The War

Damned ants! Now they’re in my mailbox of all places.

I’ve been fighting them little buggers for ten years now. Looks like they would have a little mercy, seeing as how I’d turned ninety a few months back—no spring chicken no more, not by a long shot.

I reckon I ought to feel lucky I’d come home from rehab none the worse for wear except for the pins holding my bones together and the cane I used to steady myself. That was what John Lee’d told me a’fore he up and died on me last month. But he weren’t the one that had tripped over the mound of hard dirt those dad-blasted ants had pushed up on the sidewalk, and got his hip busted.

But I didn’t feel lucky, not with ants traipsing all over my back porch, (The blonde-haired woman with black roots what had sold us the place called it a “patio”.) and bunches of ‘em weighing down the trumpet vines I’d planted when John Lee and me had moved in. There hadn’t been no ants—not like the numbers here, leastways—on our little place down by Henshaw Creek. But John Lee and me had been getting too old to keep firewood cut and take care of the cows and garden, and our kids were grown and gone, nowhere around to help out.

“Sell the place and move into town, Mama,” Elizabeth had said on the phone, her voice traveling halfway across the country to reach me.

“You and Daddy get a little place close to town,” Jimmy had said, his voice coming from somewhere in Belgium—can’t remember the name of the town offhand. “That way you’ll be closer to the hospital if one of you gets sick.”

So when John Lee’s heart had gotten so weak he couldn’t help me take care of the cows no more, we finally did what our kids wanted and moved to town. Took a while for us to get used to it, houses jammed together side by side like sardines in a can, cars passing by all hours of the day and night. Why I couldn’t even go out in the yard in just my gown no more. No telling who might get a gander of me. Not that I was anything to look at ‘cause everything had gone south on me more years back than I cared to remember.

But we got used to no privacy. It was the ants I couldn’t abide.

“Just leave ‘em alone, Emmy,” John Lee had told me more times than I had fingers and toes. “Ain’t none coming in the house. They stay outside minding their own business.”

But I couldn’t.

They pushed heaps of dirt up through the cracks in the driveway and around the cement porch. Why, I couldn’t even leave a bowl of food out for Big Girl, our old tabby, without them dirty critters crawling in it.

When I’d seen the first little mounds of soil a bit after me and John Lee had moved in, I’d stirred it with a stick and the ants had come swarming out like Satan himself was hot on their heels. So I bought a spray can of ant killer at Walmart and let ‘em have it.

And that was the beginning of the war.

Along with more cans, I bought bug killer by the gallon and poured it in them pump applicators and wet down all they’d pushed up. I killed ‘em out—or so I’d thought. Yep, every fall I figured I was done with the lot of ‘em, but every spring, they came back, more than the year before.


Earlier in the evening when I’d limped out to the mailbox and opened it, the white envelopes had been peppered with ants. After snatching the mail out and shaking it, I’d peeked inside and seen it was swarming with them little devils. They’d upped the ante.

I’d gone back in the house and rested a bit. Then, just as night was settling in, I got a new can of bug killer from the case in the garage and eased out the side door. Didn’t want ‘em to know I was coming.

I took me a while but I finally made it around front and out to the street. Leaning my cane against my belly, I slowly opened the mailbox. I was gonna fix their little red wagon but good. They’d never know…what…hit…

Something tickled my feet. I looked down, and by the glow of the streetlight, saw my feet and ankles covered in black. And more tiny dark bodies raced along the ground toward me from every direction.

I think I might’ve yelled then, might’ve even taken the Lord’s name in vain. For the first time since me and the ants had gone to war, I was skeert. My cane clattered to the concrete and down I went.


My eyes opened to pitch-black dark. And quiet, lord was it ever quiet. No…a little noise—faint humming.

Where was I? Not in my bed, that was for sure. Too hard to be on a mattress.

I tried to sit up. My forehead smacked something solid, and bits of what-I-didn’t-know sprinkled my face. I couldn’t move my legs. My arms neither. I could move my hands a tad, so I clawed around with my fingers and felt something mushing up under my nails. Was it..?

Then I felt them. All over me. Thousands of little feet. Thousands of little nips on my skin. And I knew.

The heathen bastards had dragged me underground into their colony. More than likely, right up under the concrete slab of my own house. I laughed, but all that came out was a choking sound. Scratchy feet were marching over my tongue, up my nose, and down my throat. My house? Hell, it was their house.

They had won the war.

Photo from Morguefile

26 thoughts on “The War

  1. I wondered where this was going at the halfway point and I thought to myself, this is going to end badly for one party or the other. I like the almost comedic battle against such small things and the twist was really good, isnt she now a queen? Or is that with bees only. Nice work Mary ☺

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It doesn’t matter what topic you choose to delve into, my friend, you do it well. You always bring in an interesting character, with a well-rounded narrative, and a story that draws you in and entertains. Good job.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Woo-Hoo! This one gives me the creeps!! 🙂 Totally love it!!! 😀 Especially the end 🙂
    Anyone ever having had trouble with those little bastards (and I did!) can wholly symphazise with how she set to work against them 😉 Luckily “my” ants were not as resilient as the ones in your story 😉

    Liked by 2 people

    • Up close and personal, they look as if they aren’t of this world. A lot of our creepy-crawlies are the same, appearing more like creatures that belong in an “Alien” movie than an earthly species. Pretty interesting… 😀


  4. I guess she shouldn’t have stirred that stick in their house; she might as well have been stirring the pot! I loved where your story took me — all the way down into the ant hill where there’s no mercy for anyone or anything. Outstanding story in every way (what else is new??). ❤ 🐜

    Liked by 1 person

  5. This was absolutely entertaining, Cathy! It reminded me of some of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes with a lone indivdiual, in isolation, fighting against nature, life, or an alien. Well done! Your stories are great! I’ll say this again: The bonus for me is that you write in my favorite genre. Thanks for these stories.


  6. Oh my gosh, Cathy. I came to visit, saw that ant, and I remembered instantly! This is one of your first stories I ever read. It freaked me out then and it did again, just now. I love these stories. I was hooked from the get-go!
    It’s been so long since I’ve read blogs, so I hadn’t seen your new format-I LOVE the banner photo of that wonderful old house. It fits your writing style and voice to a T ! ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, an old story. I’ve been in the process of moving things from my old blog over to this one, the stories and poems. The personal narratives, I won’t share again.
      I’m glad you like the new look, Scout. I think it fits better also. ❤️

      Liked by 1 person

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