The world can be a scary place. We’re subjected to so much; from violence and war to economic uncertainty and spiders.
Yeah, that’s right… spiders.
I can’t think of anything worse. I’d rather stare down the barrel of a loaded shotgun.
Those creepy crawlers are the spawn of Satan. Have you ever seen the sick rituals they perform on their prey? Seriously, they make dinner time seem more like serial murder than an act of nature.
In what resembles a satanic sacrifice, they hang their victims in a web and watch them slowly suffocate. As if that’s not troubling enough, they return to the remains hours later and wrap the corpse tightly with webs until it has been mummified. Then, under the cover of darkness, the body is dragged to unknown depths where I imagine it’s consumed in a most unholy manner. I can imagine the horror movie now, The Hills Have Eight Eyes.
They are disgusting cretins. My hatred runs deep for them, mostly because they are so terribly ugly. I think mammals have pretty much proven that four legs are more than enough. Anything more just adds to the creep-factor. It’s like having four nipples or six nuts.
You know, I might be able to look past the hideous veneer if they were able to slaughter other annoying insects in large droves, but they seem to average one fly capture per week. That’s not exactly contributing to society.
I don’t know if I’ve just moved into a more advanced stage of arachnophobia, but I feel like I’m overrun with spiders lately. They’re everywhere! They’re dangling from the eves while I paint my house, building fortresses on my front porch, and clinging to my car’s windshield like the psychotic paper boy from Better Off Dead.
Just the other night I awoke suddenly to a tickling sensation on my shoulder. Fearing the worst, I slowly opened my left eye to investigate. I was frozen by the horror…my heart was pounding wildly through my chest as I stared at the creature. He was a quarter-sized monster with a furry core.
Perhaps I was a bit groggy, but I swear he had a patch of blonde hair and two fangs, just like Eric Northman from the HBO's vampire show, True Blood.
I was terrified, but I held my ground. Just like encountering a bear, I figured it was best to avoid any sudden movements. In an apparent show of respect, the spider slowly backed away from me.
“Is it you, Eric?” I mumbled to the demon.
He didn’t answer, which I took to mean only one thing; it was him.
“She is the one you want,” I whispered, motioning my eyes toward my wife as she slept peacefully by my side, "It's Sookie, you must feed now."
“Huh? What?” mumbled my wife in her sleep.
“Shh…go back to sleep,” I muttered in her ear, “It’s all just a dream.”
As the spider climbed onto her arm and traveled toward her neck, I turned away on my side. I couldn’t bear to watch. A tear rolled down my cheek as I felt her legs twitch under the sheets, followed by the painful sound of her hand slapping wildly at her neck.
Quickly, the spider’s belly filled and I was safe. I was finally able to fall asleep.
The next evening I was watching Unnatural History with my family when we were suddenly interrupted.
“Eeeew!” shrieked my wife.
There it was, a large spider carefully making its way down our curtain. It looked similar to the visitor from the night before, but I wasn’t sure it was him until he seemed to point his middle leg at me. He didn’t respect me after all. How could he after what I did last night?
“I got bites all over my neck! I bet it was him! Kill it!” shouted my wife.
I moved toward the window slowly.
“Honey…you know I don’t like spiders.”
“Fine, I’ll do it!” she quipped.
“I got it…I got it,” I assured her, “just give me a minute.”
I emerged from the kitchen with a butter knife and an old shoe. With my wife and son huddling on the other side of the room, I approached the beast slowly. Inch by inch, I moved closer to the target. With my arms extended, I stabbed wildly at the air like I was in a 1980’s knife fight. As the spider quickly scurried out of site, I dropped the silverware and raced away.
After a few moments, I regained my composure and prayed that my wife didn’t notice my ballerina-like leap and flailing wrists.
“That was pathetic,” she steamed.
Her eyes were cold and dark. Her love for me draining from her soul.
From the distance I could see the animal had resurfaced on the baseboard. I was overcome with rage.
“Ahhhhh!” I screamed while charging with the shoe held high.
My first swing barely missed, knocking the enemy onto the floor. He came at me with a final ferocious burst but his advance was stopped short as I pounded the shoe atop his tiny skull. I exhaled slowly after a brief silence.
“Is he dead?” my wife whispered.
“I think so,” I replied.
I slowly lifted the shoe. His motionless body was surrounded by a pool of blood and guts, but I had seen too many horror flicks to be sure of his demise. I felt one of his legs for a pulse. It was official.
He had expired. Time of death 8:22 PM.
"It's over...he's gone."
I outlined the perimeter of his corpse with chalk and blocked off the living room with yellow caution tape. We decided to cover him with a sock until the proper authorities could come and claim his remains.
I felt like a hero as my wife and son rushed in to hug me. I rested my chin on my wife’s head and ran my fingers through her hair.
“It’s over…” I assured her again as my eyes fixed onto another spider on the living room wall, his eight vengeful eyes burning into mine.
“It’s over,” I promised again.
But it wasn’t over. It’s still not over. The war has just begun.
