Symposium of the Reaper: Volume 3

By Andrew Adams

Symposium of the Reaper: Volume 3 delivers the final thirteen stories of the trilogy with tales of tantalizing terror. The final collection is bigger, bloodier, and more broken than ever, touching on subjects such as honeybees, serial killer survivors, comic books, and what happens beyond the afterlife. With this final collection, Andrew Adams closes the book on short stories and prepares to take his demented brand of horrific humor further.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350919738

Book preview

xxvii

Home Sweet Honeycomb

"G ood morning, honey, and Happy Mother’s Day! Breakfast is nearly done, and the coffee pot is on. I’ll have a plate ready for you in just a minute. Bacon and eggs, your favorite."

Good morning and thank you. It smells delicious, all of it.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! her son and daughter wish in unison.

Thank you, both of you, and good morning. Brenda pulls up a chair to the kitchen table where her two teenage children warm up their appetites with bowls of cereal. Are you sure you want to be eating right now while your father makes us a delicious breakfast?

Don’t worry, Mom, Jeremy grins with a mouth full of food, we’re always hungry.

I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse, Penelope follows.

How did you know I was cooking horse for breakfast? Lucky you, Peter jokes. Brenda smirks as their kids grimace at the implication. She watches her husband cook masterfully, something she has always loved about him, although there hasn’t been much time for it recently as he has been away for work more often than not. So, Brenda, what would you like to do today?

After we eat our lovely breakfast, of course, I just need to water my plants this morning and then I am open after that. Something relaxing, for sure.

Peter turns to steal a look at his wife, knowing she must be absolutely drained. Night after night, she stays up long after the rest of the family to work on becoming a professor at their local college. After years of staying home with babies and raising children, taking them to school and ensuring homework was completed correctly each night, Brenda decided to pursue her lifelong passion for botany. Peter had been encouraging her to make this move, though it wasn’t until both kids reached a certain age that she felt somewhat comfortable stepping outside the all-encompassing role of being a mother.

Absolutely, whatever you want. It’s your day, after all.

Whatever. Don’t be a kiss ass now just because your day is coming up next month, Brenda fires with her signature wit. Peter blushes as Jeremy and Penelope giggle. I’m kidding, your breakfast is plenty. We have certainly missed it recently, right kids?

Penelope nods while Jeremy holds up a finger as he chomps a fresh mouthful of cereal. Yes, but we are hardly kids anymore, Mom.

Oh, hush, you know what I mean. Besides the point, what kind of grownup eats that big a bowl of cereal? No matter how old you get, you will both always be my kids.

You’re the biggest momma’s boy around, anyway, Penelope mocks as she chomps. Jeremy tries to kick her under the table but smacks his shin on her chair leg instead. She laughs at him silently as he suffers in pain.

Breakfast is served, Brenda. Bacon and eggs with a large, lightly creamed coffee just how you like it. Bon appétit.

You’re not going to serve us, Dad? Jeremy complains.

I’ll tell you what, I will serve you on Mother’s Day as soon as you become a mother. Until then, you’re on your own, big man. Peter walks back toward the counter and pats Jeremy on the head as he passes with a smile.

Both teenagers rise begrudgingly, slowly scooting their chairs backwards across the floor as they walk to make their own breakfast plates. Brenda stifles a smirk with a bite of eggs and a fist clenching her fork. This is wonderful, Peter, thank you. What a fantastic start to the day.

I’m glad you like it, he responds, sitting down with a plate and coffee for himself. Although there will be more gifts scattered throughout the day. This is only the beginning, right kids?

Right, they both drone in return over the clinking of the spatula against a cast iron pan. Peter silently snickers to Brenda as the children serve themselves.

Really, I don’t need anything else today, although I would like to step outside after breakfast for a…S-M-O-K-E, she spells.

I’m seventeen now, Mom. You know that, right? I know how to spell, Jeremy quips as he sits down next to Peter.

We know how to read too, Penelope adds.

You do?! Well, I’m glad to hear that because smoking is B-A-D for you, and you shouldn’t ever S-T-A-R-T.

We won’t, but then why did you start smoking in the first place? And if it’s so bad, when are you going to quit? Penelope pries.

I started for…reasons. Cigarettes used to be much more acceptable than they are now, and nobody gave me this speech. So, here I am telling you now, don’t ever smoke. Also, just so you know, I am working on quitting now, but things have been stressful with school lately and that makes it much more difficult to stop cold turkey.

Why? Jeremy asks.

Because quitting causes even more stress and it might turn me into a real-life monster. You don’t want that, do you?

Uh, no, I don’t think so, Penelope mumbles as she munches on bacon and eggs.

Good, then there is important work to do so I don’t transform into a beast. In other words, I will be outside for a few minutes.

Okay, honey. Take your time, Peter wishes with glee as the two teens eat voraciously.

