On a bitterly cold March night I made my way to my good friend Jack Burton's house to partake in an evening of PlayStation, Match of the Day and a late night fight between David Haye and a Welshman with a unpronounceable name, and as it happens, a glass jaw. The short pugilistic bout was over inside two rounds. At around 2.30am I concluded it was time for bed and promptly booked a taxi to chauffeur me back to my humble abode.
On arrival everything went according to plan. I double locked the door behind me, fetched myself a drink and floated upstairs looking forward to resting my tired bones. However, the moment my head hit the pillow the plan took an unexpected turn. My state of relaxation was interrupted by a noise. At first I just thought it was coming from outside but on closer audio inspection I realised it was my letterbox.
Holy shit!
Why on earth is someone using/tampering with my letterbox at 3 o'clock in the morning?
My initial panic was multiplied by the fact that this was a rare night where I was home alone. My housemates Alan and Tom were living it up on the slopes of Whistler and my girlfriend at the time Alex was staying at her halls of residence. The clattering of the metal hinge intensified and I had no choice but to take action.
What do I do I repeated in my head. I know, I'll turn some lights on! That will make them go away. I slowly edged out of my room and switched the landing light on. Still the clapping of the letterbox continued. I stood at the top of the stairs in only a pair of boxers, shivering, and once again found myself thinking the worst. Are they trying to get in? What happens if they get in? Am i going to die?
It's alright I deduced, I have a cricket bat in my room . I retrieved the bat from next to my drawer, picked up my phone as well and returned to the top of the stairs. My heart was pounding, my body shaking and I was, for want of a better phrase, shitting myself.
I flicked the downstairs hall light on and off a few times and all of a sudden the racket disappeared. I hesitated for a few seconds before making my way down to the front door. By standing where I was on the stairs my view of the door had been completely obscured so I had no idea what had taken place. When my head dipped under the ceiling and I saw what was in front me I was flabbergasted. My eyes were wide like frying pans and the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention as I comprehended the reality of it all.
The first thing I recall was seeing that the letterbox was wedged open with a bit of cardboard. And then I looked down...
In the hallway were around a dozen disgusting looking creepy crawlies. Some lunatic had posted some fucking insects through my door at 3 o'clock in the morning! What the Bejesus is wrong with the world!?
Most of them looked like cockroaches but there was also a few I didn't recognise. I later discovered they were locusts. Here are some images of the little buggers.
(These are not to scale. Though in my mind they will always be obscenely huge. Also, while searching for these pictures I was nearly physically sick)
I WAS SCARED. I was positively freaked out. I needed to speak someone. I was cold, semi naked and alone. My masculinity went out of the window for the time being. It's too late to phone my Mum I concluded so rang up Alex who said she would be over shortly. As I waited for her I got to work disposing of my new housemates. My weapon of choice was my sturdy golf umbrella that featured a slightly pointed tip, perfect. I impaled, crushed, squashed and pulverised the miniature nightmares until they lay motionless on the laminate floor. Job done. Or so I thought...
Still feeling nervy, I decided to call the non-emergency Police number and explain to them what had happened. The kind lady on the other end of the receiver said she had never EVER heard of any story like it and reassured me that any officers in the neighbourhood would drive around and see if anyone suspicious was lurking in the area. She also asked if I had any enemies, or done something to anyone that might have warranted such a backlash. Unsurprisingly, nothing came to mind!
Knowing Alex's arrival was imminent, and confident that my bug loving adversary had long scarpered, I put some clothes on and decided to head outside to see if I could see her walking towards the house. I hoped it would cure any anxiety still festering within. Then I opened the door...
In the doorway was an empty plastic container, sand scattered around and approximately forty or so more of the tiny beasts. I practically leapt out of my skin. What the bloody hell is going on?
I can't kill all of these with my umbrella!
I could see Alex approaching and as she got nearer I shouted and warned her of the impending danger. She took one look at the insects and joined me in looks of astonishment whilst throwing in some hysteria of her own for good measure. It took me five minutes to persuade Alex to take a leap of faith over the bugs and into the hallway where I promised her that all the bugs inside had been sadistically dealt with. Once inside we agreed to go straight to bed as it was 4am, and contend with the problem in the morning.
After about four hours of awful sleep I got up early to face my demons. I was due to play football at 10.30am so wanted a clear mind and relaxed body ahead of the encounter. After much deliberation I selected a new weapon to battle my foes, the mighty hoover! After sucking up my dead pals inside I opened the front door to a bright and chilly morning and set about vacuuming forty live insects into a dusty grave. It was a most satisfying, yet haunting experience, and one that I will hopefully never have to repeat.
It hasn't happened again, funny that...
Nico
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