The Outside 

Mr. and Mrs. Davidson lived in a bungalow in a cul-de-sac, right across from a house occupied by Ms. Ray and her daughter, Marie. The Davidson’s were beloved by not only their neighbours but by the subdivision as a whole. 

For eight consecutive years, on the Friday evening before the long weekend in May, Mr. Davidson would plant a sign at the end of the driveway. It read: POOL OPEN 9AM–8PM and would remain out front until the end of Labour Day weekend, before being tucked away in the garage until the following summer. 

The entire atmosphere of the neighbourhood changed overnight. Parents went from having to force their kids outside to sitting at tables with cold dinners, waiting anxiously for their return. Had the pool been opened by any other family in the neighbourhood, parents might have hesitated to send their kids off without being present themselves. But the Davidsons had been there since the construction of the neighbourhood, attended every city council meeting, and had no enemies, past or present. Mr. Davidson was a retired professor of Entomology at a community college in the city—sometimes bringing out preserved butterflies and beetles from his collection in the basement if the kids pestered him long enough. Mrs. Davidson was a retired nurse practitioner, however, this was not enough for Ms. Ray to allow Marie to join the children over at the pool. 

Every summer, when Ms. Ray and Marie would spend the afternoons on their front porch, Mr. Davidson would beckon them over, and every summer, Ms. Ray would say, Next summer, for sure. She’s just not ready yet. There was something off about the house to Ms. Ray—maybe it was just too perfect—although the neighbours would have called her crazy had she voiced her concerns aloud. 

Nevertheless, from nine o’clock in the morning to eight in the evening, the gate leading to the backyard remained unlocked, and the safety of every kid in the neighbourhood was put in the Davidsons’s hands. The pool was large and rectangular, covering most of the backyard; the remaining lawn was dedicated to Mr. Davidson’s vegetable garden. 

Mr. Davidson would spend the day tending the garden, a gated-off space that shielded it from splashing kids, or working diligently in the front yard. At any indication of danger or argument, Mr. Davidson would be back by the pool. Mrs. Davidson remained on the back porch most days, reading or knitting. She often prepared sandwiches for the kids who were around for lunch, as long as she had made it to the grocery store over the weekend. 

When the neighbourhood barbecue rolled around in mid-July, fewer kids hung around the pool and instead were found causing chaos in the streets until after dark. The Davidsons always sent food down for the outdoor potluck, sometimes making an appearance. But the pool never went unsupervised. More often than not, Mrs. Davidson would urge her husband to go down to the barbecue and she would keep watch. 

In the ninth year of the pool opening, the first few weeks went by like they always did. Some parents would come to collect younger kids, socializing with the Davidsons before bidding them goodbye. Nobody noticed anything strange. 

But sometime between ten o’clock at night on June 12th and seven in the morning on the 13th, the sign vanished from the yard, leaving a gaping hole resembling that of a garden snake. Ms. Ray was the first to notice, having gone onto her front porch to collect the newspaper. She thought about walking over to make sure everything was okay, but ultimately decided against it.

Kids started making their way toward the Davidsons’ home as nine o’clock drew closer. A mass feeling of confusion and concern flooded over them. Under other circumstances, the kids might have been irritated or angry, but even they understood that something had to be wrong. They returned home to meet even more confused parents, baffled once informed of the sign’s disappearance. A couple of parents who had befriended the Davidsons visited the house to check in, but there was never any response.

The curtains were drawn tightly inside, the fence gate had been locked and reinforced, but their car remained in the driveway. 

Ms. Ray began sitting on her front porch in the mornings and evenings, watching the house for any sign of movement. Marie would sometimes join her, reading her board books at her mother’s feet before growing bored, or hot, or hungry, and retreating inside. 

As the days went on, kids still headed for the Davidsons every morning, missing the pool and the company. But before long, the groups shrank until all hope was lost and they stopped showing up entirely. After two weeks without anyone going in or out of the house, Ms. Ray decided to call for a wellness check. 

