A Shoot In The Dark

By Noah Litle

Miles—scarab beetle and humble photojournalist—strained to listen. He glanced at the surrounding trees, spectral colossi in the moonlight. A fallen log sat rotting, just ahead.

“I don’t hear anything.”

Calvin—atlas beetle and journalist—stood stock still. His three horns curved upward in a graceful silhouette against the dark horizon. “Shh. It’s very faint,” Calvin whispered.

An owl hooted in the shadowy branches above. A wolf howled in the distant hills. Miles shuddered. He hated that everything was bigger than him.

Then he heard it. A trill of clicks. And then another.

“There it is again. This must be the nest. The larvae make that tapping sound in the dead wood.” Calvin glanced at him. “Deathwatch beetles.”

Miles caught his breath. “As in…”

Calvin grinned, nodding. “The Deathwatch Murders.”

Miles’s back prickled with the prospect of unseen eyes. But there were only trees behind him. Trees that towered above, the space between them mottled with moonlight and shadow. The murderer could be behind any one of them. “You know, I think we should go back. It’s too dark to get a good shot anyway.”

Calvin wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Look. If I have a picture with this story, I can make the front page. But I’ll let you decide if you want to leave. I’m staying. Someone has to get the scoop.”

The thought of backtracking through the woods all alone was more frightening than facing the Deathwatch Murderer with Calvin.

Miles swallowed his fear—or tried to. “I’ll set up the flash.”

“Thanks. But keep silent.” Calvin continued to watch their surroundings.

Miles crept over to a tree to set up his tripods. One for the camera and one for the flash.

Getting them ready was easy, but rustling through the leaves was inevitable as he struggled to find his equipment in the dark. The tripods rattled with incessant clicks and clacks as he put everything in its place—all the while trying not to imagine what or where the Deathwatch Murderer was. His claws shook as he poured the flash powder, forcing him to stop, take a deep breath, and try again. He couldn’t have this blow up in his face. He didn’t want to be that beetle in the headline.

He stepped back to survey his work. “It’s ready.” He turned to look at Calvin.

But Calvin wasn’t there.

“Calvin?” He spoke a little louder.

A rustling from the left drew his attention.

“Calvin? Is that you?” He didn’t even try to whisper this time, and his voice quivered.

A giant, tri-horned devil stepped out from behind the tree.

Miles stumbled back, falling to the ground. “It’s the murderer! Don’t kill me, please!”

The devil grabbed him by his waistcoat and pulled him upright. “Shh! It’s me, you idiot.” Calvin’s features clarified as Miles stopped thrashing. Calvin released him roughly. “Well, we lost the element of surprise.”

“Oh.” Miles tugged at his ruffled clothes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said a hollow voice near the fallen log.

Miles and Calvin turned. Miles’s heart hammered.

“I’m glad you came. I’ve been wanting to kill something bigger than a deathwatch.”

Calvin stepped toward the fallen tree, slipping out a concealed pistol.

Miles sighed in relief. At least one of them was armed.

“Well, you’ve got your hands full with me.” Calvin glanced behind and whispered harshly, “Get ready to take the picture.”

Miles jumped into action, which at this point meant stepping behind the camera.

A shadowy figure climbed to the top of the log. He was about half as tall as Calvin—which wasn’t saying much. Most beetles were.

He jumped to the ground, staying in the shadow.

“Who are you?” Calvin asked, his gun held loosely at his side.

The figure stepped into the moonlight, revealing his hideous form. A stag beetle. His huge head and mouthparts jerked as he looked up at Calvin. “I used to be called Dorian.” A knife flashed in his claw. “They call me the Deathwatch Killer now.”

Calvin raised his gun. “Don’t make another move. We’re surrounded by police. Set the knife down gently and put your claws in the air.”

Miles stared, helpless. Calvin was bluffing. He had to be.

Dorian scoffed. “As if I’m afraid of a few Coprini beetles. You think those tiny things can hurt me? Really?”

“Well, a bullet is pretty tiny, and I’ve got one aimed at your giant head right now. Do you want to find out what it can do?”

Dorian let out a growl and threw the knife into the ground. “I’ll get my revenge for this.”

“Yeah, sure.” Calvin nodded to Miles. “Snap the picture.”

Miles lined up his shot and pulled the cord.

The flash popped, illuminating everything for a split-second. Calvin, motionless, pointing the gun at Dorian, who stood with his claws up.

Then, pitch black.

There was a heavy thump, and leaves rustled.

Miles squinted to see through the sunspots but could only make out the motion of the two beetles fighting.

Then there was another flash with a deafening bang, this from the muzzle of Calvin’s gun. The explosion shot like lightning into the canopy above.

Great. Now I’m blind and deaf.

His blindness was pierced by stars appearing in the trees all around. No. Not stars: flashlights. Police, in the hundreds, surrounded them.

Miles laughed. Calvin hadn’t been bluffing after all.

The police moved in and pried Calvin and Dorian apart.

As they cuffed the murderer, Calvin made his way over to Miles.

“That was quite the episode,” he said as he leaned against the tree to catch his breath.

“You’re telling me.” Miles couldn’t stop smiling. “Why didn’t you just let the police handle it?”

Calvin blew a raspberry. “Because I wanted a picture.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Noah Litle, as a writer, is best described as a reluctant wordsmith. His real passion is for stories and story analysis. He likes rainy days, hanging out with his friends and family, and analyzing his favorite movies. His dream is to glorify his Creator through glorious art, and practices doing so through arranging music, creating with Legos, designing the occasional origami model, and of course, writing stories.

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