The Hive

Chapter 6
Chapter 5

Benjamin awoke a minute before the alarm—if he'd set one. He simply opened his eyes and knew: I've slept well. Truly slept well. When was the last time that happened? A year ago? Two?

He stretched in bed as far as he could and caught himself not fearing the usual protest from his joints. His body responded with a smooth, almost feline movement. No stiffness, no heaviness. As if overnight someone had oiled all the gears of his internal mechanism.

Everything that happened yesterday seemed so distant now, as if it had never existed at all. Those strange warnings from Lucas, the puzzling visit during naptime, and the nap itself. All of it seemed unimportant now. What mattered was that for the first time in years, he felt rested.

"Fresh air, good food, no stress—worth waking up your inner child for that," flashed through his mind.

Benjamin smiled at the thought of how he'd look in Robert's place in that room, and for some reason blushed slightly.

The bear sat on the pillow with his... with his two eyes, shining as if freshly polished! In the morning light, he looked almost new—as if he'd grown younger along with his owner.

"Hey, buddy, looks like they fixed you up a bit too!" Benjamin ruffled the plush head.

In the bathroom, he was greeted by the reflection of almost a stranger. Face fresh, rested, no hint of bags under the eyes. Skin... glowing! He ran a hand over his cheek—smooth, no stubble. Strange, usually by morning he'd have a decent beard.

"Must have shaved more thoroughly than usual yesterday," he decided, though he didn't remember doing so.

The toothbrush—without a moment's hesitation, he took the brand new bright yellow one with the bee—fit perfectly in his hand. He looked at his fingers. Normal fingers. Just... maybe a bit thinner?

His clothes hung even looser than yesterday. The t-shirt looked more like a tunic. The pants only stayed up thanks to the tightly drawn cord.

"Need to ask for a smaller size," he thought, tightening the cord even more. "Or two sizes."

But his mood wasn't dampened by this. On the contrary—he felt an incredible lightness. Energy. The desire to... what? Run? Jump? Laugh?

He left the room almost skipping. And immediately froze.

Lucas stood in the corridor. Pressed against the wall, clearly waiting. Face pale, tense. In his hands—a crumpled dust cloth, an alibi in case of questions.

"Quiet," the boy whispered, grabbing Benjamin's hand. "Come. Quickly."

"What happened? Breakfast is..."

"Later. This is more important."

Lucas pulled him toward a door marked "Service Room." He looked around—the corridor was empty. Pushed the door, shoved Benjamin inside, darted in after him.

The cramped storage room smelled of dampness and old mops. Lucas pressed against the door, listening. Then turned to Benjamin. In the dim light, his eyes seemed enormous.

"We don't have much time. Sarah thinks I'm cleaning the library. Listen carefully and don't interrupt."

"Lucas, what..."

"The honey!" the boy blurted out. "It's all about the honey. In the pudding, in the drinks, in all the food. Miss Hart's special formula. It triggers the process of... change."

"What change?"

"Regression. Return. Call it what you like. The body starts to grow younger. The mind follows. Or vice versa—it's different for everyone."

Benjamin felt himself go cold inside, but his mind refused to believe what his young companion was saying.

"Come on, enough with the childish scary stories!" he said.

"These aren't scary stories!" Lucas flared up. "Did you wake up with back pain today? Are your wrinkles still there? Is your stubble growing normally?"

Silence, thick and heavy, filled the small room.

"Alright..." Benjamin finally squeezed out. "Even if we assume everything you said is true, then why all this?"

"Why do forty-year-old men buy expensive cars and dress like teenagers?" Lucas retorted.

"I don't know, I don't buy them," Benjamin said, confused.

"To escape and create the illusion that..."

At that moment, the storage room door suddenly swung open. Sarah stood in the doorway.

Her gaze swept over the mops, brooms, and other cleaning tools, then settled on the two conspirators sitting on the floor.

"Lucas," her voice was frighteningly calm. "What's going on here?"

"I was telling Benjamin..."

"I heard what you were telling him. Mr. Wilson, wouldn't you like to take a walk in the garden? Fresh air will help you process this new information."

It wasn't a question.

Benjamin stood up. He glanced at Lucas—the boy sat with his head down, fists clenched.

"See you at lunch," he said.

"If Miss Hart allows it," Lucas replied quietly.

Sarah escorted Benjamin to the stairs.

"Don't believe everything Lucas says," she said gently. "He's... a complicated case. Sometimes he fantasizes. Makes up stories. It's part of his condition."

"Condition?"

