When they describe cockroaches as ‘three-inch monsters’ it’s time to leave the state
Image by Flickr user Greg Virtucio by way of a Creative Commons license. https://www.flickr.com/photos/gregvirtucio/
I opened into my personal computer file the other day and there, at the top of the list, was a short story with a message especially for me written above it. The message read: “Good news, Del.” A little farther down was written: “Del, I just knew this would make your day.” Tom Conner, our state editor, had left it for me.
The story was about the Cuban Death’s Head Cockroach. To quote The Associated Press: “The Cuban Death’s Head Cockroach, a three-inch, thumb-sized monster, has migrated from its native Caribbean to South Florida.”
That’s just great.
The story went on to say most of the 2,000 species of roaches already live in Florida, but the new roach claims all prizes for size.
Wonderful news. Clint Eastwood couldn’t have done as much to make my day.
You are reading the words of an adult male who is mortally terrified of cockroaches. I will let snakes crawl up the sleeves of my short, pick up insects of all description, touch assorted creatures slimy and horrible, but I cannot stand the thought of a roach coming near me, the thought of breathing the same air as a “three-inch, thumb-sized monster.” The minute bug experts begin describing new cockroaches with hyphenated words, you may look for me booking it to the next county.
Del turned on the light and something moved.
I have heard horror stories about cockroaches, and I have my own to tell, but none has ever involved a “three-inch monster,” though I would say some looked a strapping 6 feet in the paralyzingly dispassionate aspect of midnight.
Consider:
– A roach somehow gained entry to a sealed envelope and was mailed from Washington, D.C. to somewhere like Nebraska; I am certain the person who opened the letter must have had all of his suspicions about bureaucracy forever confirmed.
Mom vs. the snake around her neck.
– I once covered a town commission meeting that I thought would never end – until a giant Cro-Magnon roach scurried across the wall behind the commissioners. The place emptied in about 30 seconds. And I was the first one out.
– I was at a party when a palmetto bug – not a roach but about as close a relative to a roach as, say, a rat is to a squirrel – crawled across the ceiling above the food table. Our considerate hostess swatted it and that was that, until the next day when she informed me she had found a leg the size of a well-fed mastodon’s in the French onion dip. Had I eaten any of that?
Wild Kingdom at the golf course.
– Once, as I stepped into our outdoor utility room, a roach dropped from the ceiling, slipped down the sleeve of my tank top, crawled across my ribcage and, unbeknownst of me, dropped out of my shirt and vanished to parts unknown. When they found me, I had eaten myself into a coma.
– I was riding in a car when the driver suddenly shrieked and nearly ran us through a telephone pole. A roach, she screamed, had crawled across her foot. Then I screamed. One would have thought a swarm of killer bees had moved into the glove compartment, we were out of that car so fast.
– My premier roach story involves former Daily News reporter Steve Chew. One unforgettable Sunday night, Chew found a very large, very dead cockroach on the floor in our backshop. He appropriated said cockroach and hid it beneath my keychain in a way that I could not see it. As we got ready to leave, I reached across my desk and picked up the keychain. Perversely, the roach’s rigor-mortic leg hooked on my thumb. I raised my hand and the nightmarish thing dangled from it, penduluming back and forth, a torment to me even in death. A bolt of pure fright shot up my spine and I threw down the keys, strangling on a scream I couldn’t get to come out. Chew was paralyzed with laughter.
“Three-inch monsters” invading South Florida, eh. Something tells me my days in this state are numbered.
This column was originally published in the Playground Daily News in 1983 (est.) and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .