THE FORMICARY

Kotzka loved his pet shop. He'd had it for 50 years. It was his life. His wife's too.

Kotzkas had been a permanent feature of the side-street as long as anyone could remember.

It had been a fine neighbourhood when he and his wife had bought it. It was their pride and joy after getting married. The Kotzkas were popular straight away.

Children came with parents to see the animals in the shop. Zebra finches, Love Birds, Tetras, Guinea Pigs and tortoises.

But it was his ant circus that really drew in the kids. It was Kotzka's variation on the flea circus of his childhood in the far-away hills of the Tartra.

The ant circus was so popular some weekends that Mrs. Kotzka had to issue tickets at the door.

The queues sometimes stretched round the block to the old cinema.

They could have charged folk to see the ants perform but they were just happy to see children enjoy their shop and side show. To strangers it might have seemed they were making money. Maybe even lots of money.

Kotzka had a way with the ants. He could understand them and they him. After they'd completed each small task he'd squeeze a little sugary water from a syringe and offer each ant a tiny blob. They seemed to love it and almost shook with delight as they accepted their sweet wages.

The show's finale was the favourite bit among the kids. The ants would carry little home-made balsa toys across the counter and drop them in front of the eager children, who were allowed to take one of them home. They were visually enthralled and the parents were immensely grateful to this kindly old couple.

One boy, however, was never ever satisfied with the show or the balsa toys. He heckled Kotzka constantly with a barrage of complaints and grumbles.

"That's soooooo boring! Can't they do anything gory Kotzka?"

"What do you feed them. I bet it's live stuff. I bet it's live mice! Show us that you tight old twat!"

"Can't you get them to kill anything?"

The boy would grab the balsa toys with a few ants and stand on them viciously before pushing past his shamed parents and out of the shop.

His name was Norbert. Norbert Vark.

"Don't mind him!" the other parents would say to the Kozkas. "We love you. Our kids adore your shop and the ants. Please don't let that delinquent ingrate Norbert Vark get to you!"

But the longer it went on it did get to them. Particularly Mrs. Kotzka, who after years of the boy's heckling started to lose faith. Norbert never seemed to let up and went on to torment them into his teenage years. 

It seemed as if he hated them and the ants. After a particularly furious onslaught in the shop, the police said they were sorry but they couldn't do anything because he was only 17. Norbert was still a minor but they would speak to his parents as they had done many times.

"We can't do anything with the boy Officer. He's always hurting animals in the wood and he's obsessed with killing insects. Ants mostly. We've given up and when he turns 18 next Christmas we're done. We'll kick him out!"

It was summer when Mrs. Kotzka fell ill. She was anemic and nothing stayed down. The old woman was withering away. Kotzka had moved her bed into the cellar where it was always cool. Their bedroom was sweltering.

Sadly, Kotzka placed a sign in the window, "Shows Over for Now" and the queues fizzled away.

Mrs. Kotzka lay in a bed next to a huge glass tank. It was full of soil and sand and leaf litter. It was as big as a large cupboard and you needed to climb a wooden ladder to see over the edge.

If you had climbed it you would have seen thousands of ants marching round in lines holding bits of leaves above their twitching heads before descending into the tank's depths.

It was a formicary. The ants' home.

Kotzka knew the ants were in trouble. They needed a queen but none had emerged. He blamed himself. Food was short and he'd worked his show-ants much too hard over the years. They'd grown too. They were much larger than the workers. At least six inches long. They were the most agitated about not having a queen and sat in a row at the edge of the tank. They blamed someone specific for crushing their old queen years before. They blamed Norbert Vark.

Kotzka was now trying to feed his dying wife, all his animals in the shop and the ants. Provisions and money were running out. All that was left was a vat of sugary water.

He dribbled some into his wife's thin lips and amazingly she drank. He dribbled more and more and she drank and drank and drank.

One morning he came down to see her and to his astonishment, a few of his show-ants were standing on her chin and dribbling more sugary fluid into her mouth. She was lapping it up like cream!

Kotzka sat down and left them to it. They were doing a better job than him and his wife seemed to really enjoy their twitchy attention. But he knew she needed more than this and fell asleep worrying.

When he awoke his wife was not in her bed. It was night-time and dark in the cellar. He lit a candle and saw to his horror the body of his wife. It was slowly tipping over the edge of the tank! The ants were dragging her in!

He leapt up screaming but his wife turned her head and said lovingly,

"It's alright dear. They will look after me. I loved my time with you but I am theirs now. It will be fine. You will see! Every day you can see!"

And then she was gone. Kotzka ran up the ladder and watched his beloved wife sink into the humus, pulled under by a thousand gentle jaws.

He wept all night and all the next day. Ants collected his dripping tears and took them to her. She whispered through the soil.

"Don't cry my love. I am with our children. Our ants. I am their mother. I am their Queen now".

Kotzka peered into the tank and his wife wriggled slowly toward the glass side. Ants helped her move round and continued to feed her sugary syrup from their palps.  She sipped and smiled at Kotzka. A tender smile that said it would indeed all be fine.

The old man ladled lots of sugar water into the formicary and the ants on the surface applauded with acid squirts. This was his role now. To keep them fed and safe in the cellar.

Kotzka reopened the shop and even put on a few shows. He often looked at the big show-ants who seemed happier than they ever had. Word spread and the queues formed once more.

Even after all this time Kotzka's ant shows were still famous.

To make ends meet and buy tons of sugar the old fellow had to now charge a fee to watch his shows. The money came rolling in and he soon had more than he could manage.

