Born and raised in Nebraska, Merry Muhsman is sometimes a fantasy writer, sometimes a nonfiction writer, sometimes a flash fiction writer. Basically, she’s a writer of a lot of styles. She reads a lot of different styles, too, which often influence her writing. As Forest Gump once said, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.” And so is the case of this site. Merry still lives on a farm with her husband and son, a dog and lots of cats.
Life has been full of holiday activities, challenges and well just life, so my spider stories have taken the seat way in the back of the station wagon (which frankly I always thought was the best seat in the station wagon).
Today, I am including some answers to questions readers have asked me. I trust that you know some things I wrote are just not true, but there is quite a bit of truth woven into these stories.
Yes. The first spider log is true. From the spider on my hand to throwing the package outside, everything was true. I had no idea that the story would be so popular or it would launch future versions.
2. Did you have babysitters named Laura and Nellie.
No, I did have babysitters who killed bugs for me. They are still a part of my life, but I did not use their real names.
3. Did you go on sabbatical from getting the mail?
I absolutely did. I did not get the mail for several weeks this summer. My family always seemed surprised that I didn’t get the mail, even though I drove right by the mailbox.
4. Were your babysitters involved in a natural disaster in real life?
No. The man-made disaster of the frogs and snakes was inspired from a Discovery Channel show I watched years ago and had nothing to do with my babysitters. I’ve always been fascinated by man trying to change nature, as if we could solve natures problems. Where I live, they introduced mountain lions into my state to reduce the deer population. The mountain lions decided they liked cattle more than the deer. The ironic thing is years later the deer population was nearly wiped out by a disease. Nature took care of its own problem.
5. Did you write the government a letter?
No. After the first story, I thought what lengths would I go to if I could get rid of spiders without moving. In real life, I even tried training my cats to kill spiders. It turned into “get the spider, get the spider.” This order was not as popular as “get the mouse.”
6. Is there a postmaster named Thelma?
• No. At the time I was writing the story, I thought how difficult it might be for a postmaster to not speak about the mail that comes across their desk. Especially in a small town, but then again, I know very little about how post offices work.
7. What about those stories with your husband? Especially that big spider, were they true?
Yes. The interactions with my husband were all true. Especially the large spider on the porch. I may have considered locking the door when I ran into the house. Because a locked door will always keep out a spider.
8. Do you know millionaires involved in pest control?
I know millionaires, but none of them are running a side exterminator business.
9. Did you throw a package in the office, and wait to check it?
Absolutely. I really dislike brown envelope packages.
I pondered what to write when I feel the spider stories had concluded—until spring when the minions crawled out from the depths of hell. It’s January. It’s cold. Our normal high is 34. I should be able to clean closets, sweep out the dark corners, knock webs down in the barn. And yet… the spiders live.
I was feeding my neighbor’s cats while he was on vacation and saw a wolf spider in his garage. Very. Much. Alive. It’s January. It’s winter. Are spiders now immune to the cold? God help us.
Do you have other questions that I haven’t answer above? Add a comment below, and I’ll answer you!
My husband and I disagree on how to measure the size of a spider…
I gripped the glowing jar in my shaking hands. The hum of my car running sheered the still morning air like a freight train. The sky streaked in pinks and golds did little to warm my chilled skin.
Why am I doing this? I’m being ridiculous. If my friends—no my family—knew the extent of my quest for total spider extinction, they’d probably check me into a mental hospital.
Who stands in front of their mailbox at the butt crack of dawn with a jar of experimental glowing bugs? They were just black jumping spiders in there. Did they really need a full jar of exploding fireflies?
My hand trembled as I reached for the mailbox lid.
Just little black jumping spiders. That’s all. Just…
Metal grated on metal when I opened the lid. A large, brown freakish spider crouched in the back. It was too large. Its legs did that creepy crawly movement, and it raced toward me.
Terror roared in my mind, and I tossed the jar into the mailbox too hard. I heard it shatter, the light blinding my eyes, as I shut the lid.
***
Three days earlier…
I stoop down to pet a kitten circling my leg, bumping me with its tiny body. Four more kittens swarm me with purrs, head nudges, leg brushes and general belly flops . The babies love this time of night; I called it kitten cuddles.
The Siamese kitten with a heart-shaped face, brown boots and a tan creamed colored fur meows at me when I stop petting him.
“You’re so sweet,” I tell him as I stroke the side of his face. He meows a satisfied sound.
I stand up and walk toward the house. I freeze. A black spider perched legs next to the door jam, its long legs stretched out. The spider dared me to take another step toward the door. He would follow me and hide in boxes and shelves and maybe on the bag of cat food.
The horror.
“Oh hell no!” I cry, scurrying away from the door. I sprint across the dark lawn, up the deck steps and yank open the deck door. Thank the good Lord the deck door is unlocked. I slip out of my boots on my light blue area rug.
I march into the house and stand in front of my husband, scrolling through Facebook on the ipad. “There’s a spider by the garage door. I can’t go out that door. It’s about the size of a dollar coin.” I gesture with my hands in case he forgot how the size of a silver dollar.
My husband removes his glasses, sets down the ipad and smiles. “Let’s see this big spider.”
We walk out of the house together, but I hang inside the garage door.
“Where is he?” He stands near the door frame in the gloomy dark with the yard light giving him light to see. How could he not see that enormous nightmare? He was so close to the door jamb. Too close. What if the spider pounced on him?
I point out the door. “On the other side of the door jamb. To the left. Stand back a little and you will see him.”
He took a step back. “Oh that little thing?” He approaches the spider and brushes his foot down the wall. I scurry back up the steps, ready to bolt inside the house if the spider escaped. He stomps down on the ground.
“Did you get it?” My fingers curl on the doorknob.
“Yeah,” he replies, wiping his foot on the grass.
I let go of the doorknob and sit down on the step, unable to stand. Fear replaced by relief. We are safe for now.
He walks into the garage and shuts the door. “It wasn’t that big.”
My breath catches in my chest. “Excuse me?”
“It was the size of my pinkie.”
“No ,it was definitely bigger than that.” I paused, feeling my heartbeat ratchet up a notch. Were we talking about the same spider? Was there more than one?
He pointed at the nail of his pinkie finger. “His body was no bigger than my pinkie.”
“That’s how you measure the size of a spider? By the body? You have to include the legs. The legs are outstretched and they count!”
He laughed a little and pointed at his pinkie. He walked in the house and kissed my head. “Not that big.”
I sat on the steps realizing that my husband and I had vastly different ideas of spider size. Years ago, I was just a child walking in the bathroom and on the floor was a huge wolf spider. The size of a tarantula. I screamed and ran to my dad. They checked the bathroom, but there was no spider. I barely slept that night. But when I came home from school the next day, I noticed large, black legs in the wastebasket.
