In the diverse landscapes of America, from Minnesota's heartland to Chicago's bustling streets, Joseph A. Sackett's early years unfurled. But it was his two-decade-long journey in the military's special operations that profoundly shaped him. Within these years, he witnessed humanity's darker shades, glimpsing the fragility beneath society's facade, understanding how swiftly it could crumble to its knees.
Joseph's writing is an extension of this fascination, a canvas where he paints the vulnerability and resilience of mankind. He draws from his experiences, crafting narratives that reveal society's weaknesses and the indomitable spirit that arises in response.
You can read more from Joseph right HERE.
THE MANTIS ENIGMA
by
Joseph Sackett
Jack and Eliza, hand in hand, stood before the Victorian house, their hearts thrumming with a mix of excitement and suspicion. The grandeur of the gabled roofs and wraparound porch was a stark contrast to the price – absurdly low, but that’s exactly what brought them there.
"Can you believe it, Jack? It's just like the storybooks," Eliza breathed, her voice a cocktail of wonder and disbelief.
Jack, ever the skeptic, allowed a rare grin. “I mean it’s incredible, Liz. But what's the catch?" His eyes scanned the facade, searching for flaws.
Mr. Hawkins, the real estate agent, was waiting. His smile was cordial, yet his eyes held a different story. "Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, what a pleasure. Shall we?"
The door creaked open to reveal a shadow-draped foyer. "Why so cheap?" Jack stated with concern.
"The owner was eager to sell," Mr. Hawkins replied, a twitch in his smile. "Old houses have quirks, but nothing serious."
The tour was a parade of charms: crown moldings, stained glass, an expansive backyard. Doubts receded like the tide, and dreams flooded in.
In the kitchen, Jack embraced Eliza. "Shall we take the plunge?"
"It feels like our home," she whispered.
Jack couldn’t have agreed more and they signed the papers the next day, blind to the shadows that scurried away from their footsteps.
The first weeks were blissful, a honeymoon with their home. But as days slipped by, so did their comfort. Ants marched in the kitchen, spiders weaved nightmares in corners, and silverfish turned the basement into a writhing canvas.
The night brought a new terror: the sound of skittering within the walls, a symphony of unseen legs. "Jack, do you hear that?" Eliza's voice threaded with fear.
Jack listened, the scratching noises. "They're everywhere, Liz. In the floors, the ceilings. I can't take it."
Pest control was eventually summoned, their efforts futile against the relentless insects. Sleep became a stranger, and the house, a tightening vise.
"This isn't normal, Jack," Eliza said one night as beetles glittered like dark jewels in the pantry.
"I'll fix it Eliza,” Jack promised, a vow filled with desperation. "Tomorrow, I'm going to find where they're coming from. I'll tear down every damn last last board if that's what it takes!"
Morning found the couple gaunt and hollow-eyed from lack of sleep and there was a tangible tension between them as they moved through their daily rituals. Their conversations, once filled with plans and laughter, had dwindled to tense exchanges.
”Maybe we should just leave," Eliza suggested, the words spilling out of her like a confession. "This house... it's not worth our sanity.”
"And go where?" Jack's response was sharp. "We sunk everything into this place. I'm not going to let some bugs chase us out. We have to figure this shit out, Liz.”
As the infestation burrowed deeper into their lives, Jack's patience finally gave in. He grabbed a hammer and started whaling at the living room wall like a man possessed. Wood splintered and Jack could tell something was off. Jack could tell the something had been covered up. Behind the drywall were panels. Jack tugged at each one until the final panel came loose, revealing darkness beyond. The air that wafted out was stale and carried a hint of decay, a scent that spoke of long-kept secrets. They stood together, breathless, peering into the void. Then, movement—a stream of insects emerged, a living, writhing mass that seemed to beckon them deeper into the bowels of their cursed sanctuary.
"This is it," Jack said, a manic gleam in his eyes. "This is where it all leads.”
Jack’s mind was racing as he took the first tentative step into the hidden corridor. The walls were lined with old, peeling wallpaper that whispered of a bygone era. With each step, the skittering of insects grew louder.
Hand in hand, they followed the trail, each step a descent into the unknown.
Jack and Eliza ventured into the passage, their hearts pounding in sync. At its end, a swollen door guarded a room heavy with secrets. The insects swarmed here, funneling into a crack that ran along the frame like a vein. Jack slowly opened the door. The flashlight's beam trembled in Jack's hand as it revealed the room's contents. There, in the claustrophobic space, were bodies—several of them, each in varying states of decay. The insects had claimed this charnel house as their domain, their bodies moving over the corpses in a grotesque dance of life feeding on death.
Eliza gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes reflecting the horror that sprawled before them. "Oh, God, Jack, what is this?”
"I don't know," he replied, his voice filled with fear.
The forgotten room, a tomb within their home, held the remains of unknown souls, their stories etched into the very walls that had hidden them. The insects had been the keepers of this secret. Jack and Eliza clung to each other, their dream now a living nightmare.
In the center of the room, a table bore a box of photographs. Eliza's breath hitched as she picked up a photo, her fingers brushing over the glossy surface. In it, the figures were bound, their forms restrained in the very room that now entombed them. And there, among the images of despair, was a face they knew—a face that had smiled at them. It was Mr. Hawkins, the real estate agent, his face twisted in perverse delight.
Eliza's sob was a knife in the silence. "That's him, Jack. The man from the agency."
Jack's skin went pale as Mr. Hawkins' voice slithered into the room. "Looks like you found my playroom."
They rotated on their heels, and there he loomed. The house, once the vessel of their dreams, had ensnared them as effortlessly as a praying mantis clutches an unsuspecting insect in its lethal embrace. Jack and Eliza, naive and hopeful, now caught in the raptorial grasp of their predator's design.