Free Dying on the Vine by Peter King

was a damaged shutter, slamming open and shut. An open space had a few stone benches under ancient plane trees.
    The possibility that I was in danger had to be faced but it didn’t seem too likely. If an unknown assailant wanted to dispose of me, it surely could have been done sooner and without the need to bring me out here. On the other hand… I pushed away all the thoughts that were on the other hand.
    It was a minute or two before eleven, the witching hour. The breeze had died and it was utterly still and quiet again. I walked across the square and sat on one of the stone benches. It was warm and I felt drowsy. I thought I could hear the hum of a large insect but then it was gone and the silence spread like a cloak. I stretched out and must have closed my eyes and dozed.
    I awoke, suddenly aware of a dull, low-pitched buzzing. A shadow passed across the sun and I looked up but could see nothing. I must have been dreaming. The buzzing noise was louder and the sky darkened by a shape above me. It was a monstrous insect—no, that was impossible … it was too enormous, too gigantic. It had green and brown wings and a beaklike nose—it was peering down, searching for prey.
    I awoke—or thought I did. I stood up in alarm—or thought I did. Was I awake or still dreaming? A black dot materialized and grew larger, larger … it was blotting out the sun. Was the terrifying creature diving down at me? The only thought in my mind was to escape from this haunted place but I felt the terrifying certainty that it was too late.

Chapter 13
    I COULDN’T TELL WHEN the transition from dreaming to waking occurred. It was probably when the black shape, growing larger by the second, hit the cobbled square and burst into a thousand fragments. From inside it, a thick cloud of black gas emerged and spread instantly. Then it seemed that the cloud separated into individual particles as it spread further. I was certainly fully awake by this time. The pulsating black mass came toward me and I realized that the object that had fallen was a beehive and the separating particles were enraged bees.
    They were all around me, buzzing furiously and looking for anyone to wreak their anger on—and the only one there was me. I flailed my arms wildly, fully aware that it was the wrong thing to do as it would only make them angrier but not able to stand there like a statue. More and more came, probably sensing that they had me outnumbered. I could see only a dark blur as they surged over me and I wondered vaguely how many bee stings it took to kill a person.
    It was probably only seconds, though it seemed like hours, and then a new sound penetrated the belligerent buzzing. A sort of roaring noise rose in intensity. I flailed even more madly and through a gap in the dusky cloud I saw a bright red car shoot out of one of the side streets and enter the square like a champagne cork shot from a bottle. Tires screeched as it bounced and swayed over the cobblestones and the engine rose to a high-pitched whine. Brakes screamed as it skidded to a stop beside me.
    A figure jumped out holding a small cylinder, red as the convertible. Then I was drenched in a cooling white gas and the bees were melting away magically. In seconds, almost all of them were gone. I was beating frantically at a few diehards that were reluctant to retreat and I saw that the red cylinder was a fire extinguisher and it was wielded by a girl.
    All the salient features of young good-looking girls usually register with me very quickly, but I must admit that this was one occasion when it took longer. A few bees still persisted though their cause was lost and I slapped at them to encourage them to join their smarter comrades who knew when the contest was over.
    â€œAre you hurt?” the girl asked in French. “Did they sting you?”
    I was out of breath but I managed to gasp an answer.
    â€œI think I’m all right, I—ow! there’s a sting, on