He bundled up notes and stacked them on a shelf at one side of the ant tank. Coins he threw in for safe keeping. The Queen sent some up when he needed any.

And so they lived another year like this. As happy as they'd ever been. Kotzka. The ants and their human Queen. He could speak to his wife whenever he wished and occasionally she rose up and they kissed lovingly, the old man standing on the ladder.

"Kotzka. My dear beloved. I have good news. We have more children. I gave birth during the night. Big children. They will be the wonder of the world!" explained the Queen.

Like any Father the old man worried. About his brood. The sugar vat was nearly empty. He needed something more. Maybe the townsfolk could help.

It was coming on Christmas and he'd decided to put on a special festive show. Word got around. Kotzka wanted sweets and chocolate instead of money. It was a huge success and the children thrived. Soon they would be able to travel.

It was at one such yuletide show that Kotzka heard a familiar and unwelcome voice, even harsher and viler than before.

"That's shite that! There's more action in my Grandma's bush! I want my chocolates back you old bastard."

The crowd gasped. It was Norbert Vark. He'd turned 18 and like his folks had vowed, they'd kicked the good-for-nothing brute out. He was drinking and sleeping rough. He still hated Kotzka. Even more now.

"You can have your chocolates back Norbert", explained old Kotzka.

"Fuck the chocs you old skinflint. I want more than chocolate."

At this Vark left the shop growling at the kids and parents as he stormed out but not before swiping some of the bigger ants off the counter and with a huge grin on his twisted face stood on them. They flattened under his boot with a nauseating pop.

That night, drunk and raging, Vark returned to the shop. It was dark. He clumsily broke in and stumbled past the aisles of sleeping birds.

"So where do ya keep your fuckin' loot Kotzka, you miserly old bastard?" he mumbled to himself, whilst burping loudly in the cage of two love birds.

It was then he heard a soft purring from behind the door at the back. He jostled through and realised it was a cellar.

"Yes!" He exclaimed. "This is it. This is where you keep the goodies eh you miserly old fucker!"

Greed and adrenaline swept Norbert down the steps. He reached the bottom and in the moonlight could just make out a large glass tank and next to it someone sleeping in a bed.

He shoved the sleeper roughly and Kotzka sat up. 

"Norbert? How can I help you. What time is it?"

"Shut the fuck up you old git and show me where the loot is stashed. Or else!"

Vark had pulled out a small axe. One he'd used many times on animals. An old man was a step-up. He was excited and sobering up. He stepped forward and hit Kotzka at the back of the head with the blunt back. The old shopkeeper staggered and gingerly touched the wound. It was bleeding.

"N-N-Norbert! No need for unpleasantness. The money? It's there - in the tank."

"The tank? No funny business Kotzka or you'll get the sharp end! What's the tank for?"

"Oh, just the old straw and droppings from the birds. I sell it to local gardeners for a few shillings. The cash is on a shelf up there, where its safe. Use the ladder. You can take it all Norbert!"

Vark was unsure about it but avarice rolled round his eyes like slots when he saw the brown paper envelopes stacked on the plank.

"Go on up. Its yours. Just reach across the tank Norbert. I've lost my wife so what do I need money for?"

Vark stared hard at Kotzka and then cautiously stepped onto the ladder and began to climb. The old man slowly moved forward.

"I'll cut your fuckin' hands off you old bastard if you try anything. Stay fuckin' there!" Vark warned ominously waving the axe around.

Kotzka raised his hands submissively and beckoned the young man to go all the way.

Vark reached the top of the tank. He saw a few ants scrabbling about.

"What are these ants doing here?" he shouted.

"Oh, nothing. I always end up brushing a handful when I'm collecting the old straw. Just reach over for the money."

Vark stared at the ants staring back at him. He shrugged and leaned over to the shelf. It wasn't easy standing on the top rung, holding an axe and arching over the tank but Vark had the prize in his eyes and he went for it.

As he was reaching out for a stuffed packet a hand shot up from the top of the straw and grabbed his arm.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ! What the fuck is ....." Vark screamed but before he could finish an entire head, torso and another arm were clasped around his middle in a frighteningly tight embrace.

"Hello Norbert!" the head said looking him straight in the face.

"Miss .. Mrs. K-Kotzka! Fuuuuuuuuck!" He shreiked as his feet faltered on the ladder. He struggled against the superhuman hold but it was useless. Mrs. Kotzka had acquired the strength of ants during her time in the formicary. Just to make sure Vark didn't escape the old man flitted up the ladder and pushed him over.

"Thank you my love," smiled the ant woman, who then turned to Vark and whispered, "I am the Queen of this nest now Norbert and you my dear are my coronation feast. After all the trouble you've caused us I shall enjoy you slowly, as will my many beautiful children. Have you met my children Norbert?"

Thousands of fiery ants erupted to the surface and eyed the intruder hungrily. The Queen then opened her mouth to release two huge jagged mandibles. With lightning speed she pincered Vark's face, his shredding cheeks coming away like fillets. The teenager writhed in agony as the ant woman licked at his gushing blood and leered at him with crimson lips.

"Children. Come." she whispered.

"Noooooooooooooo!" Vark yelled as his mouth filled with ants and his eyes were burnt away by formic spurts.

The Queen and her children dragged his flailing body deep into the tank and he was gone. 

All that could be heard was a muffled suckling by countless mouths, one big, the rest small.

"Ah, what a lovely sound. Eat well my darling. Eat long and well!" smiled old Kotzka as he walked out of the cellar.

He went into the shop and placed a handwritten sign in the front window.

"Ant Shows postponed till next Month. Nesting Season has Started!".