A Stranger in the Forest

Chrysalises weren’t supposed to change quite like that, Betsey thought, staring up at the delicate green pouch hanging off the branches above her. 

“Hey, look—" she said to a selection of black ants scurrying past. It was a mistake.

The first ant waved cheerily, “Eeyyy, Betsey!”

The second whacked him across the back of the head. “Shaddup and get to work!"

The others chimed in. “Stop your gabbing, Terrence!”

“We got work to do!”

“Nah, I was only—”

And then: “Hey look—that butterfly thing up there aint right! It’s all—”

“I know!” Betsey broke in, “I don’t think it’s supposed to have that—”

“It’s shiny! It’s all shiny!”

“Only on one part, ya dumb-dumb

“Nah, they always have a shiny bit! Called the diadem. Reba from Storage told me.”

“Oh! Why didn’t ya say so before!”

“Cause I couldn’t hear myself think over your yapping! Anyway, Betsey, that’s all it is! Don’tcha worry about it!”

The foreant started grumbling and shoving them along. “All right, all right! Get back to work! Sheesh, you people… Queen’s gonna have my head over the work ethic on this gang…”

And they rustled off, the rumble of their feet fading into the distance, leaving Betsey to stare up at the strange chrysalis. “But…I just don’t think that’s the normal shine that a chrysalis has.” She said to the empty air. But there was no one there to listen.

There usually wasn’t, Betsey thought, with a little sigh. The ants had their own nest to care for, the mosquitoes lived in a constant state of angst (none of the rest of us choose to eat food that can kill us, thought Betsey, disapprovingly), the ladybugs had their aphid farms to tend to—it was only the solitary beetles like Betsey that kept tabs on other insects, just watched to see if there were problems and put in a word here or there to fix things up.

But nobody particularly noticed. Or cared. The opinion of some ant named Reba in Storage apparently counted more than hers for Ant Gang Alpha Beta Tango. That’s what happened when you had family, she supposed. You had bugs around you just naturally predisposed to listen to you. And if you didn’t…well...you just didn’t get listened to, that was all.

She stared up at the strange chrysalis. No matter what Reba said, she did not think that was normal. 

One side of the chrysalis was a natural, delicate green, just translucent enough to hint at the vibrant tiger gold of the wings forming inside of it. But the other side was flat metal; hard, silver, reflecting Betsey beetle’s own confused face back at her, distorted and grotesque.

A tiny red light flicked on, once, like a red eye, and then flicked off again. Betsey shivered. She looked away. “I don’t have any call being curious about what the butterflies are up to,” she said to herself stoutly. “I’m plain Betsey Beetle, and I take care of me and mine and those airy-fairy things are none of my business.” But the words sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

She trundled off. At the edge of the bush, she peeped back over her shoulder. The red eye on the chrysalis blinked at her. She jumped as if it had flicked her and hurried away.

But she returned the next day. It was part of her place in the order of things, she told herself as she walked down the path. Beetles are armored and solid and eat sensible things like wood; they have a duty to keep an eye on things that might be dangerous. They were important parts of the natural order, after all. She rounded the bend and there it was.

It send a weird thrill through her, just looking at it; the hard edge molded into the natural curve, the distorted reflection on its surface. –And it was empty, drifting in the brittle, weightless way of something that once held life and no longer does. She walked closer, looking for the red blinking light. –and jumped back in surprise. The chrysalis spun slightly, and hunched on its back, its massive wings still shriveled and wet, hung the newly emerged butterfly.

“Oh!” Betsey hurried forward. “Welcome, welcome, dear! Are you doing okay? Can I get you anything?”

The butterfly turned its head—two, jerky movements, and the strange iridescence of its eyes made Betsey feel a little dizzy.

“Your eyes…they look a little funny…” She said, blinking. “And pretty. Very pretty, of course. I’ve never seen eyes like that…” She felt embarrassed under this spectacular, multihued gaze. What was she, but a plain black beetle?

It looked at her for a long, silent moment. And then it stretched out its wings to their full extent. A normal butterfly takes a while to unfold their newly minted, damp wings. This one flung them out with a snap, all at once—a supreme disregard for weakness and patience.

The afternoon sunlight caught the colors and shone through them so that Betsey found herself looking up into a stained-glass cathedral of color. Her own black shell was multihued in the light that fell through. This was no average monarch butterfly.

The butterfly was still looking down at her. “I am fine.” It said, and its voice was not airy like most butterflies. It clicked and whirred strangely. Betsey wasn’t sure she liked it, but she was awed by the magnificent splendor of those wings, spread out like a rainbow canopy.

“You are beautiful.” She whispered.

“Yes, I am.” It said. “And so are you.”

“Who? Me?” She giggled. “No—”

The head nodded, jerkily, towards her black carapace, still patterned with rose and orange and blues. “Do you not wear my own colors?”

She glanced backwards at the cathedral glow on her back. “Well, that’s just because I’m near you…”

“Then stay near me, and you will remain beautiful, Betsey Beetle. You are forgotten and dismissed and ignored, but I see your goodness.”

Betsey was startled. “Did I…did I tell you my name?”

“No,” the butterfly said. “I heard it in your mind. Will you help me, Betsey? I am like nothing you have ever seen or will ever see again. Will you be my own faithful friend? Will you obey me? Lead me to where I ask to go, and you will never be plain Betsey again.”

Betsey ducked her head and shuffled her front legs together, abashed and thrilled that this amazing creature had chosen her. “Well, I…You do speak so kindly…I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Excellent.” The butterfly lifted its wings and sailed through the air, landing on Betsey’s back. “I will need sustenance first, Betsey. And then we will discuss plans.”

“Oh…well there’s a nice bit of purple flowers, just around the way. Shall I take you to them?”

She hurried off, the butterfly swaying on her back like a royal palanquin on an elephant. Behind them, unnoticed by Betsey, the chrysalis began to move again. The metal pieces broke apart, shivering into segments that became little metal worms. The worms dropped to the ground, writhing, and burrowed into the ground where they vanished from sight. The canopy under the bush was empty. Apparently.

You may have noticed...that's not a proper ending! My husband and I are toying with the idea of doing a graphic novel together, just for fun. This is one of my ideas. Will you ever find out what happens to Betsey Beetle and the strange, mind-reading butterfly? Who knows!