I’m certain my husband believes I exaggerated then. I always said it was big as my dad’s hand. I wonder how he would measure that spider.
I thought back to my conversation with Nellie and her offer to give me one of her genetically altered pest control devices. She had slid a padded folder across the table at the bar.
“What is this? A menu?” I laughed. I flipped it open to a single sheet of paper. Nice paper with gilded edges and dark black type. Artwork of a black spider was embossed on the top. “What is this? A list of ways to kill spiders?”
The list included several techniques such as prices per squish, cans of industrial size Raid, flamethrowers (with a special disclaimer that use requires two weeks of prior training), DIY spray with specific instructions for mixing, cat… “Wait… “ I put my finger on specific line and narrow my eyes at Nellie.
She takes a swig of beer and then grins. “Yes, that one is special. Only for people who can care for cats.”
I snicker. “Ninja cats? Seriously.”
“You should see them! They are trained since they are kittens. They aren’t really ninjas, but they can climb trees and some can scurry so fast they go up walls. But they are trained to seek and destroy spiders.”
“There’s no prices… wait… are these real ninjas, too?”
“Well that’s just for Australia. I must have given you the worldwide list. The ninjas help with the Australian funnel spiders. Lethal to humans if they bite. They have…” She starts to mimic something with her fingers and I hold a hand up.
“No, I don’t need to know any more thank you.” I closed the folder and slide it back to her. “Who did all this? You and Laura?”
She cocked her head to the bar. “Al and I worked together. Laura helped initially, but she wasn’t all that thrilled with the idea. You see Al’s wife was a lot like you. She was terrified of spiders, and she loved cats. She passed away shortly after Al won the lottery. Tragic really. Al never got over his broken heart. They had plans to travel and then the car accident. Al decided to put the money to something good, something to honor her. He approached me about coming up with ways to save people from their fear of spiders. “
I glanced at Al and pursed my lips. He turned to me; his eyes were cloudy, sorrowful as if this dedication to helping people with their fear was his lifeblood, his promise to the love of his life. I mouthed a “thank you,” and he nodded, turning back to the football game on TV.
“So what do you think? We could start you with the jar of explosive lightening bugs. Very effective for ridding your mailbox of spiders.”
“Let me think on it.” The idea of messing with nature made me pause. What was I doing? Had I become so irrational that I would consider chemical warfare against spiders?
What would my family think? Was I playing God with spiders? What if… there were just too many what ifs.
I had walked out believing it was a terrible idea.
***
Two days later…
My husband and I sat on the front porch on our porch swing. The valley spread out before us beneath a dark blanket of twinkling stars. A southern breeze brushed against my hair. I pulled my knee to my chest, feeling the chill across my bare legs. Harvest had begun, and the harvest was good. Today we had no equipment breakdowns.
Our conversation turned to the day’s events, what tomorrow would hold and sometimes the subject drifted to a future that seemed large with possibility.
The sort of night that you almost say is perfect, but hold back saying the word, because Karma loves to disrupt your “perfect night”.
A large black spider scurried from the shadows across the concrete porch just barely yards from my bare foot. I bit down to keep from screaming, but did not hold back the wimpy, incomprehensible sounds on someone about to lose their shit. I bolt toward the door.
I step inside, grip the door handle to keep the door shut as if a door made of glass and metal was somehow going to keep out the monster.
“Now that is a big one,” my husband said. Was there pride in his voice? A little bit of awe? I wonder how he’d measure the size of THAT one? A silver dollar body? Maybe a scrub daddy sponge?
“Kill it!” I scream. “What if it comes in the house? It’s too big to live!” I press my hands against the glass, ready to back up and shut the inner door if that thing ran toward the house. Toward me.
My husband picked up the frog garden status and placed it down on the big spider. Black legs stuck out from underneath the frog, another testament to the enormous size of the monster.
“Did you press it down?” There should have been a crunch. A loud crunch. “That thing was big enough to move the frog.” My voice had gone up two octaves My soprano-singing aunt would be proud.
My husband laughed, “It’s dead.”
“I’m not coming back out, “ I said and promptly and sat down on the couch.
That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, sleep dissolving like smoke from my exhausted body. I opened my eyes and a monster stared me eye-to-eye.
A large black spider dangled from a sticky strand in front of my face. I yelled, “Fucker!”
I swear the spider grinned.
My husband touched my hip. “Honey, you’re dreaming.”
I sat upright, shaking my head to dislodge the fog. My t-shirt wet from sweat and smelled of despair and fear.
I thought about what Nellie had said about exploding fireflies.
The next morning, I called Nellie. “it’s time.”
***
Present day…
Light glowed from inside the mailbox, almost an afterglow before yellow light faded. Nellie instructed me not to open the lid for 4 hours. Let the chemical dissolve. Opening the mailbox could cause an explosion.
How on earth would I explain why there was an explosion in my mailbox. “Yes, officer. I used the exploding fireflies to kill a spider. I understand it was dangerous, and it was not my intention to cause a wildfire that burned 100 acres and used resources from five counties to put it out. But the spider is dead.”
I got into my car and shut the door. I let out a deep breath. Nellie’s instructions were clear. Open the box. Throw the jar hard enough to break. Shut the door. Don’t stare directly at the light (Ok Indiana Jones, it’s not the Ark of the Covenant). The chemical should be dissolved by the time they put new mail in the box.
I turned onto the road and hoped Nellie’s calculations were accurate.
Please enjoy this guest post from Vanessa Finaughty!
A considerable portion of the world’s population is drawn to magic, be it in the form of stage magic, wizards and the like in fantasy worlds, or real-world magic such as using affirmations or the Law of Attraction or in spiritual practices, to name but a few. It’s not all ‘one personality type’ or people with the same beliefs, either – those who appreciate magic are often complete opposites, for example, the superstitious and the sceptical.
What is it about magic that draws so many different people from all walks of life? Here’s what I think…
Magic appeals to the sense of wonder we all like to experience as we feed our curious nature and our inherent desire to be privy to something extraordinary and seemingly inexplicable.
Magic allows us to escape realityas we suspend disbelief for a little while. Who hasn’t imagined, even once, having the ability of telekinesis, teleportation, invisibility or some other magical power? This brief escapism is excellent stress relief.
Magic makes us feel – from surprise, awe and amazement to amusement and a range of other fulfilling emotions in between.
Magic is entertaining. Whether it’s a magic show, a real-world mystery or a fictional power like that of the Charmed witches, magic is versatile and tends to leave a lasting impression.
Magic stimulates the imagination and the ability to solve problems creatively, which can be quite useful at times.