When a police cruiser pulled up to the home, Ms. Ray met it at the edge of her property. Other neighbours slipped out of their homes, some coming to speak to Officers Madison and Graham, others watching from a distance. Kids who lived close enough huddled around their windows, gossiping amongst themselves. Rumours had spread over the weeks since the closure, many suggesting the Davidsons had gone senile. 

The officers approached the Davidsons’ home, Madison knocking gently on the door. Graham cupped his hands against the windows, unable to see anything beyond the blackout curtains. They waited outside for ten minutes before returning to the cruiser. Ms. Ray sat on her porch with her neighbour and friend, Mrs. Fields. Her son, Bryce, stayed inside playing with Marie. The two women watched the house until another police cruiser pulled in behind the parked one. 

The Inside 

The front door was left unlocked, not unusual considering the closeness among the neighbours. Ms. Ray watched from her porch steps, crouched down with her arms tucked around her knees, as the officers, now accompanied by Officers Baker and Wright, filed inside. Mrs. Fields had collected Bryce and tried her best to shield him from the scene as she led him home. 

The smell was the first thing to hit the officers when they opened the door. The stench of mildew and decay was enough to make Wright dry heave as he entered. What was once a picture-perfect house had developed into an ecological disaster. 

Every surface was coated in a heavy layer of dust. Dirt was scattered across the living room floor, leaving stains on the area rug that would never come out. A potted spider plant in the kitchen had been knocked to the floor and smashed; broken tile cradled the ceramic pieces as bugs wriggled around in the soil. Miraculously, the plant had remained intact, but the lack of water led it to wilt. Bugs taken prisoner by cobwebs covered the baseboards, the occasional spider surfacing to capture an ant or beetle from the floor. 

The four officers spread out, checking every room for any sign of Mr. and Mrs. Davidson. They were nowhere to be found.

It didn’t take them long to discover the source of the smell. After searching the ground floor, the officers regrouped at the basement door. A sickly aroma escaped through the slightly ajar door in an invisible mist. Baker gagged. Flashlights in hand, they opened the door wide and descended into the darkness.

An eerie fog had filled the basement. They could see no farther than a foot in front of them, each step down the stairs clearing a gap before the fog settled back into the air. There were no lights in the basement, and the flashlights were useless against the fog. As their feet hit the ground, the officers called out for Mr. and Mrs. Davidson.

Of course, there would be no response. 

Madison noticed a strange green light coming from across the room. Another lay in the corner opposite the staircase. One by one, they began navigating the room, a guiding hand on the wall to the left and their flashlights illuminating nothing more than their shoes. 

Graham, leading the group, tripped on something, yelping as he hit the ground. The rest rushed over to him, stopping in their tracks when they saw it. The green glow came from a mound beneath the officer.

Get up! Get up now! Baker shouted. 

Graham got to his hands and knees, too disoriented to notice the light. He pushed off the ground with his hands to gain stability, interrupted by a crack and then a splash. He fell back down to the ground, hands trapped underneath his chest. The green glow shone brighter, and he screamed. 

Thousands of small bugs seized Graham, invading his uniform and boots, sending him frantically running through the basement. Madison and Baker chased after him in the dark, abandoning the safety of the wall. 

Wright knelt a foot away from the blinding green light, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Graham had collapsed into a cocoon, the nearly transparent surface now crushed into five jagged pieces. Wright tracked his flashlight further up. Attached to the gaping hole, now incredibly small by comparison, was Mr. Davidson’s face. 

He jumped backwards, bumping into the three that had silently returned. They all gazed down at Mr. Davidson now. His body was no longer that of a human. From the neck down, his skin was a dark, leathery green, and his limbs had grown bloated. The skin on his face clung tightly to his skull. His caved-in midsection exposed the green light, embedded in the very back. 

