Amityville Horror

At this time, every year our house becomes housefly central for a day or two and is affectionately referred to by my husband, Tom and myself as “Amityville Horror”. Those who have seen the movie will know what I’m referring to. If you don’t know what I mean, well, Rod Steiger plays this priest, he’s in this haunted house and he gets attacked by flies and, well you really need to check this out, man.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adFRKm9ezw4

But, I digress.

So, while attempting to prepare a meal today, several flies circled my head in this dreadful holding pattern, while many more of their creepy little comrades paced shamelessly across the cutting board with their nasty little bug feet. At least 50 or A MILLION flies crawled, flitted or buzzed over every inch of our kitchen. One poor unfortunate got himself stuck in the butter.

Gross! That does it!

We take up arms. Flyswatters and rolled up newspapers are picked up and waved wildly at the air in hopes of sending the tiny, vile vermin back from whence they came. The wild waving and syncopated swatting, followed by loud intermittent thwaps and kersplats, predictably sends our two kitties vaulting out of kitchen and into farther reaches of the house, each heading for their own piece of furniture to hide under and wait for saner times. Clearly the humans, usually such pacifists, have gone to a deep, dark place.

The carnage can go on for hours, sometimes days. But eventually this slaughter, the stuff of horror films, ends as abruptly as it began. Feeling spent, yet flush with cathartic relief, we turn to each other, blow the fly guts off our swatters and announce…

“This house is clean.”

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fly slayer

Right after the Autumnal Equinox, year after year, as if on cue, our home becomes housefly central for a day or two. It’s not a gradual thing either. Tuesday night, after work, I managed to fix myself a little snack without incident. However the very next night, while attempting to fix dinner, several flies circled my head in what seemed like a holding pattern, while many more of their comrades paced across the cutting board with their nasty little bug feet. At least 50 or 60 flies crawled, flitted and buzzed over every inch of our kitchen. One even got stuck in the butter!

“That’s it!” Tom growled. “This is war!”

He grabbed an old Bonny Doon Wine Club pamphlet, and started