A belief in magic can give us strength and hope during difficult times. Belief in a higher power – be it related to religion, spiritualism or a belief in the energy all around us, or even the temporary ‘belief’ required to enjoy a fantasy movie or book – can offer a profound, potent motivation to get through the tough times. It can be extremely comforting and even give us some sense of control over our lives.
I think humanity’s attraction to the mysteries of magic will be as eternal as anything can be in this world.
Vanessa Finaughty is a multi-genre author who has published more than 20 books, including school books published by Oxford University Press Southern Africa. Vanessa grew up in Cape Town, South Africa, and still lives there with her husband and their four children (two human and two furry, four-legged).
Vanessa has always been passionate about books, and knew from a young age that she wanted to write them one day. She loves animals, coffee and the smell of wet grass, and hates excessive weather, long queues and liars. Her interests include reading, photography, the supernatural, mythology, aliens and outer space, ancient history, life’s mysteries and martial arts, in which she has five years’ experience in Ki Aikido.
Today, I’m introducing you to Vanessa’s main characters. Are they good? Are they evil? Are they a little bit gray? You have to read the books to decide.
Vanessa, tell me about how you created this artwork? It reminds me of classic fantasy when the artwork had depth and meaning and not just a pretty cover.
Vanessa: I used the NightCafé AI art generator to create all of the artwork for my series, including my book covers, promotional materials and these wallpapers, and I used Photoshop to size them to be used as desktop or mobile wallpapers. I generated hundreds of images before I got the perfect ones, but it was well worth the time! Those hundreds of images won’t be wasted either – most of them are really good even though they didn’t fit what I was looking for at the time, and some have been used in music videos for the series, as writing prompts for authors or to pretty up blog posts.
Like what you see? You can download this vibrant artwork for your computer, share it with your fans, but most importantly, download the books. Or share this blog with a friend who loves fantasy!
To celebrate the recent release of Wizard of Ends, Book 3: United Army, we’re giving away free wallpapers for PC and mobile. Click the thumbnails below to download the full-sized images.
Read a chapter from her new fantasy book Wizards of Ends: Dark Creature, Chapter 1
I am so excited to share with you the work of a writer friend of mine. Vanessa and I met over a decade ago through a critique group called Critters. She lives halfway across the world in South Africa. She’s such a talented writer and author of 20 books (she’s been busy!).
Right now, Vanessa’s book “Wizard of Ends” is free! Links are at the bottom of this blog. Did I mention it’s free? This is the perfect way to get introduced to Vanessa’s world!
Please join me in giving Vanessa a warm welcome!
Hi Vanessa. I fondly remember how you and I met years ago in the Critters group. Both brought together from our love of fantasy.
Question: Do you have a favorite author(s)? Who are they and what draws you to them?
I do! They’re Dean Koontz, John Connolly (whom I actually had coffee with once!) and Terry Brookes. I love Koont’z sick mind and the endless twists in his books, and that you never know if the ‘cause of it all’ will be supernatural or not. Connolly’s imagination is equally entertaining, and he’s an awesome person to boot – just the type I could be good friends with if we lived within coffee-drinking distance! I love Brookes for the truly epic fantasy, the type that you can imagine as a Lord of the Rings type of movie.
I was reading your author bio last night on Amazon, and I had no idea you wrote 20 books. Question: What sort of books do you like to write when you’re not working on fantasy?
I also love horror and thriller – those are equal favourites along with fantasy. I enjoy science fiction too, but nothing too heavy on the tech stuff. I also enjoy anything that makes me laugh, and anything weird in non-fiction. (By the way, the school books I wrote for OUPSA are included in that 20, just in case anyone checks my indie author pages and sees a bit fewer!)
The book you’re sharing with us today is the second book in your series. Can you tell us about this story?
The Queen of Ends has been cursed, and it’s up to Lashlor to save her. To help the queen, he has to find an old flame, Rune Arcana. The only trouble is, Rune hates his guts and, the last time Lashlor saw her, she threatened to curse him if she ever saw him again. I quite enjoyed writing the interaction between Lashlor and Rune – that love/hate dynamic is rather amusing at times!
And you are here to promote book 3, coming out on 21 October. Is this the conclusion of your series or do you have more stories to share?
There will definitely be more books in the Wizard of Ends series. I’ve already started writing Book 4: Tainted Magic, and will be sharing an extract from it on the last day of the book tour. Readers who purchase Book 3 can also read the full Chapter 1 of Book 4 at the end. There will be a few more books after that, and I have some special plans for the final book – all I will say for now is that they involve Lashlor’s herb pouch 😉
Thanks Vanessa for stopping by on your world-wide virtual book tour. And thank you for sharing an excerpt from your second book. Links to all Vanessa’s books can be found at the bottom of this blog.
Enjoy!
Wizard of Ends, Book 2: Dark Creature – Chapter 1
Today, the Wizard of Ends virtual book tour brings you Chapter 1 of Wizard of Ends, Book 2: Dark Creature. Enjoy!
Bleak and foreboding, the Mountains of Eclador rose before the group of weary travellers, the darkening orange sky giving the mountains a decidedly evil appearance. A flock of kreag, nasty birds of prey large enough to carry off a full-grown man, circled above the nearest peaks. Lashlor hoped the birds were not hungry. These mountains were cold and heartless, and showed mercy to no man or beast, and the kreag would show the travellers no mercy either if it was to ease their hunger. Exactly what made the mountains so deadly was unknown – it could be a lack of food or shelter in most parts, or the kreag or other vicious mountain animals, or it could be something more sinister. Lashlor just hoped that whatever it was, it wasn’t magical.
If they returned to exit the narrow canyon they were about to enter, they would be the first in recorded history to survive a trip into these mountains.
The sorceress they were going to see, Rune Arcana, was capable of seeing him safely home, Lashlor knew. However, he wasn’t so sure she would have the power to see thirty-six men and their horses safely out of the mountains. He supposed it depended on why exactly the mountains were so treacherous. He had warned King Lanaran of his fears, but the king had refused to let him make the journey alone.
Then again, Rune might just spell his face rotten, as she had promised she would if she ever saw him again. She, like many others, had accused Lashlor of lying about being a wizard. Even at the vilest of provocations, he had refused to use his magic to prove himself honest. She had told him she would not marry a liar. He had told her he would not marry someone who thought he was a liar. The rest was history. He had since checked up on Rune once or twice, not really sure why he bothered, and one of her cousins had told him about a year and a half ago that she had gone to live in the Mountains of Eclador and wanted to be left alone.
