I used to live in the Japanese countryside. Directly outside my house? Rice fields for a quarter mile. All sorts of wildlife lived in these rice fields- huge snails, crabs, crayfish, cranes, SPIDERS (coming home through them at night was highkey awful in the summer), and any other bug you can think of- ticks!!- you name it.
Well enough wild shit used to happen to me out there in the middle of nowhere where my crazy stories became kind of notorious with my friends. Half of them, I later discovered, probably thought I was embellishing or exaggerating half the time. One of those friends came over to stay with me for a week, and she arrived at my single-street-light orange-crate of a train station at night. “Fastest way home is a half mile walk through the rice fields but we have to use our phone lights and watch out for spiders- are you game?” She shrugged it off. So we began our journey, milkyway visible overhead in the pitch black dark. Yes we were caught in webs. Yes we saw a juicy one that had set up shop in the path for the night that we had to wiggle around. But weirdest of all- after we made it past, we looked down and realized, at our feet, along the very edge of the path, was a CONGA LINE of crabs and crayfish walking single-file down the ENTIRE LENGTH of the goddamn rice field. One after the other. Not a hoard, but an orderly, civilized crustation moving line. Crab, crayfish, crab, crayfish, crab, crayfish, crayfish, crab, crab, crab, crayfish– we looked behind us and it was there, too, but we’d been so caught up in web hell we didn’t notice right away until we had to wiggle away from the big boi. We watched them for a moment, in silence, as they slowly trundled along. After awhile, we kept walking, but now in silent shock. I mean what else can you do after a sight like that? “You know….I used to think you were making it up. That all your stories were just kind of….lol, you know. But after that? …..what the fuck *was* that???” she said to me as we got closer to home. “I don’t know,” I told her. “I honestly don’t ask questions anymore. 🥲”
By the morning the conga line was gone. I lived there for two more years, with many, many more night walks through those rice fields, and many more spider encounters, but never again in my life did I *ever* see the crustation nighttime party line again. It remains a mystery to me. An enigma. And a convenient proof, with witness, that I wasn’t full of shit lol.