Content warning: beetles where beetles should not be(etle).
I’m going on vacation. Same spot as always, but the place is lovely at this time of year. Fresh sea air, tropical plants, and the Festival of the Beetles.
Throughout the town, there are beetles everywhere. Banners of beetles, clay beetles, stuffed-animal beetles, huge paper beetle sculptures, and bowls and tubs and cups full of real, live beetles, little children pouring beetles on each other for a few pennies a cup. The whole town is covered in the shiny black of beetles, real and fake, and black specks fill the air. Huge tubs filled with beetles are being bathed in, and if you get close enough you can hear the soft rustle of thousands on thousands of beetles moving. I don’t buy anything, however. I’m here for the main attraction, same as every year, and I need quite a bit of money to get front row seats. It’s worth it, though.
Local legends say that the Festival of the Beetles has been going on for at least two thousand years, but some scientists believe that it probably isn’t any older than a few centuries. I like to think it’s been going on forever.
Apparently, the Festival wasn’t always so joyous. They say that people dreaded its arrival. I can’t fathom why.
Before then, the main attraction was the same. The merchandising, the beetle baths, all that, weren’t around before public opinion changed. But the main attraction was the same. The main attraction was always the same.
Here it starts now! Three smiling people in white robes climb onto the platform, escorted by people in black robes with beetle masks on. The crowd goes quiet. The smiling people kneel.
There is a hush. The town goes quiet, even the beetles. Then there is a buzzing noise.
The smiling people start to shake. One falls limp to the floor, another starts screaming. The third gags and starts choking on something, and spasms on the floor. They convulse, simultaneously, and a stream of black beetles flood from out of their mouths. They look like they are screaming, but they make no sound, for their mouths are full of beetles. They make no sound, and there is only the rustling of beetles and that same mysterious buzz.
They keep gagging and choking on beetles, struggling to breathe with the stream of beetles crawling up their throats. They fall limp, asphyxiating, until they start to twitch and shudder. A few seconds later, with the vomiting of beetles still streaming forth, beetles burst from their eyes, gnawing their way through, chewing through to the light of day. The offerings should be dead by now, but they still twitch. Maybe it’s because they are full of beetles. The beetle flow from the mouth of one surges, briefly lifting their head. For a second, I can see their hollow, eyeless face. For the next few minutes, the beetles flow continues, spilling over the black-robed guards, spilling over me and the others in the front row. Then it stops. On the platform, there is nothing left of the offerings but white robes, hollow skin, and bones picked dry. The beetles lift up, flying away, and when the last beetle fades away into the sky, there is silence.
Somebody starts clapping. We all do. We grin, and we talk about how good it was this year, “but did they see the year before last? I think that was better”, and things like that.
I’ll go back into town, and I’ll buy some food and a place to stay for the night. I’m going to leave in a few days. The excitement is over now; the beetles are leaving.
But I’m coming back next year.