Lashlor’s thoughts turned to the herbs he still had secreted in his belt pouch. These particular herbs were only found in the Land of Ends. He had risked the dangers of the Jeltar Woods at night to get them, so he could return to his place of birth and right a wrong. He had wanted it over and done with, afraid he would lose his nerve and never return. Besides delaying his task, the delay caused by the journey to the Mountains of Eclador meant he would have to gather more herbs, for these would be dried out by the time they got back to Ends.
Lashlor was jolted from his reflections when Captain Amkesh, who rode a black stallion near the front, came to a stop. The captain turned his horse and drew up alongside Lashlor’s steed, a silver-grey mare.
“Are you sure about this?” Captain Amkesh frowned. “This place gives me the chills.”
“The chill in the air is only nature and nothing to fear. Night will be upon us soon.”
Amkesh nodded, still frowning. “Maybe we should camp here for the night.”
“There are still two hours of daylight,” Lashlor said. “Two hours could mean the difference between life and death for Queen Narraki.”
Amkesh sighed. “You are right, of course.” His back straightened and he ordered, “Move on!”
<><><>
King Lanaran took a sip from his wine glass, and then picked up his fork again and played with his food.
Sitting opposite Lanaran at the dining table, the broad-shouldered King Axim Winguard of Storher fixed sea-green eyes on him. “I understand why you have no appetite, old friend, but you must force yourself to eat. You need your strength. Narraki needs your strength.”
Lanaran glared at his plate. “Maybe I will regain some of my appetite if Iaracella Tinletor’s pending execution draws out Thorona, as you suggested it might.”
“The family’s previous actions suggest that is exactly what will happen. Thorona will most certainly attempt to rescue her grandmother. Since the execution is first thing in the morning, expect some trouble tonight.” Axim grinned in delighted anticipation and raised his wine glass.
His friend’s usually infectious grin stirred no mirth in Lanaran now. “Yet still, it will not undo the curse on Narraki.”
“From what I’ve heard, your wizard will accomplish that.”
“He says he cannot.”
Axim swallowed a piece of steak. “He also said Assassa would kill him.”
Hope sparked in Lanaran. “He did, didn’t he?”
“And if he truly believed he could not help,” Axim pointed out, “he would not have risked journeying to the Mountains of Eclador.”
Some of the weight lifted from Lanaran’s shoulders. “Yes, you’re right, of course.”
“The old woman is well guarded?”
Lanaran nodded. “Triple the usual guards, plus more outside and patrolling the grounds.”
“What about the roof?”
“Also teeming with guards.”
“Eat, Lanaran, eat!” Axim bellowed, slapping the table and startling Lanaran into dropping his fork on the floor.
A servant hastened to pick it up and then turned to leave.
“Don’t bother with a new one.” Lanaran pushed back his plate. “And take this while you’re at it.”
The servant moved to comply, but Axim said, “Off with you, boy! Fetch that fork.”
To Lanaran’s annoyance, his servant obeyed his friend’s orders over his. “Count yourself lucky you’ve done me the favour of allowing my men to traipse through your kingdom to reach the Mountains of Eclador.”
Axim chuckled. “You asked me here to help you, but you did not specify how. You must eat or the sorceress has won regardless. You must eat, because, if you die of starvation, once Narraki is herself again, she will be all alone and filled with grief, and she might even hate you.”
Lanaran smiled. “Narraki is incapable of hatred.”
“And perhaps that is why, even as a beyeni, she did not try to harm you.”
“She was going to lick me. That would have–”
“Killed you?” Axim asked. “Yes, yes, but did she know that or was she merely being affectionate? Besides, you don’t really know that she was going to lick you; that’s just an assumption.”
The servant returned with a clean fork and Lanaran thanked him, and then pulled his plate back towards him, speared a carrot and raised it to his lips.
Axim took another sip of wine. “I was thinking, after the execution tomorrow, you and I should help the magic users search for information about undoing curses in the Great Library. The more people looking, the more chance we have of finding something in time.”
“I thought you said my wizard would handle that?” Lanaran asked, his tone more sarcastic than he had intended.
“I have faith in him, but…”
Lanaran sighed. “But no one has ever returned from the Mountains of Eclador.”
<><><>
The gloom thickened the further into the canyon Lashlor and the others rode, the steep walls blocking out most of what was left of the sunlight. Lashlor rode ahead with Captain Amkesh, scanning the skies every now and then for signs of kreag. It was said there had once been a map of the Mountains of Eclador, but, if it had existed, it had been lost so long ago that most people now believed it to be a myth. The captain had forbidden everyone from unnecessary talking, so they would have a better chance of hearing if anything stalked them, hoping for an easy meal. It concerned him that the canyon formed a natural trap and there would be no escape if they were caught unawares.
“Tell me again how you will find this sorceress.”
Lashlor ran a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. “I won’t lie you to. It won’t be easy. I will need to stop often and try to sense her aura trail. I felt it as we entered the canyon, so I can say for certain that she did, indeed, enter this way. I did not sense her exiting, so she must still be here unless there is another way out.”
“This canyon is the only way in or out, from what I’ve heard.” Amkesh glanced back to check on his men. “That sounds easy enough. Why do you say it won’t be easy? Does it use a lot of magical energy?”
Lashlor shook his head. “No, not really. It’s just that many things could have erased her aura trail, including time. Plus, she uses her magic often, so the trail is weak to begin with and, therefore, easier to erode. It’s only because we… because I know her so well that I can still trace her now, all this time later.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes, and then Amkesh asked, “What things could erase an aura trail?”
“Magic, for one. That’s what I’m the most worried about. Since Rune wants to be left alone, it’s quite possible she erased her trail at some point. If she did, it might not matter how well I know her.”
“Would she have been that paranoid?”
Lashlor shrugged. “You never know with Rune.”
<><><>
Kings Lanaran and Axim sat side by side on a pile of fresh hay in the cell next to the one in which Iaracella Tinletor, Thorona’s grandmother, was imprisoned. They waited in silence in the early hours before dawn, hoping to surprise any would-be rescuers. The old woman’s cell was between them and that which held the beyeni – his queen. Lanaran shuddered, still unable to comprehend how the beast that snarled and spat at the guards through the cell bars could possibly be his beloved Narraki. It seemed none of her old nature remained and, for the first time, he had seen hatred shining in her eyes. The glowing orange eyes of a creature of darkness. Another shudder racked him.
Axim shifted next to him. Unlike Lanaran, who enjoyed peace and quiet, Axim loved adventure and excitement, and the thought of a tussle with an enemy of Ends made him quite happy.
The guards changed shifts, in sets of three so the old woman would always have eyes on her. When the last shift change was over, Lanaran studied the faces of the guards he could see. All had been instructed to report anyone they did not recognise, but still… He knew all five guards within his line of vision, but it did not relax him.