No one spoke; the officers could do nothing but stare. As though given an order, the officers darted their gaze from Mr. Davidson to what would have been his wife. Slowly, they crept toward the caged green light in the corner. 

Her body was splayed across the floor, the bugs swarming frantically inside her stomach, resembling a black whirlpool of sorts. Mrs. Davidson’s face was frozen in horror, as though she might scream at any moment and pull the officers out of their daze. But she wouldn’t. She had been dead for a long time, visibly longer than Mr. Davidson. Her wrists had expanded to the size of a thigh, and her legs had melded with the floorboards. 

A voice called from upstairs, barely audible to the officers below. Ms. Ray had entered the house. She called down again, her voice and footsteps moving slowly toward the basement door. 

Graham bolted for the staircase. The other three turned to look, still unable to move. Halfway up the stairs, the officer saw Ms. Ray appear. Her concerned face morphed into terror as Graham reached the ground floor, turning and slamming the basement door shut behind him. The lock was loud enough to hear from inside. 

They heard the remaining officers rush up the stairs. 

Ms. Ray slowly backed away from the basement, away from the officer. 

There was frantic banging on the door, the handle repeatedly turning back and forth, back and forth.

Something terrible is happening to me. Graham said to Ms. Ray. She continued inching away.

But the officer did look ill. His skin had lost all colour, and his face was gaunt. Please. You have to help me. You have to get help. 

Ms. Ray reached the final stretch toward the front door. The banging stopped. Both she and Graham looked back at the basement door. Rhythmic thumps tumbled down the stairs before a series of three crashes. The officer reached for the handle. Ms. Ray stood frozen in place. He turned the lock, positioning one hand on the upper edge of the door. It opened slightly, getting caught after an inch. Graham pushed harder on the door, and Ms. Ray let out a blood-curdling scream. 

Bugs piled out through the gaps, crawling up the officer’s legs and arms before covering him entirely. Ms. Ray ran for the front door, each step sending sharp shocks through her body. She looked back toward the basement as she reached the handle, but Graham was gone. 

Ms. Ray felt something crawling up the back of her neck, pushing through her hair. She raised a hand, prepared to slap herself clean. That’s when she noticed the bugs. They were everywhere. Not just all over the house. They crept out of her shirt pocket, they climbed her pant legs, she could even feel them wriggling around in her socks. 

Before she could scream, something wet dripped from the ceiling. A slimy green ooze slid down her face. As she looked up, Ms. Ray saw a child sealed tightly within the early stages of a cocoon. To her horror, she realized it was Marie. Ms. Ray hadn’t even heard her come in. The bugs flooded her scalp and covered her face, crawling in her mouth, up her nose, and into her eyes. 

Oh! Oh my god! Marie! Ms. Ray shrieked, her hands clasping against her mouth. Marie’s head remained outside of the cocoon, but she was unresponsive. I’m going to get you down! I’m going to get you down, I promise! 

Ms. Ray scanned the room desperately and noticed a broom propped up in the corner of the kitchen. Bugs scurried up and down the broomstick. She felt the crunch of them under her sandals as she ran. Now, with the broom in hand, Ms. Ray struck the bulge of the cocoon. Nothing. She struck it again before jabbing it directly through the surface, sending Marie’s body crashing to the floor. 

Bugs from the cocoon fell with her, crawling all over her body and underneath her clothes. Ms. Ray grabbed Marie and headed for the back patio door. We’re just going to go for a swim, Marie. It’s going to be fine. With her back against the glass door, Ms. Ray reached for the handle and threw the door open wide. 

She dragged Marie out the door by her arms, feeling her way along the wooden planks of the porch. Ms. Ray picked Marie up, cradling her in her arms before turning to find the pool. 

Mr. and Mrs. Davidson’s typically spotless pool, aside from the occasional leaf once Labour Day approached, was completely covered by a massive spiderweb. The silk, thick as rope, ran in layers upon layers over the water, once blue but now a deep green. In the deep end of the pool, a dark mass inched closer to the surface.