We called it the bat house. It was the big house on a four-hundred acre Costa Rican ranch that abutted the sea. The house was lovely, but for the spaces in the walls in one bedroom where you could see outside and the tilt of the floor that had me chasing anything I dropped to the other side of the room.
And there were bats.
No mosquitoes—which is a good thing in a country where dengue fever can put you down for a month or more, or possibly even take your life.
I was thankful for the lack of the tiny pestering creatures, but I did not know they were simply a depleted food source for a greater threat.
I thought there were mice in the walls. I could hear scratching and scattering, especially at night. Mice are really cute when they come from the pet store, so I wasn’t too afraid, although I didn’t relish them crawling through my things.
But, even though a mouse did once run across my pillow while my head was on it, I finally had to come to grips with the fact that the scratching in the walls was not mice.
The evening was late and the moon was waxing. Trees with feathery leaves towered over the farm house, blocking most of the light from the moon.
I stood outside, my neck strained from looking up, trying to see though the forest to gaze at the moon, when that magical hour came and the bats left the roost. Hundreds of them winged from my rafters. A thick line of flying black burst from the roof, and I knew at once I must move. Not just move my feet and run, but move all my things out of the house—the house I had just moved into.
I was disappointed. I loved the bat house with its wrap around porch and its vaulted ceilings. I loved the teak table that was so heavy I could hardly drag it across the floor. I loved the cows that ambled though the yard and the horses that whinnied at night when I was drifting off to sleep.
But I didn’t love the bats.
And I didn’t love the man that hid under the house, lying in wait to sneak into the kitchen and steal my purse—my purse that was packed with all my credit cards and cash and all my ID, including my passport.
Weeks before I witnessed the bats fling their bodies toward the moon, my psyche was violated. My inner-core was rocked. My illusion of safe-ness was exposed.
I had stashed my full purse by the door because we were getting ready to leave to do our passport run to Panama early the next morning.
The dogs had been restless all evening, running outside and barking at nothing, or maybe the developing moon, or maybe the bats I didn’t yet know were living in the ceiling.
We were packing a few things and looking forward to a road trip across the mountains on the Via de La Muerte—The Way of Death. It is beautiful there.
We walked into the bathroom talking and packing and cleaning. That was when I heard a shuffle on the porch. Possibly, a racoon, but not quite. It was heavier.
We looked at each other with some concern and hurried out into the great room. We stepped out onto the porch and saw nothing but moonlight drifting through the trees.
All seemed well, but for an unsettled feeling.
An hour later, we readied ourselves for bed and I went to find my contact lens case which I left in my purse. That was when I discovered my purse was missing. It had been sitting on the shelf near the door. A quick inspection revealed that nothing else inside was missing. But, several tools had been taken from the small shed on the porch.
Did I mention that the bat house sits in the middle of a field on four-hundred acres of land next to the sea?
Except for the ranch hands in the little house though the woods, there is no one else within screaming distance.
I suddenly felt very vulnerable. I wanted to stay inside and shut off the lights so no one could see where I was or what I was doing. I wanted to let my eyes adjust to the dark so I could spot my intruder if he was still lurking under the eaves. I was afraid of finding him lest he use force to free himself and I find myself boasting a bullet wound. Not something I relished having.
I did not sleep.
I did not sleep for weeks.
We postponed our trip and attempted to find my purse with all its important papers. We went on the banana coconut diet because we had no cash, no ATM card, and no passport to use as ID to pick money up from a Western Union.
We didn’t drive much because we had no money for gas. We dragged the mattress out into the living room every night to get away from the mouse that ran over my head.
I loved the bat house.
It is disappointing when you think you have found something wonderful and it turns into a nightmare.
I did not sleep for weeks and finally, after that night with the waxing moon and the swarm of bats leaving their roost in the rafters, we packed our things and left.