Two wizards sat in the cell to their right, their pulses probably racing as fast as Lanaran’s. Perhaps the security was too tight, or too obvious, he thought. Nobody could get in here.
As if in mockery of his last thought, an explosion shattered the silence and a cloud of smoke filled the dungeon. Something sizzled and the guards cried out in alarm.
Lanaran and Axim leapt up, drew their swords and raced into the smoke.
Thorona materialised in a flash of white light, wearing an inappropriately short white gown that ended halfway between her waist and knees. The cell that held Iaracella was open, and she hobbled towards her granddaughter.
The guards attacked, but their swords met an invisible barrier. Thorona ignored them.
“Do it!” Lanaran commanded the wizards.
They had anticipated that Thorona would shield herself magically if she tried to rescue her grandmother, and the wizards had prepared a spell that would work rather nicely with the help of a little hog sweat spray mixed with the right herbs.
The wizards sprayed the vile stuff on Thorona, who squealed in indignation at the stench.
“You will regret that,” she said, turning her attention to them as her grandmother reached her.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Book 2: Dark Creature can be purchased for only $3.99 and Book 1 is FREE!
Vanessa Finaughty is a multi-genre author who has published more than 20 books, including school books published by Oxford University Press Southern Africa. Vanessa grew up in Cape Town, South Africa, and still lives there with her husband and their four children (two human and two furry, four-legged).
Vanessa has always been passionate about books, and knew from a young age that she wanted to write them one day. She loves animals, coffee and the smell of wet grass, and hates excessive weather, long queues and liars. Her interests include reading, photography, the supernatural, mythology, aliens and outer space, ancient history, life’s mysteries and martial arts, in which she has five years’ experience in Ki Aikido.
I shiver. The sensation trickling down my body into the tips of my legs. I scurry across the ground before the chill freezes me into place, my legs fold up and I flop over like Aunt Delores.
Now she was something to behold. Her tan legs tipped with a little black and that pattern on her back. But it was her size that got humans. She was a big-un. Made women shriek and wail as if watching that horse sink into the mud of despair in the “Never Ending Story” movie.
Whir. Click. I sigh as the heat wave from the furnace drifts across my body, wrapping me in a warm blanket. I shift, roll and land on all eight legs.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I shake the last bit of chill from my body.
Why did Harry Houdini think this place would a be a good place to raise our babies? Never trust a male spider; he didn’t even ask directions when we were looking for a new home. He escaped from this place before I could exact my retribution.
Bastard.
He promised me a luxury palace, not this cheap no-tell motel. Cheap bastard.
But like Aunt Delores, what doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger. I built a beautiful egg sac, poured every last bit of soul into an exquisite tear-dropped egg sac. The moisture glistened on my silk threads like dew on the meadow. When the children emerged, they swarmed like a million minions, only much smarter than those bright lemony yellow, bug-eyed idiots.
True minions. Such small, scurrying brown minions, racing up the stone steps into freedom. The brown wave spreading, their tiny squeals so delightful as they descended upon the ant hills.
Oh my minions. How a mother misses them. I raised them well, but now it was my time to feed, to scare, but mainly to feed.
Buzz. Flutter. Swish. Swish.
My fangs wiggle and my tiny hairs straighten like stick pins.
Food.
Scurry. Scurry. Scurry.
There. A black ant. A big one. Big. Trying to hide in the shadows. Can’t hide from a thousand eyes.
The ant went limp against my body. I shiver and roll back, one leg clutching the ant to my body.
White light sliced the darkness and something groaned. I scurry back to watch, to wait, to hunt. Footsteps weighted down by cowboy boots thudded down the metal steps. A human. It smells like canned tuna and regret.
My vision sharpens. A woman! How pleasing.
The light illuminates her horrifying brightness. A zig-zag-patterned explosion of color burns my thousand eyes. Mrs. Roper called; she wants her outfit back.
My vengeance against Harry Houdini will be sated if I can simply terrify this woman. I will make Aunt Delores proud.
I raise my legs one at time, blood surging through my limbs. I rise, dangling my fangs.
“The itsy bitsy spider, crawled up the water spout…” Her voice vibrates against my body and the hairs on my legs prickled.
What the absolute…did she call me? Itsy? BITSY? Oh I’ll show..
“Down came the rain, and washed the spider out,” Mrs. Roper sang.
My legs twitches. My butt wiggles. What was happening? I drop my precious lunch, my stomach lurches at the loss.
“Out came the sun…”
My legs vibrate on their own, moving with her excruciating song. Am I dancing?
She nears the bottom of the stairs and turns to her left then her right. “Dried out all the rain and the…” The words stopped in her throat.
My body is mine again.
Fear me Roper.
I crouch down. Weigh my options. I could jump straight up, might land on her, bite. Her eyes widen; she sees me. Does not scream. Oh I will make her scream.
Nothing is itsy bitsy about me Roper. I shake my front legs at her.
Prey. Prey. Prey.
Scurry. Scurry.
She leans down. Yes. Closer. Come closer Mrs. Roper. This is for Aunt Delores. This is for Harry Houdini for bringing here. This is for you for making my butt wiggle.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
Blood surges into my legs. Jum…
Clunk.
I bounce back. My legs reach out. Touch something hard, clear. My legs extend, batting against glass.
I’m trapped.
This prison smells like rotten tomatoes. Earthy. Sharp. Pungent.
Something sticks to my legs.
My world tumbles. I land on my back, my legs dancing, trying to find something solid. I thrash and scream like a mute crow in a Tupperware container.
Something tightens. The air is gone. I cannot breathe. My body bonces, and everything goes black.
***
I awaken to darkness, and my body rolls and then tumbles. I gather my legs beneath me and crouch. There’s a road in front of me, grasses swaying in the wind, soft rain falling outside. Mrs. Roper’s tomato colored face blocks my vision. Water drips from her wiry curls.
“Do your job,” she snaps, and then she pushes the lid shut.
Another prison. This one is cool, dry, but the ground is uneven. I delicately stair step my way down to a cool, metal floor in the corner. I will wait, gather my strength.
***
Light streams in the cracks of the prison, but this prison is still cool. Not damp, despite the patter of rain on the roof from the night before.
I hear gravel crunching outside, and something shuts hard.
Mrs. Roper has returned. Good.
I wait in the corner of the prison, hidden by the pile of envelopes and packages. I like the cool metal beneath my legs, and those envelopes smell funny, like tuna.
The door creaks open, and a hand grasps the mail.
I pounce and land on smooth skin.
The thing screams, shakes, and I go flying back into the prison. My back hits the metal hard, and I land on the floor. Scurry. Scurry.
