The Spiders' Tale

Introduction

I felt useless. Without a goal - without ambition. I’d finished all I’d intended to complete. What now? What was the next step after crossing the finish line? Did I take hold of the trophy, thrust it into the air and rejoice? Such a jovial celebration would only last a few days. Now the party was over and I was left searching for a new goal - a new idea.

The ceiling of my bedroom spun around in a dizzying circle. I watched the corners pass my line of vision and followed the upper lines of the walls until they met another. If only someone could’ve seen me then, sprawled as I was on my computer chair. My head hung back as my feet spun me round and round. This was what I did every day ever since the week after I published my last book. I would sit there, stare at the ceiling and spin. Then I would eat breakfast, shower and dress. After that I would spin some more. Then I would have lunch. Then spin. Then dinner. Then spin. Then sleep. Then repeat, repeat, repeat.

“New idea,” I muttered to myself, “New idea.” I was getting redundant in my writings. They started to sound the same. I needed something different.

“I think we have something for you,” spoke a little voice. It was hardly audible, though - I doubted I actually heard it, but I answered anyway.

“We?”

“Yes,” it spoke again, “we.”

Frowning, I lifted my head from the chair and looked around. There was nobody there.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Do what?” I asked. My eyes darted low and found a little creature staring at me from not too far away. Once I registered its dark body and the harshly bent shape of its too-many legs I screamed, bolting out of my chair and cowering with my back against the wall. “How did you even get in here?” I cried.

It was a tarantula and it was huge. Its dark hairy body was about the size of my thumb and its legs were far too long for comfort. I couldn’t stop looking at it - if I closed my eyes, opened them, and then discovered it was gone I wouldn’t have felt at ease until I knew it was gone for good.

“I entered under the front door,” it answered. This wasn’t happening - I couldn’t believe it.

I whimpered. “No, but why? Why are you in here? I clean up after myself. I don’t leave food or garbage laying around. I don’t have any messes for you to hide under. So how are you here? What compelled you to come here?”

It emitted an unmistakable laugh - little, but frightening all the same. “Don’t be afraid of something you can crush in an instant.”

“I hate it when people tell me that,” I whispered.

“You look foolish.”

“You’re a talking spider!”

“Is there any other kind?”

I took a moment to whimper more. “Why are you talking?”

“I speak because I must. I have a voice, and with it a story to be heard.”

“You’re a storytelling spider.”

“We all are, in our own ways. The webspinners weave tales; the rest of us tell them.”

“And you want to tell me a story.”

“Yes,” it answered, lifting its legs and scurrying towards me. 

I screamed and backed into my bedroom door. “Don’t come near me!” I cried, “Just - just stay there! Come any closer and - I swear to God - I will crush you so bad!”

“I don’t doubt it,” was the tarantula’s response. For a moment neither of us said anything. All I could hear was my heart beating in my ears and my whimpering breaths. When it crawled a few a inches away I yelped.