Tales from a Disturbed Mind

“No!” he shouted. And he rushed to the basement closet, pulled out a broom, and swept at the ceiling. The spiders darted in different directions from the broom.

“Get down!” Gregory swept harder and more frantically, but the spiders slipped away into a crack in the wall and disappeared into darkness.

“Damn!”

He threw down the broom and walked to the bathroom. He felt dirty and needed a bath. His skin felt tingly, as if something were crawling on it.

He tossed the cigarette at the sink; it bounced off the porcelain side, ending up in the small trashcan against the wall. Gregory started the bath water, carefully searching the bathroom for spiders before dumping his clothes in a heap by the toilet. The hot clear water felt good--clean. He ducked his head under the water. That’s better, he thought. Steam rose from the water as he lay back in the tub.

The sensation started subtly at first, like a feather gently touching his arm, then increased to the steady tingle he’d felt before. Gregory wiped the washcloth along his arm. A small black spider fell into the water and floated beside him. He jumped up and splashed the water several times with his feet.

Jesus, he thought. Where is it? I know it was there. Where the hell are they coming from? Gregory reached for the towel then froze perfectly still.

“My God.” The bathroom walls were now coated with thick milky strands of webbing. Gregory’s hands shook. He had to understand what was happening. He grabbed for his jeans, but webbing coated them as well. He darted into the living room to find the pants he’d left on the couch. They too were covered with the milky substance.

He ran to the front door but stopped. Two spiders the size of small bulldogs lay at the bottom corners of the door. They looked like guard dogs at the gate of an arachnid hell. Smaller spiders scooted along the top of the doorway and across the rug.

Gregory rubbed his hands along his arms and face, and through his blond hair. His skin tingled all over. They were on him. He knew it. He tried to clear his head but couldn’t think.

“Leave me alone. What do you want?” he shouted.

Josephine’s words surfaced. “I know what you want. I know what all boys want.”

“No,” he whispered. “You’re not going to get me again.”

He crept to the front door and reached for the knob. The two guards scurried to his hand and raised their furry legs toward him. Gregory recoiled his hand and backed away. Got to think, he thought, as he tried to stifle the low terrifying whine now emerging from his throat.