An object flies past me and shatters. Glass shards fall like razors, and I scurry away, bouncing onto the side of the box, flattening myself.
Flutter. Buzz. Flicker. Flicker.
Bugs with glowing yellow butts buzzed around the box.
Mrs. Roper brought me dinner. Lots of delicious dinner.
I leap from my perch, tackling the bug in mid-air and rolled onto the ground. I sink my fangs into the body.
This tastes funny. Like…
Bright light explodes, then everything goes black.
I recruit my childhood babysitters to help me fight the spider crisis.
Spider Log: 09.2025.5
I arrived early to The Drunken Rooster. The local bar was quiet this afternoon. The dark intricate wood beams and black metal patterned ceiling cast the place in infinite shadows. Dim indoor lighting only added to the husky, stillness of the place as a soft rain fell outside. The bar was empty today because the Nebraska Huskers football team had an off week. The bar was literally a ghost town. Fitting for it once was a mortuary or a bank, I could never remember which one.
It’s unusual for me to be anywhere early, because I’m always in the nick of time. Not early, not late, but arriving exactly at the time I need to be there. Some might say I’m late if I’m not early. Others would just shake their head and wonder how I keep a job.
The bar owner Al leaned against the counter, one hand clutching a white towel, as he stared up at the TV.
“Don’t change the channel. I got a lot riding on this game,” Harry said. He leaned on the bar; one hand curled around his glass beer mug. I squinted at the TV but couldn’t see who was playing. The telltale green and yellow uniform looked like Oregon, but I didn’t recognize the opposing team.
Al shook his head. “How many games are you betting on this time?”
“Five,” he replied.
Al shook his head, and tossed the towel onto his shoulder. “Wish I had that kind of money,” he said,.
“No, you don’t,” Harry replied, draining his glass and sliding it toward Al. “More money brings more problems.”
Al shook his head and took the glass to refill it.
Harry’s gaze turned toward me, he nodded, and then rested his chin on his hand, staring at the TV. Ruggedly handsome, Harry was a bachelor who lost the love of his life to a car accident. He won the lottery a few years back. No family. No kids. Sought after by many women in town, Harry kept to himself mostly. I thought of asking him for help. Surely he had connections; people with money always had connections.
The door opened and the bell above the door jingled, interrupting my thoughts.
Laura came first, striding into the room like she owned the place, waving at Al and Harry before sliding into the chair beside me. She wrapped me a in a side hug.
“Maureen, how are you? What’s going on?” Laura asked. “You said it was urgent.”
“It is,” I replied, tension melting from my shoulders. I broke from her hug, my eyesight blurring. She understood me, more than most. A solid presence in the storm of life, she never changed. I waved at Al to bring Laura her signature drink. Sex on the Beach.
“I’m going to wait until Nellie arrives to tell you the whole tale, but for now, read this.” I slid the government letter across the table.
Laura’s eyes scanned the letter, looked up at me, and then down at the letter. “They won’t help you?” Al set her drink on the table. “Thanks Al.” She took a swig, sighed deeply and then turned back to the letter.
I sipped my strawberry margarita, strong enough to curl my toes. “No, clearly they don’t think it’s a big enough deal, But you know. You remember why…” I couldn’t finish the words, couldn’t dig deep into that dark memory that I locked away. The first time I encountered spiders.
The bell jangled, and Nellie scurried in, brushing her blonde hair away from her face, shaking off the rain from her black coat. She swung herself into a seat across from me, her purse the size of a small suitcase, thumped onto the chair next to her.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. She adjusted the fabric collar around her neck, her fingers straightening the metal black bat. “I found a great oversized skeleton at Home Depot, and I just had to buy it. They sold out last year.” She wrapped her cold hands around mine and squeezed.
I smiled. “Getting ready for Halloween early?” Nellie had the biggest yard decorations for Halloween every year. The kids always made a stop at her house. She was a fan favorite, having won numerous awards for her decorations. One year, she was even on some decorating show on HGTV.
“So what’s up? Why did you call us?” she said. Al brought her a smoking glass of bourbon. She really took the whole Halloween “smoke show thing” seriously.
“She’s having a problems with spiders again, and the government won’t do anything about it.” Laura explained, sliding the letter toward Nellie.
“I didn’t know who else to call. You have always been my bug killers,” I said.
Laura smiled, “When you were a kid, you’d scream ‘bug, bug, bug,’ as you ran down the stairs because there was a bug in your room.”
“And you always took care it.” My cheeks warmed at the memory. They had always been my protectors since I was a child. Even now, as an adult, I knew they’d understand my spider catastrophe and wouldn’t judge me. “I can’t get the mail. The spiders are literally living in my packages, and then they slip into the house. Just yesterday, there was a wolf spider the size of a half dollar on the wall by the litter box. I couldn’t empty the box, because the spider was right next to the scoop.” My lips pinched, and I shuddered. “I shut the door to the spare room. I’m certain the room reeks like urine now.”
Laura shook her head. “Have you tried calling the exterminator? I know a good one.”
Nellie shook her head. “An exterminator can’t solve this big of a problem. She can’t get her mail, and they’re moving into her house. Winter is coming. There will be a battle for control of her house.” Nellie fixed her steel gray eyes upon me. Her gaze unwavering, protective. “It’s been such a bad year for spiders.”
“True,” Laura admitted. “If you can’t call an exterminator, how about the National Guard?”
I suppressed a sob. “I think the government blacklisted me. When I call the National Guard’s number, I just get stuck in this infinite loop. I scream customer service, operator, someone human, and the robot operator tells me to press ‘1 ’to return to the previous menu. I was on the phone for four hours. I would have kept trying, but it was time to make supper.” Laura and Nellie both gasped.
“What does our taxes pay for?” Nellie shook her fist in the air. “I petitioned for Halloween to be a yearlong holiday once. I walked around in a witch’s costume and decorated the stairs of the governor’s house with pumpkins.” She paused, smiled at Harry. He nodded, then turned back to the TV.
Hope surged in my soul. I hadn’t thought of protesting on a local level. If the federal government was too big to help, maybe our governor would take my pleas seriously. “Did it work?”
The corner of Nellie’s mouth twitched. “He said, he’ll take it before the Unicameral this year.”
Laura’s eyebrow arched high into her bangs. “Seriously? You believed him?”
Nellie took a swig of her smokey drink and narrowed her eyes. She reached for a handful pretzels and crunched silently.
“You don’t think it will work?” I asked, my lips trembling. “I need your help…”
When I was a teenager, Laura and Nellie tried to make the bug busting thing work, but people tried them out, but killing bugs got costly and someone invented Raid. Much cheaper solution in the short term, but I couldn’t very well spray Raid in my mailbox and coat my mail in oily substance.
