The Ghosts of Dead Spiders

Shadows haunt the night, dark on dark, until like a pool, the darkness spreads and deepens. The moon ducks behind thick clouds and the lonely cry of loons can be heard in the distance. Insects answer the call of the loons, drowning out the gentle lapping of the lake as it meets the shore. Frogs sing a chorus of whistles and peeps, adding to the night’s symphony of sounds. Gentle ripples rise on the water’s surface, stirred by the low gentle breeze that glides across the face of the earth, whispering warnings that unclean things stir in the deep waters. From the center of the lake small bubbles rise and burst, followed by more and more, as if some great being let out a slow exhalation upon awaking.

The loons seem to vanish and the night is suddenly quiet and still; the insects and frogs ceasing their cacophony. The burbling of the lake’s center can be faintly discerned from the shore and ripples move outward. Something is rising from the deep bottom of the lake, slow and lazy-like. A low mist begins to blanket the water slowly, spreading out from the middle, and drifting towards the shore. It almost clings to the surface of the water, not rising more than a foot above. Something dark within the mist stirs and moves eastward, toward a sleepy village tucked among the gentle rolling hills and woods. As the moon appears once more, shadows scramble back from the soft light. The darkness in the mist, however, appears even darker in the moon beams.

It is as shapeless as the mist, rolling in on itself and constantly shifting its form. It hides in the mist, merging with the precipitation as it continues its journey eastward. Light and shadows dance over the lake and land, and the silence is unnerving. More clouds move and the moon is once again obscured from view. The gentle breeze begins to grow stronger as a storm begins to brew. Trees whip in the wind, leaves and small twigs stirred and displaced. A sudden flash of electric light splits the night, followed by the loud rumbling crack of thunder. In that brief moment when the lake is as bright as daylight, the dark shadow in the mists is revealed. However, darkness and the momentary blindness that follows doesn’t allow the brain to quite process what is seen.

Fat drops of water begin to fall from the sky, striking the dry, dusty earth turning the shore into mud as the shadow from the depths emerges, dripping and shambling from the lake. Weeds and detritus cling to the figure, large and segmented in two, distorting its shape even further. Plodding steps carry it closer and closer to the village, as the storm gathers strength and hides the sounds of the creature as it approaches. The people of the village sleep blissfully unaware of the thing that drags itself closer and closer, unaware of the malice and danger it carries with it.

Step by shuffling step, it makes its way closer still. It does not move quickly, but certainly with a purpose. Eight pin-points of black glossiness, its eyes perhaps, focus on the clock tower of the village asylum. A jagged orifice with long and shining fangs opens and bellows a low, grumbling cry. The sound is drowned out by more thunder; the storm rages above and hinders its progress. A limb reaches out toward the trunk of a nearby tree and the creature pauses and leans wearily against the trunk, resting for a moment before moving on. What could be the head tips upward, as if to gaze at the angry sky that rains down and washes away the mist.

More limbs sprout from a bloated body, eight in all, and the creature scurries forward once more. Water drips from its body, weighed and slowed down by the lake vegetation. It does not seem to realize this as it drags itself along the path. It has one purpose only, and its arachnid mind focuses on this purpose. Revenge. It has been summoned from its slumber, disturbed from its peaceful respite under the waters of the lake, and now it is called to the asylum.

I cannot see it approaching, but I can certainly feel it, feel the ghosts of dead spiders as their silent voices join in an evil chorus to summon forth their god to come and settle the score. I rant and rave, scream and shout, to no avail. Instead of trusting what I see and know, the doctors have me sedated and strapped me to a table. My limbs are trapped as I beg and plead, warning them of the coming danger. They tell me I am mad and it is merely the shadows and storm that torment my mind. But I know better. I know what is coming for me in the night, what is coming for us all!

Punishment. We shall all be punished for our sins against the spiders. My mind grows numb due to the injection and finally, my wrists, waist, and ankles are released from the tight straps that pinch and bruise my skin. Calmer now, I tell the orderly that the spider god is coming. He gives me a sad smile and brushes the hair from my eyes. I don’t belong here, I explain, but he just shakes his head in pity and helps me to my bed. Then he walks away, closing the door behind him.

They tell me I am in here because I am insane; they tell me I see things that aren’t really there. But you and I, we know better, don’t we? What do they know, those doctors and lawyers, and judges who are all sticklers for proven science and the law? They are all blind to what we see. Or is it that they do not wish to see? Maybe they put me in here because they are afraid of what I know…

I have learned in life there are three kinds of people in this world: those who believe in ghosts, those who are skeptics, and then there are the ones who aren’t quite sure if ghosts exist. Which one are you? Do you believe in spirits and things beyond this existence? I am one of the believers. I know there are ghosts, for I have been harassed and plagued by them for years. I see them everywhere, the ghosts of dead spiders. They sit and spin their ghostly webs, hoping to catch the ghosts of dead insects. Oh, you do believe me, yes?