"Let's say he's watched too many different people here, and Lucas... He's a very impressionable boy. Once he became very close to one of the guests, but unfortunately, we couldn't help him, and Lucas... Lucas fell into depression... Miss Hart saved him, but periodically the old demons return. He starts spouting nonsense about conspiracies, about irreversibility... Don't listen to him. It's all the fantasies of a sick child."

She tried to smile, but the smile came out overly strained.

"Go to the garden. Get some air. Robert is there making clay figures. Join him. Creativity heals."

Benjamin nodded and headed for the exit. But halfway down the stairs, he stopped. Listened.

Sarah's voice could be heard muffled. Quiet, but with tension in it:

"...last warning, Lucas. One more attempt at sabotage, and Miss Hart..."

He couldn't hear the rest.

Benjamin went out into the garden through the glass doors. The sun hit his eyes, making him squint. The air was thick with the scent of flowers and honey. Bees buzzed, flying from flower to flower.

A normal scene. Peaceful. Idyllic.

But now Benjamin looked at it with different eyes. Bees in the hive. Flowers in the garden. Everything in its place. Everyone playing their roles.

What if Lucas had told the truth?

What if the morning lightness wasn't from vitamins?

What if the changes had already begun?

He looked at his hands. Normal hands. Adult. But this morning, when he washed up, they had seemed... smaller? Smoother?

"Paranoia," he told himself, pushing away the silly thoughts. "Lucas really is a sick child with fantasies. This is just a retreat. Unusual, strange, but a retreat."

"Benjamin!" Robert called out. "Come here! I'm making bees!"

Robert sat at a table in the shade of a large tree. Before him—a lump of clay and an army of crooked bees. He was smiling. Happily, sincerely.

Around his neck was a bib. Bright, with pictures. Like a toddler's.

"Sit down! It's so fun! Sarah taught me how to make wings!"

Benjamin sat down. Took a piece of clay. It was soft, warm. Pleasant to the touch.

"You know what?" Robert leaned toward him conspiratorially. "Last night I had a dream. A good one! The first in... in a long time. I was little, and Mom was baking cookies. And I was helping. And it was so nice..."

A tear rolled down his cheek, but he was smiling.

"It's nice here, right? Here you don't have to pretend to be big and strong."

Benjamin kneaded the clay, feeling something inside him respond to these words. Tiredness from pretending. From the need to be an adult. From constant struggle.

What if he just let go?

What if he allowed himself to...

No. No, this was the honey thinking for him. This place. This atmosphere. Lucas was right—these weren't fantasies!

He had to leave. Today. Now. Drop everything and run, run from this strange place.

But his hands kept sculpting. A small, crooked, happy bee.

And somewhere deep inside, a quiet voice whispered: "What are you losing? No job. No money. No life. Maybe at least here..."

The sun climbed higher. The day rolled toward noon.

Toward the mandatory quiet hour.

The bee in his hands smiled with a crooked mouth. Almost like him.

Almost.

Noon came unnoticed. The sun hung directly overhead, casting short shadows. Benjamin still sat at the table, surrounded by an army of clay bees—his own and Robert's. His hands were stained with clay, brown matter packed under his nails, but he didn't notice. Or didn't want to notice.

"Lunchtime!" Sarah's bell rang. She stood in the doorway, smiling. "Boys, go wash your hands. Today we have pumpkin soup and fresh bread."

"Boys." She called them boys. Robert and him. Two adult men.

Robert jumped up with the enthusiasm of a child promised his favorite treat.

"Yay! I'm so hungry! Benjamin, are you coming?"

Benjamin rose more slowly. His legs were stiff from sitting so long. Or... no, just stiff. Nothing strange.

In the dining room, the others had already gathered. Michael sat in his place, before him—a special plate with high edges. Amelia looked... calmer? More relaxed? Hair loose instead of a strict bun. A light smile on her lips.

Lucas wasn't there.

"Where's Lucas?" asked Benjamin, sitting in his place.

"With Miss Hart," Sarah answered, ladling soup. "A small... educational moment. Don't worry, he'll join us soon."

The soup today was special—bright, orange, with funny carrot shapes. Stars, hearts, even tiny bees floated in the sweetish broth.

Benjamin took the spoon—it seemed smaller than usual, with a rounded handle—and scooped.

"Oh, look! I have three stars!" exclaimed Michael, showing everyone his spoon. An orange trickle ran down his chin. "That means I'll be lucky!"

Benjamin caught himself examining his own spoon. Two bees and a heart.

"And I have a moon!" Amelia raised her spoon like a trophy. "Sarah, can I fish out another moon? Pleeease!"

"So it's true... everything Lucas said is true..." the thought flashed, but somehow didn't stick.