“Listen Maureen,” Laura said. This sounds like a much bigger problem than we can handle. We hung up our bug busting coats years ago. No one wanted to use us, and well I have a mortgage, bills, a car payment, and life insurance isn’t cheap at my age.”
I stilled. That wasn’t the real reason. “It’s because of what happened in Isla Perdida isn’t it?” It was a remote island, overrun with snakes and bugs. After the whole Raid business put the sisters out of business, Laura and Nellie had been doing business with smaller islands along the Florida coast. Bugs and spiders thrived in warm, humid conditions where there was never any hard freeze.
Laura introduced a poisonous frog to the island; the frogs secrete a poison as defense mechanism. The locals thought the frogs were evil. At first, they shot them with flaming arrows (which wasn’t a bad idea for spiders, actually) as they believed the frogs were evil. Nellie learned to use sign language to communicate with the local shaman to tell the villagers that the frogs would reduce the snake problem. The shaman agreed with some reluctance. The poisonous frogs killed the snakes and the frogs ate the bugs. Problem solved. The frogs had babies every four weeks and before long the island was overrun with frogs. Everyone had to evacuate the island.
Laura glanced at her watch and shoved back from her chair. She swallowed that last of her drink. “I have to go pick up snacks for the kids on my team. I’ll make some calls, Maureen. Maybe I can find someone.”
She had a youth football team, and football players got hungry. Very hungry. I hugged her, wished her well and felt a little of my hope shrivel inside. The bell jangled as she rushed out the door, replaced by the stillness.
Nellie passed her glass back and forth between her hands. The glass slid easily on the tabletop. I stared down at the rows of bottle caps encased beneath the acrylic top.
“Tell her, Nellie,” Al called from the bar. His gaze pierced Nellie, and she stiffened.
Nellie apprehension creased her face, and she looked more pale than her normal skin color. “Are you sure? There’s so few left.”
He nodded. “The girl needs help. This a crisis, Nellie. I can get more.”
I cleared my throat. What was happening? “Get more what?” I managed.
Nellie swallowed. She glanced from me to Al and back to me again. “Poisons files. They are dipped in a special kind of poison that makes their butts glow irresistibly to spiders.
The answer from the government finally came, but is it the answer I was looking for?
Spider Log: 08.2025.4
I haven’t been in the office for a week, but fate was calling me back to the room.
A few days ago, I believed the letter from the government had finally arrived in the form of a spray plane. My heart soared with the thought the government sent the plane to spread poisonous fog onto our property to rid us of the spiders. But no, the spray plane flew over the neighbor’s field. Those pilots fly low over the trees, loud enough to frighten the cats. They are crazy. But they wave at me. Crazy attracts crazy I guess.
I called the post office, because I’ve been waiting for the letter from the government, and if it arrived, only one person would know about it.
“I don’t go through the mail that carefully. If you got a letter from the US government, it would come with a certified notice.”
Thelma the postmaster at our small-town post office. And she was a liar.
I’d known Thelma for years, and when we were on speaking terms, she would tell me all the gossip. Like who had an overdue bill stamp on their power bill, who just got their Columbia House subscription using their dog’s name or who finally won Publisher’s Clearing House.
“Thelma,” I said as calmly as I could. “I’m expecting an important letter. I have no idea if it came certified or not, but…” I gritted my teeth.
The information I was about to give her would be all over the local coffee shop (aka The College of Knowledge), and then it would get back to my husband. And my in-laws, and the entire congregation at church. I might as well attach a scarlet “S” on my shirt.
“Thelma, we have been friends for a long time.”
“Hmph,” she muttered. “Not for years, but go on.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. A headache is coming on. “I would appreciate if you didn’t say anything to anyone about this… it’s top-secret stuff.”
“Top secret?” her voice raised.
I smiled. “Yes, the sort of stuff the government has been keeping secret for years. You know, those conspiracies we always talk about.” I stifled a giggle, but I could practically hear her leaning into the phone, the cord creaking on the other end.
“Yes, I remember. Did you… oh tell me that you finally uncovered one?”
“I did. But Thelma, I can’t tell you about it until I get that letter. The proof is in the letter,” I whisper.
She gasped. “No kidding! Is it bigger than the time they let the mountain lions loose on Owen’s farm because he wouldn’t sell his cows to the governor?”
“Yes, yes it is. Now can you tell me if a letter from the government came?”
The silence on the other end was longer than winter in Nebraska. “Listen, I’m only telling you this if you promised to share with me what the secret is.”
“Ok, I…”
“And maybeeeee,” she trilled, “I will forgive you, and we can be friends again.”
I considered. Not a bad deal. “Deal! Now did the letter come?”
She tapped her nails against the phone receiver. “Yep, that letter came last week. It wasn’t certified though. Just had a return address of the US government in Washington DC. I thought maybe you finally sold the farm or someone claimed…”
“Thelma, listen…are you listening?”
“Yes, my beloved friend.”
I stifle a groan. “The secret is what we’ve suspected all along. When the fog is just barely a trickle in the fields, it’s the mucus hanging in the air from the coyotes sneezing.”
“I knew it! I knew the coyotes were involved somehow. Always howling all night, stealing my chickens. Foxes always get blamed, but it was always the coyotes. What else do you know?”
“Well the government is injecting pollen in the air to save the bees. It’s making the coyotes sneeze, and their slimy mix of electrolytes and mucins and leukocytes is hanging in our air.” Thank you Webster’s dictionary.
“Their what? I can’t even pronounce that luke-o-tightie-whitey.”
“Yep, just keep it to yourself, Thelma. The bee people would protest with their flower power signs outside the post office if they knew what we know. You don’t need that kind of drama.”
“Oh yeah, right. Sure. I’ll keep it to myself,” she stammered.
“Good girl, Thelma!” I slammed the phone down on the receiver. I had no intention of telling the real story of why I wrote the government. This would keep her mind churning for a while until the
I stood before the front door as if I was about to meet the Queen of England. The door was large and loomed tall above me. Intimidating me. What if I opened the door, a thousand little spiders would come rushing out in a swarm.
I shivered.
I’m not ashamed to say that when I threw in the mail and slammed the door, the action rattled the house a bit. Maybe it rattled any other spiders hiding in the dark crevices of the basement or the closet or the cupboard to vacate the property.
I doubt it but one could hope.
I decided to open the door a crack and scream really loud because that scares everything away. Except raccoons. They are not scared of me.
Having emptied my lungs, I step gingerly into the room, staying away from the corners or dark places or the closet. My precious books have no webs, so that’s a good thing. I consider trying to grab one, but I have going to finish “Fairy Tale” by Stephen King, even though I’m really bored 100 pages in. Great writing, but I keep waiting for the old man to die.
