Chalk this one up to creepy-strange.
For the last week in our California house, I've been battling flies in the kitchen. We're talking a fair amount of flies, up to a dozen a day. Coming from ...? They're on the kitchen windows.
These are no ordinary flies.
First of all they barely fly, it at all. Second, they don't seem to care about food. Third, they just sit there on the glass. Grab a tissue, come up and behind 'em, capture and crush 'em with no problem.
The first time it happened I thought, "Old, tired fly." Second time I thought, "Old fly's twin." Third time: "Triplets?" Fourth time--hmmmm.
They don't make flies like they used to.
Of course my suspense brain is going into overdrive on this one. I think once again nature's out to get me. When I wrote Web of Lies (4th in Hidden Faces series), spiders were after me for months. I'm well known for my "fly story"--illustrating the concept of Emotion Memory (or--how I can turn anyone into a murderer in ten minutes). I've even been known to act out the story in writing classes. Okay, so a fly dies in the end. And that's when everyone claps. Is that any reason for the fly world to send a troop of zombies into my kitchen? And why don't they fly? You'd think to get back at me, they'd be so fast I could never catch them.
What is going on here?