Buzz or Howl: Short Stories

Spiderland

Don stepped outside. It felt good to be alone.

He wished he were drunk. Perhaps that would've helped. The heat in the bunker was unbearable, but outdoors wasn't much better. Even though the sun had finally gone down, the sand still pulsed with its radiant cast-offs. The middle of the New Mexico desert was no place for men but that didn't really mean anything; Don wasn't a man anymore. Not really.

He looked across the barrenness and sighed. He was sticky with sweat and offal and, granted time to think about it, he realised he was shaking.

He barked at himself and clenched his fist. No wonder, Don. No fucking wonder.

Nothing was natural about the situation. Not one thing. Even the shit that spackled his boots was bright green because some moron had bought a load of Froot Loops and milk instead of anything substantial. You'd think the multi-coloured cereal would present a more varied palette, but no. Bright green Incredible Hulk dumps of mossy consistency lined the toilet bowl.

And the floor under where They hung.

Don stopped his thoughts there. Stop thinking, take a break.

He pulled a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes from his back pocket and tossed one between his lips. Both of his hands slid into his pockets, searching for a lighter. Whilst fumbling his head moved down. About two metres in front of him, a wolf spider was finishing off a large beetle. It just sat there in plain view, the beetle hunched over in its mandibles like it was getting a massage. He raised his foot to stomp on the arachnid, but he quickly thought better of it.

Don was on a break. No need for that for now. He would cleanse himself as much as he could before he returned to it.

He couldn't find a lighter.

"Fuck!" he spat under his breath.

He turned around and clasped the handle of the big metal door. He sucked in air to steel himself, paused for a second, then pushed it open, its hinges shrieking as he did so. The piercing sound of an industrial saw straining to do its job escaped from inside, causing the wolf spider to bolt off to somewhere only it knew. Don held his breath and stuck his head in the gap he'd created.

"Hey Ricky! Have you got a lighter?" He bellowed.

The saw stopped and wound down slowly. Some very low, very weak moaning tried in vain to fill its void.

"What?" came Ricky's reply.

"I need a fucking lighter!" Don responded.

"Jesus! Ok. Gimme a minute, brother."

Don grunted mostly to himself as the saw started up again, and pulled the door closed. He leant against it, cigarette still in his mouth, and slowly sunk to the floor.

Seeing the spider had jogged Don's memory. His earlier thought had been false. There had been one natural thing that had made its presence known to him whilst he'd been here: the spiders.

That bunker was crawling with them. In every crack and crevice there were webs. The bastards would inhabit anything that remained empty for long enough. Unworn shoes. Empty coffee cups.

Lifeless mouths.

Don shook his head and rammed the butt of both of his palms into both of his temples. He gritted his teeth and struck himself three more times before growling in exasperation.

There was no time for that shit. He was on break, Goddammit!

A plane passed silently overhead, but Don didn't notice. He just stared silently at the abandoned carcass of the beetle in front of him, his cigarette barely clinging to his bottom lip.

The door being pulled open almost caused him to fall. He composed himself quickly, however and sprung to his feet.

Ricky handed him a lighter through the door. He hadn't even bothered to take off his work gloves. Cunt.

"Next time, just come in and get it," Ricky grumbled.

Don turned his back on his friend and lit his cigarette.

"Fuck off, Ricky..."

The door slammed shut.

"I'm on fucking break"

He took a lungful of cancer and blew it up towards the moon. He let out a moan of relief as he felt the nicotine hit. He stepped forward into the night, taking another toke.

He felt his foot graze something and looked down. It was the beetle. It had been pushed out towards the desert, contorting under the toe of his boot. He stepped back to the door with care, keeping his eye on the bug's body.

Out in the sand, barely visible in the moonlight, Don noticed something move. A finger broke the surface, followed by another, and another.

Don cautiously watched the hand reveal itself, but by the fourth digit he had realised that it was just the wolf spider from before. He took another drag of his cigarette as the spider moved back over. When it got to the beetle it overprotectively pounced, grasping its prize in its front legs.

It remained there motionless for a while, staring at Don. Don stared back. After a while, he brought his finger to his head and saluted the spider. In response, the spider started to back away, dragging its prey with it. They skulked off into the night, embracing like lovers awkwardly feeling their way home after a date. The illusion lasted right up until the spider's doorstep, shattered by the uncomfortable way it pulled its guest inside.

Then the desert was empty again.

Don finished his cigarette with one last suck. He hadn't flicked away any of the ash whilst he'd worked his way through it so a long grey snake hung flaccidly at his fingers. As he expelled the last inhale from his lungs, he aimed for the ashen ghost sending it out into the night in a cloud. Dusting himself off, he turned around. For some time he just looked at the door handle.

He took a deep breath. It made him feel strong, and determined to go back inside.