Brenda excuses herself awkwardly and walks through the back door to their covered patio. The ideal smoking spot with her comfortable lawn chair in a position where the sun can never quite reach; she has spent years’ worth of time in this corner enjoying her only true vice, these tiny filtered white demon sticks.

Her thoughts immediately spring to quitting and how difficult that will be, as well as how much she will miss the ritual of sitting in this spot. Why can’t she still sit here? Though, then again, why should she? That will only offer temptation, which almost exclusively leads to failure. No use worrying about that hurdle quite yet, she advises herself. Brenda leans over to the small table where she typically stores an open pack of cigarettes and lighter, though this time there is a honey bee crawling atop the small cardboard box.

Brenda recoils, pulling her hand away sharply to avoid being stung, having always had a somewhat irrational fear of them. The bee takes a few steps around the translucent plastic wrapper while its antennae feel through the air. A shiver begins to emanate from her core and she tries to hold it in, yet ultimately loses. The gloriously saturated stripes of black and amber shining so brightly with a brilliance that is both terrifying and enthralling to her eyes. She had always thought of bees as black and yellow before, though staring up close, the stripes are clearly more a shade of orange like, well…honey. Makes perfect sense for a honey bee, she thinks regretfully.

The itch of nicotine withdrawal battles with her fear of bees to decide which one will win, or rather lose, first. Brenda’s hand quivers as she slowly reaches for a cigarette…inching forward and fighting every instinct to run…when thankfully the bee flies away of its own accord. With a deep sigh of relief, she releases the oxygen from her lungs and immediately refills them with lovely tobacco smoke to lift herself high above the soil beneath. Life is lovely and suddenly nothing seems hard to complete anymore. The medicinal ritual is now satisfied once again for as long as she will be able to abstain.

Peter, go sit down and let me do the dishes. You’ve done enough already this morning.

"It’s Mother’s Day, I’m doing them. You go sit down," he snarks, clearly having fun with his role today.

Are you sure? I really don’t mind.

Neither do I. Dishes aren’t only your job anyway, you know?

Yes, but…well, thank you, I’m not going to argue. Brenda sits at the table to see her coffee has mysteriously refilled itself while she was outside, and happily obliges the impulse. Oh, I also saw a big honey bee outside on my table, so keep an eye on them while you are out there, would you? We might need to buy a can of spray if any more show up.

You aren’t supposed to kill bees, Peter admonishes.

Why not? Do you want to be stung?

Not necessarily, but they help pollinate plants and make us honey too.

Well? Let’s at least watch and make sure there isn’t a nest close by that could cause problems, Brenda shivers at the thought.

Hive.

What?

A hive, that what bees live in. It’s called a beehive, he retorts.

Whatever it is, we need to keep them away from the house. I was stung once as a kid and it was no fun at all. Left me quite traumatized for a while, actually.

Better than wasps, at least. Once you end up with an infestation of those, then you’ve got real trouble.

Brenda glares at him with a death stare. You’re undermining me again.

What? I’m just saying, bees aren’t dangerous. They sit across from one another uncomfortably as she continues to burn holes in his face with her eyes. Fine, I’ll go check right now if it makes you feel better.

Thanks, Peter, you’re a dear, she mocks.

He rises from the kitchen table with a sigh and saunters outside to check for bees. Looking around Brenda’s smoking area, nothing seems explicitly out of place, let alone the sudden presence of a killer beehive. He does notice the pack of cigarettes to be nearly empty again, and several butts are burnt in the ash tray. She must be more stressed than usual to be smoking this much again, Peter thinks to himself. All seems to be well otherwise.

I didn’t see anything out there, he shrugs upon returning to the kitchen.

Maybe it was just a stray bee that got away from its family? The thought of the creature crawling around the cigarettes makes her shiver, and yet she smoked it anyway. Disgusting.

Could be. Probably not a big deal, but I will keep an eye on the situation, Captain.

Don’t be a smartass to me on Mother’s Day. Please, just one day off, Brenda groans.

That was my other gift to you, sharing my presence.

That’s quite alright; you can return that one. I’m going to go lay down for a while longer, okay? That’s the only other present I want.

Everything alright? Peter asks in earnest.

Yes, I would just like to relax a bit longer is all, then we can do something fun later together as a family.

Brenda returns to bed and kicks her shoes off to lie comfortably and reap the benefits of her own holiday after she began to feel a bit faint downstairs thinking about the bee and a possible infestation on their property. Unfortunately, Peter could never understand why it would be so upsetting for a long-time homemaker to feel as if the sanctuary she has curated for their family has been violated. Although being perfectly honest with herself, making a big deal over finding a single bee in the backyard might be a tad dramatic. She has been known to ruminate over her fears, which is not necessarily Peter’s fault, no matter how much fun it is to blame him for things.