Robert ate from a new plate—not just plastic, but with high sides and a suction cup on the bottom. Noticing Benjamin's gaze, he smiled shyly.

"I don't spill anymore," he said proudly. "Yesterday Sarah showed me how to hold the spoon properly. Like this, see? Like a pencil!"

He demonstrated the grip—not with a fist, but not quite adult-like either.

"And I also learned to eat without rushing yesterday. I count my chewing movements. One-two-three... Sarah says it's good for you."

There was joy in his voice, as if the ability to chew slowly was a great achievement.

"Chewing is important!" Michael supported with a full mouth. "I always count now. Sometimes I lose track, but Sarah helps."

Silence. Only the slurping of spoons against soup. Benjamin noticed he'd started counting his own chewing movements.

"You know what?" Amelia suddenly said, looking at her spoon with a carrot star. "I'm thirty-eight years old, and I'm just... counting stars."

"That's wonderful, sunshine," Sarah stroked her head. "You'll see, soon you'll find joy in the simplest things. Like all our good children."

"Children." But somehow this word no longer grated on the ear.

Lucas appeared in the doorway. But this was a different Lucas. Quieter. Smaller. Shoulders down, eyes red. He walked to the table, sat in his place. His movements were stiff, careful. Like a child who'd just been scolded.

"Sorry for being late, Aunt Sarah," he said quietly. In a childish, high voice. Not a trace of his former sarcasm remained.

"It's alright, dear. Eat."

Lucas took the spoon. His hand trembled. Benjamin caught his gaze—for a second. In the boy's eyes was a plea. For what? Help? Silence?

Lunch ended in tense silence. Even the ever-chattering Michael had gone quiet, sensing the atmosphere.

Everyone stood up obediently. Even Amelia. Benjamin noticed how she took a book from the shelf—thin, with a bright cover. A children's book.

He went up to his room. Closed the door. Leaned his back against it.

"No... this just can't be true... Lucas made it all up, he's just a sick boy who scares guests, but then why is he himself, why Michael, Robert and Amelia... No, this is all nonsense... just... they're all just placed in a safe environment, and they yes... they all open up... the shackles fall off and..."

He looked at his hands. Still stained with clay. He hadn't washed them after sculpting. Forgot. Like a child.

In the bathroom, he spent a long time scrubbing off the dried clay. The water was warm, the soap smelled of lavender and honey. His hands became clean, but... smaller? He brought his palm to his face. The lines were thinner. The skin smoother.

"It's all imagination," he told himself. "Lucas planted doubts, so you're seeing things that aren't there."

But he had to pull up his pants again.

He lay on the bed on top of the covers. Closed his eyes. The silence of the house enveloped, lulled. Somewhere far away came quiet singing—Sarah singing a lullaby. To whom? Robert?

Sleep came unnoticed.

He's in the field again. But now the grass is taller. Or is he shorter? Bees buzz around, big as birds. No, he's small.

He looks at his hands—child's hands. Chubby fingers. He wants to scream, but only a squeak comes from his throat.

"Don't be afraid," Eleanor Hart's voice envelops like honey. "This is natural. You're coming home."

"I don't want to!"

"Everyone says that at first. But then they understand—this is what they've always wanted. To stop pretending. To stop fighting. Just to be little."

The hive before him is huge, glowing. The doors are open. Inside—warmth, comfort, safety. Outside—the cold world, full of pain and disappointment.

"Choose," Eleanor whispers. "But remember—some doors only open one way."

He takes a step toward the hive...

A knock on the door pulled him from sleep. Sharp, insistent.

"Benji! Open up!"

Lucas's voice. Tense, almost panicking.

Benjamin jumped up, swayed—his head spun from the sudden rise. Opened the door.

Lucas burst inside, closed it behind him. Fear on his face.

"We don't have much time. Sarah went to Robert, he's... never mind. Listen carefully."

He spoke quickly, disjointedly. Adult words in a child's voice.

"Miss Hart knows I told you. She's... unhappy. Very unhappy. Said if I try to 'sabotage the adaptation process' again, she'll apply 'enhanced measures.'"

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Lucas swallowed, "they'll increase my dose. By a lot. I'll become... I'll lose what's left. Become like Robert. Or worse. For several hours... days... weeks!"

He grabbed Benjamin's hand. The child's hand was cold, damp with sweat.

"You have to leave. Today. Now. While it's not too late. Every day, every meal—you're changing. You don't notice, but I see. You're already shorter than you were this morning. Voice higher. Movements... childish."

"That's impossible!"