The first time I saw the ghost of a dead spider was when I was six. I had been frightened by a large black and yellow garden spider with long, spindly striped legs and shiny eyes. It had caught a butterfly in its cruel trap and was wrapping silky death around the jewel toned wings and pitch black body. I was horrified and insisted that my father kill it. The next day, it was there again in the garden, weaving its giant web among the green beans and squash blossoms.

No one else could see it when I screamed and pointed, and I could feel its beady, accusing eyes watching me, hating me for its demise the day before. Now I see that spider every day, in the garden, or the rose bushes, or the shrub outside my bedroom window. It follows me like a shadow, waiting patiently as it spins web after web; waiting patiently for the day when its web can capture me.

The next ghosts of spiders came from a nest of eggs and newly hatched little beasts, throwing their silks into the light breeze to be drawn up and away on the wind. I killed these myself, for I was older then and not as afraid. I took a burning branch to the milky white ball and the tiny bodies that tried to escape to spread their evil. I cleansed them with fire. Now their crisp, blacked and shriveled bodies scamper across the floor of my room each night, scurrying here and there, and only I can hear them. I do not dare to put my feet upon the floor or let a limb stray off the edge of the bed, lest they find me and punish me for my sin…

But now it is too late. I have avoided the ghostly webs for too long and the spiders have become impatient. They have summoned their disgusting deity from the depths of the lake, with weeds clinging damply to its spindly legs and body. It comes for me, to wrap me in its sticky cocoon and paralyze me with its bite. It will dissolve me into a liquid and drink me while I still live. Punishment for all the spiders I have killed. I can see them in the corners, their tiny eyes alight when the lightning flashes, how they vibrate on their silken treads when the thunder rolls.

I can feel the creature coming closer and closer, it is almost to the village now. I weep uncontrollably because no one else believes me, just you, and you are as powerless as I am to stop the spider god. We are locked in this room, drugged so our bodies will not obey our desires, and our minds shrouded in fog. But my fear is stronger than the sedative, my mind still races and pleads for mercy. I know I must be punished, but I want to live!

Mercy, I cry out, mercy! But there will only be the same mercy for me that I showed to the spiders over the years. I crushed the lives out of them, drown them by flushing them, destroyed them with fire! And all of these punishments will now be mine, once they have me. I am trapped and have no way out, no means for redemption. Spiders are vengeful creatures and they have long memories, even when they are dead.

I can see the shadows now, dancing on the walls as the storm outside stirs the winds. Trees and grasses weave and dance on the far wall, across from the high window that lets allows us to see them in the momentary flashes of lightning. I can see the bulbous mass of the spider god among the distant trees as it struggles against the storm. It may take an hour yet to reach me, but reach me it will. And you, poor soul, are trapped in the room with me. It will take us both in the end.

I weep now, softly, for the thought of your demise. You have done nothing to the spiders, you are an innocent who will pay with me for my crimes. Your death will be added to my sins. The ghosts of dead spiders begin to encroach. I can hear them gnashing their fangs together and the tips of their long thin legs as they tap upon the floor.

I sit up now and draw my knees to my chin, wrapping my arms protectively about my shins. Thunder rolls ominously after each flash of light. Each bolt showing the spider god coming closer and closer to my window. Soon it will be on the grounds and scurrying up the walls. Soon it will be here, and I will have to face my punishment. If it weren’t for your presence, I might be able to do so, but your death weighs on my soul like and anchor.

I watch you, sleeping, blissfully unaware of our approaching death. I almost envy you and your ignorance. The ghostly spiders have covered the floor with their presence now. Some begin to climb the wall where the windows are. A few begin to climb the legs of the beds. They will offer us up in a few more moment, and we shall be no more upon this earth.

I have no regrets, save your death. Every spider I killed deserved to die; nasty toxic creatures invading places they are not wanted…had they stayed away, they would not have been killed. But their ghosts follow me, tormenting me, everywhere I go. They whisper into my brain, telling me that I, too, must die. I must join them, they say, and you will join me with them as well.

The walls begin to creak and I can hear the soft scratching of spider legs on the window ledge! It is here, sooner than I feared, its bloated body hanging by strong silk as it taps the window. All eight shiny eyes bore into my soul and the glass begins to show tiny cracks that spread like fire. I can feel a hot burning pain suddenly in my chest. The ghost spiders have surrounded me on the bed and I am bitten!

Their toxins begin to work on my nerves and pain flares everywhere. My arms begin to go numb and I feel as if I am on fire. Help, save me! I scream in agony. Begging and sobbing as I clutch my burning chest, I reach toward the door with one hand. No one comes, no one believes me…the darkness, it is falling…I cannot see…the ghosts of dead spiders cover me!

End

Word count: 2208

Inspiration: This came from a conversation with one of my friends where we wondered if the spiders we killed ever came back as ghosts to haunt people.

Word Count: 2353
Hours Spent: 3
Software Used: Poser Pro 11