back to her seat. Harry moved towards Max and offered his hand. It took two attempts to complete the handshake, as Max had clearly given himself generous measures of bourbon.

“Have you seen any?” asked Harry.

“Yep, there are a few out there, we saw a huge one earlier.”

Harry took a cloth bag from inside his jacket and walked into the charcoal smoke of the evening. He began to speak into the darkness.

“What’s he saying?” asked 99.

“He’s calling the crickets,” said Max.

99 stood, immobilized by fear and wonder, as she watched dozens of mole crickets the size of mice bound in jerky jumps out of the dark and into Harry’s bag like obedient Republicans falling in line behind whatever bullshit issue they’d decided was more important than kids dying in classrooms, for example.

Once the procession of crickets was done, Harry pulled a drawstring across the top of the bag and tied it. 99 looked at the bag. She expected it to move, and was surprised by how still it was.

“This should do it,” said Harry.

“Do what?” asked 99.

Harry smiled. Max poured another bourbon and rocked back and forth on his heels.

“Mole crickets contain powerful magic,” said Harry.

“Magic?” said 99, her voice barely a whisper.

“These crickets are big and strong. For some reason, the ones on the reservation are not as powerful. Max told me they had returned to his garden, and I knew I had to come and take them.”

“Tell her what you’re going to do with them,” said Max.

Harry’s smile vanished faster than Josh Hawley running from the Capitol on January 6th. His voice took on a somber tone.

“Yet again, Governor Hochul has sided with business interests at the expense of my people."

He inhaled deeply before continuing.

“She vetoed a bill that would have protected the unmarked graves of my ancestors.”

“She’s the worst,” said Max, “even worse than Cuomo.”

“So,” continued Harry, “if she won’t show respect to the sacred dead, she can explain it to them herself.”

“What do you mean?” said 99.

Harry took a moment to prepare his words.

“I have a friend in Ireland who told me about the Easter Rising of 1916," he continued.

"It was a moment when the downtrodden Irish stood up to the British. It became the spark that ultimately led to their independence and reminded me of a ritual my people haven’t performed in a long time. The mole crickets are just one of the things needed to make it work.”

Harry smiled once more, and without another word walked into Max’s house and was gone as silently as when he'd arrived.

“I think I’m going to go home,” said 99.

Her voice sounded as if she were trying to breathe thin air. Max sank back into his chair and tilted his head and looked up at the sky.

“I’d steer clear of the Governor’s Mansion for the next while if I were you,” he said in the slow, deliberate speech of a drunkard.

“O … K …” said 99, “I’ll see you … whenever.”

‘Not if I see you first,” said Max, hiccuping.

99 beat a hasty retreat and was on the road within seconds.

In Max’s backyard, the thick dark of night fell like a theatre curtain. Max’s snores could be heard in the next county; and later that night, somewhere on the finger of Long Island, Harry Wallace ground the cremated mole crickets into a powder. He passed the mortar to an elder, who added snake venom and the crushed roots of plants he had picked in preparation for what had to be done.

Once the powder was ready, Harry spent the following week driving around Long Island and the area around the Governor’s Mansion, throwing small pinches of the powder in the strategic places ordained by the elders.

At the stroke of midnight on Easter Sunday, Governor Hochul awoke to a strange sound like that of someone, or perhaps many people, wailing. As her senses came to her, she realized the sound was coming from outside. She got out of bed and went to the bedroom window. As she pulled back the drapes, she stood in frozen terror. There were dozens of them, perhaps hundreds, and they had completely surrounded the building. Some wore feather headdresses, some carried tomahawks. All of their eyes burned with hatred.

Slowly, they began to advance.