"Stop denying the obvious! Look at me!" Lucas almost shouted. "I was like you! Tired, broken, ready for anything for peace! And here I am. Eleven on the outside, thirty-five inside. Neither one thing nor the other. An eternal child with an adult's memory."

Tears ran down his cheeks. Children's tears on a face that remembered adult pain.

"I can't leave," he continued more quietly. "I've tried. I get to the gates and... I can't. It's scary. What would I do out there? Who needs me... But you... you still have a chance."

Benjamin stared at him in shock, as if he finally believed completely and irrevocably.

"How do I leave? Taxi?"

"No. Sarah won't call one. Not after I... On foot. Through the forest. A hundred to a hundred and fifty kilometers to town. Take water, food..."

"Food? But it has honey in it!"

"There's regular food in the pantry. For staff. I'll show you..."

The door opened. Eleanor Hart stood on the threshold.

Benjamin saw her up close for the first time. A beautiful woman of indeterminate age. Could be thirty-five. Could be fifty. Eyes—deep, understanding, dangerous. Smile—maternal and predatory at the same time.

"Lucas," her voice was soft as honey. "What are you doing in a guest's room during quiet hour?"

The boy shrank and seemed to become smaller.

"I... I just... Benjamin couldn't sleep, and I..."

"Were you trying to scare him with your fantasies? Again?"

She entered the room, closed the door. She smelled of something floral. Her presence filled the space.

"Mr. Wilson, I apologize. Lucas is... a special case. We saved him from a very sad fate, but sometimes old traumas make themselves known. He makes up stories. Scares new guests. It's his way of... coping."

She placed a hand on Lucas's shoulder. He flinched but didn't dare move away.

"Isn't that right, dear? You didn't mean to scare our guest?"

"No, Miss Hart," Lucas whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Good boy. Now go to your room. Aunt Sarah will bring you special milk. To help you calm down."

"Special milk." Lucas paled but nodded.

"Yes, Miss Hart."

He left without looking at Benjamin. A small figure in the corridor. Defeated.

Eleanor turned to Benjamin. Her smile widened.

"Now let's talk about you. How are you feeling? The first days can be... disorienting."

"I'm fine."

"Really?" She came closer. "You're not experiencing any strange sensations? Changes?"

Her eyes literally scanned him. Noticed every detail—how he fidgeted with the edge of his shirt, how he shifted from foot to foot, how he avoided direct eye contact.

"A bit out of sorts. Not used to sleeping during the day."

"Oh, but you did sleep. I saw. Such a peaceful sleep. Like an angel."

"You have cameras?" Benjamin asked, trying to sound surprised.

"Heaven forbid!" she laughed. "We just check on all guests during quiet hour. Quietly, so as not to disturb. Maternal instinct, you know. Making sure everyone is comfortable."

She sat on the bed, patted beside her.

"Sit. Let's talk."

It wasn't a request. Benjamin sat, hands clasped between his knees, trying to keep his distance.

"Tell me about yourself. What do you think brought you to us?"

"Burnout. Job loss. The usual story."

"There are no usual stories. Every pain is unique. Every wound requires special treatment. Did you suffer long?"

For some reason he wanted to tell her. Everything. About failures, fears, loneliness. Her voice enveloped, lulled, promised understanding.

"Yes. A long time."

"Poor boy," she touched his cheek. Her hand was warm, smelled of honey. "Carrying this burden for so long. Pretending to be strong for so long. But inside you're still that little boy who just wants to be hugged and told everything will be alright."

"I'm not a little boy."

"Of course not. On the outside. But inside? Inside we all remain children. Some just deny it. Build armor from cynicism and fatigue. But armor is heavy. Sooner or later you break under it."

She stood, walked to the window.

"I... " Miss Hart paused for a moment, but after hesitating, continued. "I knew a girl once... Beautiful, smart... But the world... the world was too cruel to her. She tried to fit in. To be adult, successful, strong. At twenty-five she had a breakdown. Complete. Irreversible."

Her voice wavered.

"She left. Left a note: 'I'm tired of pretending...'"

She turned to him.

"You can leave. Right now. I'll call a taxi, you'll go, forget this place. Return to your gray life, debts, loneliness. Or... you can stay."

"And what happens if I stay?"

"You'll find peace. Maybe not the kind you expected. But real. Deep. Forever."

"Forever." The word hung in the air.

"Think about it," she headed for the door. "You have until tomorrow. Tell me your decision in the morning. But remember—some doors only open one way."

This phrase from the dream burned Benjamin and brought him back to reality.

"So everything Lucas said is true?" he called after her.

Miss Hart stopped at the room's exit.

"Truth is a relative concept," she said over her shoulder, carefully closing the door behind her.