With each year that passes, quiet relaxation becomes a treasured commodity of its own. So much chaos in their day-to-day lives, and countless holidays that didn’t truly feel special with babies and young children requiring constant attention. Goodness, she will be turning forty this summer. It is time to relax and enjoy herself at long last after years of putting everyone else’s needs first. Their bed could be a bit more comfortable, although there is familiarity in the discomfort. Yet another sacrifice made for the good of the children, as endless expenses popped up that always took precedence over buying a new bed. Now might be as good a time as any to spring for that nice mattress. She smiles thinking to herself about the disfunction of family life and how much goes wrong on a daily basis, yet they find rhythm in it regardless. There really doesn’t seem to be any other way.

Just as Brenda is about to fall into a light snooze, something small hits the windowpane with a clink. She leaps from the bed in a fright and tries to make sense of everything swirling around inside her head. She opens the window curtains to see the underside of a honey bee on the glass.

PETER!

He bursts through the door vigilantly with a pale face. What’s wrong?!

There’s another bee outside the window! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have screamed like that, but it scared the daylights out of me.

He stares for a moment in bewilderment before waltzing to the window and looking through it. This window?

Yes, on the outside.

There was a bee crawling on the outside of this window?

Yes, Peter. There was a bee on the outside of that window when I opened the curtains. It flew into the glass and scared the hell out of me while I was lying down, she grumbles.

I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but there’s nothing here, Brenda. I don’t see a bee or anything else out there. Is it possible that it was the same one you saw earlier?

Yes, well…I suppose I don’t have any real way of knowing. It very well could be.

Don’t take this the wrong way, Brenda, but you seem to be under a ton of stress recently. That’s why I wanted today to be special for you, Peter sighs.

Thank you, and you have done a great job. Best Mother’s Day in a while. I guess some things just don’t go away so quickly…believe me, I wish I could instantly relax whenever I like, but I’m not like you.

Wow, shots fired.

Well, it’s true, she laughs. You don’t worry about anything, ever.

How can I when you have already worried about everything? Brenda shoots daggers at him as his smile fades. Just a joke, don’t kill me.

Don’t make me. I think my relaxation time is over, I’ll be down in a few minutes.

Take your time. I need to finish cleaning up the kitchen right now anyway, then we can do whatever you want for the rest of the day, Peter grins and walks away but stops at the door. Do you need anything?

Another cup of coffee would be lovely.

Coming right up.

Brenda massages her temples and relents her defenses into the awareness that she has indeed put herself through a tremendous amount of unnecessary stress recently. Perhaps a bit of sunshine and fresh spring air might do the trick today. She returns to the kitchen and grabs the hot coffee, making sure to thank Peter for his effort, then walks outside once more to grab her chair and move it into the sun.

Today is Mother’s Day after all, she thinks, her very own holiday and she deserves to treat herself to another cigarette with coffee. Grabbing the pack of smokes with a final shudder and feeling as if the bee is crawling beneath her hand, she silences the invasive thoughts and settles into her chair. Removing the last cigarette from the pack, Brenda attempts to light it, although with a bit of trouble as if the paper is wet. The tobacco within repels the flame at first before ultimately igniting and delivering her the burning breath of relief she has been craving. A note of sweetness coats her throat, something uncharacteristic of the traditionally earthy flavor associated with the leaves. It is not unpleasant, but unexpected, and offers an interesting new perspective on something she has enjoyed for so long.

Brenda adjusts her fingers on the cigarette and feels resistance holding them together with something sticky coating the paper. She inspects it closer to reveal jagged auburn streaks and immediately begins to cough her lungs out and nearly gags, realizing she has been inhaling honey left behind from the bee earlier.

Brenda? Everything okay out here? Peter asks, poking his head out the back door.

That fuc- ahem, the bee that I saw out here earlier got into my last cigarette and left honey all over it. I’ve been out here smoking honey.

People eat honey, though, right? Not like its poison.

How would you feel if a cow walked by and left milk inside your glass?

Peter pauses before answering and begins to laugh at the comparison. I’m sure it would taste odd, but I think the funniest part is imagining a cow milking itself for that to happen.

You think this is funny?

Do I think it’s funny that you smoked honey? No, but I think your fear of bees might be making you perceive this as something worse than it actually is. Think about this for a second, Brenda…where does honey come from?

I don’t care, still disgusting, she grimaces. How would you feel if you found a spider in your food?

I would have to burn the house down.

I know you would, drama queen.

Hey, I’m going to go in and make us a snack. I went to the store and got you some honeydew melon and honey buns, Peter smirks.

I’m going to fight you, that’s what I’m going to do.

Not on Mother’s Day! Think about what you want to do today, yeah? The kids are asking.

I’m low maintenance, Peter. They don’t have to sit around all day waiting on me, she shrugs.

"I know, but they want to. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Jeremy will be eighteen this year and I think it is hitting him particularly hard how little time he has left to be a child. I mean, Jesus, can you believe he’s graduating next month?"

No, but he will always be my child no matter what number he is.

"Of course,