I flick the envelopes on the floor with my toe and finally uncover the official-looking letter. Nothing black or scary or eight-legged on it. I slip out the door, scream one more time in case they were waiting for me and see the certified letter is indeed from the government.
Office of Public Inquiries and Environmental Affairs
999 Constitution Avenue, NWWashington, DC 20500
Ref: 887-B/45-C
Date: August 17, 2025
Regarding Your Recent Correspondence on Public and Environmental Matters
This letter serves as a formal response to your recent inquiries regarding two separate matters: the global eradication of the arachnid species known as “spiders” and your proposal for the implementation of “clear mailboxes.”
With respect to your initial request for the eradication of all spiders, the appropriate committees within this department have conducted a thorough review of your proposal. Following a comprehensive analysis of the available scientific data, our researchers have unanimously concluded that the systematic elimination of this species would have a detrimental effect on the global ecosystem. Spiders, as a keystone species, play a critical role in maintaining the delicate balance of our planet’s flora and fauna. Therefore, any efforts to remove them on a large scale would be counter to public policy and would result in an ecological catastrophe of unprecedented proportions. We regret to inform you that we are unable to fulfill this request. In the interest of your personal comfort, you might consider relocating to a colder climate where arachnid populations are less prevalent.
Furthermore, your secondary proposal regarding “clear mailboxes” has been received and logged in our system. We will be forwarding this idea to the appropriate subcommittee for review and further investigation. Please understand that all such proposals are subject to a rigorous and lengthy evaluation process to determine their feasibility and public benefit. We will contact you should we require further information or if any developments arise concerning this matter.
Please refrain from further contact with this office. We will initiate all subsequent communications as deemed necessary.
Sincerely,
A. P. A. Bureaucrat
Interdepartmental Correspondence Division
Well there it was. They are doing nothing. Not surprising. It’s the government. I know. I know. They have wars, climate change, poverty, budgets, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. Got it. It’s on me.
But it can’t be on me. I am terrified of spiders, and even burning down the mailbox would not stop them from coming back. We’d put up a new mailbox, and they’ll still come back. It’s weeks before frost, and they are preparing to come into my house.
I can feel their army amassing in the fields outside the house. Once the harvest is brought in, they’ll find somewhere new to live. And where else but a great, big warm building with fleshy humans to feast on all winter.
I must rise above. Be a hero for the world. I hear the call, but to be honest, my hearing isn’t the best, and was that a call to kill spiders or a call for dinner?
Wait… even heroes in novels get help. Where would Luke be without Han? Where would Spiderman be without his friends? Where would King Arthur be without his knights (well except for Lancelot. That didn’t end so well.)
There were people who helped me when I was a child. I would run down the steps yelling, “Bug, Bug, Bug. Bug, Bug.” They saved me many times. I’m not sure I would be the woman I am today without them.
They would not fail me.
They would honor me in my hour of need.
They would know exactly how to eradicate the spiders from my life!
Who you gonna call?
Not the Ghostbusters.
The bugbusters! My childhood babysitters.
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The spider probably had babies by now in the mailbox. I didn’t even want to think about how long babies incubate in the egg sack. It’s bad enough that mice breed every two weeks.
(You’re welcome people who are terrified of mice.)
I drove up the lane, pondering how many spiders might be scurrying across my floor with their long, hairy legs, tapping their fangs together.
Maybe I could stay at a hotel tonight.
A pile of mail was scattered on the kitchen counter.
There were boxes, manilla envelopes, bills, credit card offers, AARP membership applications (that alone was horrifying. I’m not that old.) I scanned the mail like a rabbit surrounded by a pack of coyotes. My heart literally bounced in my chest.
“Did you tap the envelopes on the mailbox?” I whispered.
“No,” my husband replied washing his hands in the sink.
I swallowed an enormous lump in my throat. I had to get the envelopes. There were bills to pay, and I am highly protective of my credit score.
My fingers brushed across the manilla enveloped, tweaking it just slightly. I snatched the regular envelopes, backing away, an adrenaline spike rocketing through me.
My husband just stared at me. “Are you alright?”
“Yup. Fine. I’ll be right back,” I said, holding the envelopes at arm’s length away from my body. I rushed into the office, cleared the already cluttered desk with my free arm and gave the envelopes a solid whack on the desk. Then threw the envelopes on the floor, shut the door quickly, took a deep breath.
Just to be safe, I will not open the door for a week. You never know where the babies might be.
But inside the office were my beloved books. What if spiders enjoyed books?
Well this would be the last time I read a real book until winter. I do have my Kindle as a backup.
The rest of the manilla envelopes, I’d let my son open. He loved to open Amazon packages. I might even lie and tell him they were his.
And when he opens them, I will be outside, pretending to start the grill, stare at the birds, pet the cats, something.
I bounced in the house (which is not easy for a woman my age), and I announced to everyone who had ears, “I have overcome!”
My husband sat in his chair, scrolling through Facebook on his iPad. “Good day?”
“Yes, I made peace with a spider,” I said, my face creased in a pirate’s smile.
My husband nodded. “Really,” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Yes, yes I did. I walked in the storage shed, and there was white spider sitting on the wall next to the light switch, and I let him.” I said. Mel Robbins would be so proud.
It was an unusual spider; I had to admit. Yellow-white like a bone left out in the sun. He was kind of hitched up on one side, his legs splayed out. Still as death, but with spiders, you never could tell. They fake death sometimes, being so still to entice their victims into thinking their dead, getting close enough to poke the spider body, causing them to jump onto your hand.
Terrifying.
“You let him?”
“Yes, I let him stay there. I didn’t spray him with Raid, brush him off with a broom, smash him with a shoe, burn him with the lighter or any of those things. I let him stay there.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“Uh huh, and was this just today?”
“No, that’s the best part. It’s been all week. He hasn’t even moved from the spot,” I said, slapping the counter with my palm. “I have overcome!”
My husband put down the iPad and turned to me. “Ok, he hasn’t moved at all?”
I paused, considering my next words. “Well no, but they fake death all the time.” From what I could remember, he was poised in that same “I’m going to pounce on you and drain the life from your body posture that most spiders exhibited daily.
“You don’t think it’s odd that it hasn’t moved?”
I tensed. If I had pearls on, I would have clutched them. “No. I mean if it was dead, why would it be stuck to the wall? Wouldn’t it just fall on the ground and let nature take its course?”
He shrugged and turned back to the pointer-finger scroll on the iPad.
I shrugged and let out a deep sigh. “I don’t think he’s dead, and even if he is, I still made peace.”
“Proud of you honey,” my husband said, still scrolling. “Since you’ve made peace, did you get the mail?
