ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John Matsis is a member of the Mystery Writers of America and the author of the novels, Reversal, Father Confessor and Harm not thy Patient, to be released October/November 2005.  He has had more than a dozen short stories published. Recently completed are his newest mystery novel, Cadaver, as well as the literary novel, Steel Town.  Currently he is working on an anthology of short stories.      He lives in Wisconsin with his wife, Frances Ann, and their Maltese, Tiny Malachi. When not writing, he is a practicing physician—a radiologist—at a community hospital. Raised in Gary, Indiana, and of Greek heritage, many of his stories have an ethnic flavor. He is a graduate of Indiana University and Indiana University School of Medicine.   His website is

Elenora was born precocious, all six pounds-eleven ounces and twenty inches.  By the time she was four, she was into insects—those creepy and crawly things that at their very sight made her older sister, Liz, shake and take flight to her mother’s bedroom and her mother to scold, “Elenora, what in the world do you think you are doing with those things in my house?” 

   It didn’t matter what her mother would say or how hard she shook her finger, for there was this special drive inside of Elenora, an inborn instinct of sorts, forcing her to explore the world of many-legged creatures.  While other girls her age, propped up Barbie dolls in front of little tables and poured make-believe tea into delicate plastic cups, Elenora collected those creepy, crawly creatures that were endogenous to her neighborhood and sealed them inside of Mason jars along with blades of grass or perhaps a tender, newly sprouted leaf.  Sometimes she would add a rose pedal as a special treat for her friends. 

    She would place the jars, filled with her insect friends, in secret places.  There, she would observe and talk to them, and given sufficient opportunity she would come to recognize each and every one as a special friend, even imparting to them a name of endearment.

    They were creatures with many long legs and curious bodies, some shaped like teardrops, others with bodies long and straight as a pencil.  Some of them had fragile antennae that flapped in uncoordinated, odd directions, other possessed small, nearly invisible wings that would take flight with the minutest of provocation—a tap to the side of the jar with her fingernail, a kiss imparted to its lid.

    And if one died, she would bury it in a special place and recite a prayer on its behalf.

    As the years passed and the metamorphosis from child to teenager took place, her interest of insects grew into an obsession and she distanced herself from her peers who had no such particular interest, isolating herself to the point of being reclusive.   Her parents, liberal in their thinking, thought it was merely a passing phase of youth, like acne eventually giving way to smooth skin. But eventually it was apparent that it was more than a passing stage; there was a serious problem. They consulted a number of learned psychiatrists who offered little help, suggesting psychotherapy and certain medications.  But the medications had serious side effects and the psychotherapy was of no value.

   Eventually they consulted with Dr. Jeremy Bones, the chairman of psychiatry at the state medical school.  He was a physician of distinction: the author of numerous scholarly texts, the editor of a prestigious national journal of abnormal behavior, and a psychiatrist who had a special interest in the bizarre—those certain conditions that he could write about, perhaps encountering a new, yet to be described entity to imprint his name…The Bones Syndrome. 

    As any competent doctor should, he put Elenora through the standard psychiatric tests, Rorschach and such.  Sophisticated blood tests were performed to assess for any obscure disease, and a MRI spectrographic scan of the brain was performed to exclude an occult metabolic abnormality. Lastly, she was referred to the University Medical Clinic for an exhaustive physical examination by the best of doctors.  Not surprisingly, every test and examination came back as normal.

    Intrigued, he decided to personally take charge.  Almost always in the past, he would merely oversee a patient’s evaluation and management, leaving the day-to-day care to his subordinates.  But this time his curiosity was aroused, for he had a special gift when it came to sensing when a case was especially unique.

     Elenora sat across from the doctor’s expansive, mahogany desk, properly dressed in a tan sweater and brown pleated skirt that fell well below her knees. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and her smile had a curious upward curl. Her entire expression glowed of serene confidence.

    “I’m Doctor Jeremy Bones,” he would address himself to her. 

    She answered, “Yes, I know.”

    Following a few minutes of the usual doctor-patient chitchat, he asked, “tell me about your…hobby…your interest in insects.  Are there any special species that interest you the most?”

    Her eyes blossomed.  “Where should I start?”

    “Let’s start from the very beginning.”

    She began, rambling on with great enthusiasm.  Dr. Jeremy Bones listened with great interest, marveling at her level of scientific knowledge. And she would explain that insects far outnumbered other species, that there were 170,000 species of butterflies and moths alone…that moths had wings that folded back, tent-like, while the butterfly’s wings rested erect and that the moth’s antenna was thick and feathery, where as the butterfly’s was thinner with only a focal thickening at the very tip.

    And to prove her point, she would bring with her on the sessions that followed Mason jars filled with her friends.  She would extract and place on her hand various specimens, pointing out with a hand-held magnifying lens their various unique features. Sometimes she would pet them gently and coo and they responded by shaking their bodies in contentment. 

    Dr. Bones would sit in amazement and observe, mesmerized by her degree of scientific knowledge, entranced by the special bond that she had developed with the creatures—her ability to communicate with a lower life form.  He would take notes to document his observations and it became clear that her behavior represented a yet-to-be-described syndrome…The Bones Syndrome. 

    As the therapy sessions stretched from weeks into months and against medical ethics, he made no attempt to alter her obsessive behavior. Rather, he would feed upon the abnormality.  He would ask questions regarding her special relationship with insects and she would respond with an even greater degree of enthusiasm. In time she permitted him to handle some of her special friends. She would place them upon his finger, cautioning him to be careful, not to show the least sign of apprehension in that they would sense it immediately and could respond unpredictably.

    In time, he too, became nearly as knowledgeable as she, eagerly looking forward to each session.  He would look at her expressive face, her pouting lips, her sparkling blue-green eyes and think thoughts that a doctor of psychiatry should not.  And she would feel his penetrating glances and her skin would turn uncomfortably warm. 

    It was to be their last session.  Elenora’s obsession had not abated and her parents had become disenchanted with Dr. Bones, sensing that there had evolved more than usual doctor-patient relationship between the two. 

                                                             

     On this final session Elenora would bring with her a single Mason jar; within it would be her favorite insect perched upon a brown twig.  She would extract the twig and bring it close to her face, nearly to her lips.  She would explain to Dr. Bones that this insect was unique—that on the front of the cephalothorax there were six eyes arranged in pairs, forming a perfect semicircle, whereas most insects of this species had eight eyes.  With a hand-held lens she would bring into focus the insect’s long, thin brown legs covered with fine hairs rather than the customary spines. She would beam with excitement as she adjusted the lens to demonstrate the dark violin-shaped marking on its bulbous abdomen. 

    The doctor would observe her every move, his non-professional eyes flashing back and forth from insect to her blushing skin. With each movement of his probing eyes, she became even more uncomfortable.  And as his hand moved across his desk, she would interpret it as a threatening, inappropriate gesture.

    The twig would drop onto his desk, and as if obeying her command, the brown recluse spider, its long legs moving in a whirl of purpose, would also interpret the doctor’s action as inappropriate. With a spring of its legs, it would land upon the doctor’s arm, crawl quickly to the neck, and impart a venomous bite deep into his flesh.

    Upon completion of its task, the brown recluse would return to the twig; Elenora would smile with gratitude, stroke its body gently with her fingertip, and return it to its Mason jar habitat.  

    Although the bite of the brown recluse is seldom fatal, the doctor would suffer a fatal anaphylactic reaction, and along with his demise, The Bones Syndrome was laid to rest as well.