It snuck in the door, buzzing like a chainsaw. The monstrous thing dive-bombed me, hissing a scream as it got closer. I cringed and ducked as it powered toward the kitchen light. I wondered whether the killer insect would sting or bite.
My husband stepped back inside. “There’s a bug in here,” I said, as if commenting on the weather, trying to pretend I hadn’t pondered barricading myself in the closet. “It’s by the light.”
We looked. There was nothing there.
“Eh, it was probably just a moth.”
He would live to regret those words. Ten minutes later, he was swinging a broom wildly through the air as the giant flying bug screamed at him.
The most terrifying screeches filled the air, punctuated with laughter. I had to laugh. It was a ridiculous sight – my husband swinging a broom like a major league baseball player, his eyes wild as he bobbed and weaved.
“It’s… it’s like a giant fly,” he commented as he paused briefly to take a picture (because clearly we needed to be able to share this moment).
“Um. Flies don’t sound like that.”
After several minutes of talented broom-swinging, he finally managed to bat the bug out the back door. It screeched as it tumbled into the darkness. I slammed the door.
We looked at each other.
He set down the broom/weapon. “What was that thing?”
“I told you it wasn’t a moth.” (I had to have my “told you so” moment. I mean really, I know the difference between a measly moth and a screeching, killer bug.)
Turns out it was a cicada. Apparently VA cicadas are very different from the NC cicadas I played with as a kid. I’ve never heard a screech quite like that. It was enough to make an entomologist reconsider his profession. Out of all the bugs I imagined dealing with in our new house, a screeching cicada wasn’t one of them.
Looks like I need to expand my imagination. What’s next? Albino possums? Target-practicing porcupines? Giant, invisible rabbits named Harvey? Nobody knows…