Gray Angels

Off With Their Heads!

She hastened through her chores so she could build the gliders’ dinners before Daimon woke up at four-thirty. Didn’t he know it was still light out? Pleased with the nice big mealworms, she put a handful into a heavy-bottomed glass bowl, set out some apple slices and a bowl of supplement, and left while her fur-family was still asleep, satisfied that they could survive on hors d’oeuvres until she finished their buffet.

Half an hour later, she re-entered their domain to find them all awake. Gleefully the twins threw themselves onto her, clicking madly and sticking like burrs until she offered her hand. Accustomed to this routine, they both climbed on, as she sat crosslegged on the floor and held the bowl of supplement up for them to drink.

“Oh, no,” she said in dismay. “Didn’t I tell you not to knock over the mealworms?” She smooched Daimon on the stomach in a reproof that went entirely uncomprehended, then started collecting the escapees back into the bowl.

Darcy came hopping over to investigate, and she halted the proceedings to pick him up in both hands and stare into his eyes. “I love you,” she whispered, and kissed his bald spot. She set him on her knee and finished catching the crawly tan mealworms.

Darcy loved when his companion held him in her hands. He relaxed and lay there, holding her thumbs with both hands, and gazed into her eyes. I love you too. When she put him on her knee, he sat for a moment before hopping down to help her with the mealworms. He didn’t want any, but watched what she was doing with interest; why did she pick up some but not others? She wasn’t just big and odd-looking; sometimes she was downright incomprehensible. Darcy mentally shook his head and hopped off.

Later, Donna read the funnies as her furry family began to sort out who was napping where. Elva claimed the slipper pouch, so Darcy followed her. The twins jostled each other inside Donna’s T-shirt. Daimon crabbed briefly, then they settled down and went to sleep. Finishing the paper, Donna reached for her book, careful not to wake the precious sleepers, and read.

When they awoke, it was instant mayhem. All four gliders went completely berserk. Even the normally placid and level-headed Lord Darcy was skittering around jerkily, his tail snaking with anxiety. The twins were nothing short of psychotic. They leaped and climbed frantically, as if trying to get away from something.

Donna caught them, one by one, and held onto the uncharacteristically struggling gliders until she assured herself that they were all unhurt (getting nipped by Elva for her concern.) They all appeared intact and unharmed, so what then was the problem? They acted terrified of each other, herself, and even the floor and furnishings which she hadn’t changed in days. In fact, the only new things tonight were the mealworms, and a kiwi fruit.

She watched closer, trying to see what was wrong, but the utter chaos precluded any useful observations. Frowning, becoming seriously worried, she tried to think. There was no one item of food that all four had eaten; Darcy ate some yogurt, blueberry syrup, chicken and sunflower seeds, while Elva and the twins drank supplement and ate mealworms. If the kerosene heater were to blame, why hadn’t Darcy succumbed last winter? Perhaps (now she was really grasping) a piece of firewood had been moldy, and burned producing fumes that were toxic to gliders but not to her? She cautiously crept out of the enclosure, because now they were running away from her, not toward her, and she was afraid they might leap out and she’d never catch them in their current state of terror--not even Darcy.

Safely out, she checked on Hotspur, who lived alone across the cabin, much closer to the woodstove. He was fine, and acted perfectly normal--so fumes were out.

Was there an odd sound outside? She pulled her boots on and tromped out into the starlit snow. The horse had pattered about in the fresh drifts, but surely the gliders were accustomed to that. The cat was curled up asleep on her crocheted mat, temporarily inoffensive. No owl hooted. The woods were silent and still, without a whisper of wind.

Now that she thought about it, the night of the ice storm a month or so ago, dozens of fifty-foot pines had snapped and crashed, but the gliders had given no sign that they were aware of the destruction being wrought around the tiny cabin. Baffled, Donna stomped the snow off her boots and went back inside, hoping they might simply get over whatever it was.

They were just as frenzied with fear as when she’d left them. As a last-ditch idea, she took a quick bath and changed into a clean sweatsuit and socks before going back in.

No dice. They were still afraid of her, and of everything. What had even her usually moodless Darcy in such a crazy mood? Sick with worry, Donna held the twins in her shirt and worried, no closer to solving the mystery.

Around four, all four gliders got up again and renewed their crazy climbing and leaping. She couldn’t shake the idea that they were trying to get away from something--but what? They were running in all directions.

Sheer exhaustion and the coming dawn finally got Elva and Pixie into the wooden hut on top of the milk crate--they refused to even consider the slipper pouch they normally revelled in. Daimon disappeared down Donna’s shirt, and she cradled him in her hand, cherishing the feel of his warm and tiny self.

Darcy, as usual, remained up long after the others went to sleep, and without the distraction of his cherished Elf and children leaping and climbing madly about, he set about defending his territory. Warily he stalked the closest frightening sound, dancing nervously back and forth but moving forward inch by inch. Flattening himself on his belly, Darcy resolutely crept closer to the white afghan that was folded and placed along the back wall of the enclosure against the chill.

He felt his human following close behind. She was supposed to protect them, but she had been careless, and now it was up to Darcy to stave off the invaders and keep his family safe. Fearful but determined, Darcy poked his pink nose beneath the woollen afghan, skittering hastily backwards when he encountered the cold chitinous touch of one of Them.

He collided with Donna’s hand, and she immediately scooped him up and cupped him reassuringly, then she set him down and very slowly lifted the edge of the white afghan, peering beneath with a flashlight.

“WOW,” Donna said in stunned disgust.

A dozen or more big mealworms crawled in confusion in the sudden light. Quickly she picked them up and put them in the bowl. Mealworms gave her the creeps on a good day, and the idea of these particularly large specimens loose--she shuddered, then frantically ripped apart the entire enclosure, finding dozens more. Scrutinizing everything minutely before putting it back, she even found several inside the well-loved slipper pouch, which explained Elva’s reluctance to sleep there for the day.

Why hadn’t her little insectivore friends simply eaten the bugs? Maybe these were too big, or maybe the sound of the hordes of them creeping about in the dark had unnerved her family. The mere thought of it sure unnerved her.

Then she grinned. Awhile ago, so