by Joan Gray
10:07 PM.
The time was late; I know that much. I was sitting quietly in a rocking chair in my room.
I hated being alone.
How did people do it, and all the time, too?
Jesus Christ, how late was it?
I went back to reading. The story was interesting – a twisted tale of two sisters, spiraling slowly into insanity. What was this story again? I looked back at the title. Who knows? Some story that hardly anyone knew of anyways, as always.
A bunch of words that get scrawled out onto a page just for a few, minuscule amounts of people to read. Hardly ever earned a buck, I bet. What a twisted world. What a weird world.
I put the book down on my chest. I was staring at the ceiling, counting the indented Pizzelle’s in the ceiling. My dog was laying like a hotdog between my legs stretched out on the ottoman that came with the rocker. I always loved this rocker, even though it felt like it was made for a mother, or someone with a child, you know.
The rocking made me feel like I was doing something, it took my mind off the world, the ticking at me again and again like a relentless time machine. I always had to be doing something or another, counting syllables of words I spoke, or checking all the locks in the house even though Taylor had already told me that they were locked, or following the same pattern every night, you know, the normal stuff.
I figured we all did these things, probably, in one way or another. Ah, oh well, I sighed.
I looked at my watch. 10:08 PM. Only a minute had gone by. Damnit.
I felt something tickle the back of my neck. I patted my hair, it went away.
Tap, tap, it tickled back.
Wack, wack, I patted back.
Go away fucker, I don’t have time for this. There are too many locks to check and indents to count and papers to scatter in a way that I hate people touching them. You know. The normal things.
Tap, tap, tappity, tap. The creature was back.
The hair on the back of my neck tickled back this time. I sighed. It didn’t go away.
I stood up in defiance, anger, or just to pass another minute by.
And I saw it, of course, that’s what it was, who else would it be?
A spider.
The good old-fashioned ones, you know. The ones that sized up my car wheels. I laughed. Of course, that was what it was. The creature didn’t stop there, either.
He wanted to tap, tap back, and back.
I sighed and knew it was time to run. He was fast.
I felt his furry, fringy legs graze the back of my ankle in the way that my dog used to do when she was excited.
Oh yeah, my dog. She just stood there watching. Come on, aren’t you supposed to help?
The spider kept coming, ignoring the other furry beast that could’ve taken it on any day. The spider wanted me, and the spider was too fast for me.
I sprinted around the house, shoving chairs in front of it, catching myself some distance.
“Get out of here! Can’t you see this is my house?!”
He didn’t care.
He didn’t reply.
Why would he, you know?
I jumped, he missed. He jumped up onto the wall and then the ceiling and paralleled me throughout the house. Tracing my patterns, making a mockery out of my humanity.
“What do you want?”
His large, human-sized eyes stared back at me, into my soul. Why do spiders even come into people’s homes?
I heard the garage door open. Thank god, it was Taylor. He’d get it out of here for sure.
“You’re in trouble now.” I stared at it. It just stared back. It knew I could do nothing to it.
He just followed me back and forth until I curled up in a ball on the floor, hands cupping my ears, rocking back in forth, passing time like my rocker, and saying, “just go away, just go away, please, just go away.”
Taylor opened the door.
“What are you doing?” He yelled at me.
“Get it out!” I yelled at him.
“Get what out?”
“You see it!” I pointed up at it. “The life-sized spider that’s been following me back and forth, grabbing my ankles. Have you ever seen a spider that size?”
He looked around. He checked the walls. He looked up and down. He spun around in the patterns I traced. One, two, three, no he has to spin one more time. Damnit.
Great, he was making a mockery out of me, too.
“It’s right there!” I yelled. Above me stood the largest spider known to man. His legs sprawled out the size of my five-foot arm span. He could swallow me whole if he wanted.
Taylor squinted and pulled one of our metal chairs from the table to stand on.
“You mean this guy?” he asked, half smirking.
He picked it up. When he brought it down to my eyes, the spider was the size of his fingernail.
10:09 PM.
The time was late; I know that much. I was sitting quietly in a rocking chair in my room.
I hated being alone.
How did people do it, and all the time, too?
Jesus Christ, how late was it?
I went back to reading. The story was interesting – a twisted tale of two sisters, spiraling slowly into insanity. What was this story again? I looked back at the title. Who knows? Some story that hardly anyone knew of anyways, as always.
A bunch of words that get scrawled out onto a page just for a few, minuscule amounts of people to read. Hardly ever earned a buck, I bet. What a twisted world. What a weird world.
I put the book down on my chest. I was staring at the ceiling, counting the indented Pizzelle’s in the ceiling. My dog was laying like a hotdog between my legs stretched out on the ottoman that came with the rocker. I always loved this rocker, even though it felt like it was made for a mother, or someone with a child, you know.
The rocking made me feel like I was doing something, it took my mind off the world, the ticking at me again and again like a relentless time machine. I always had to be doing something or another, counting syllables of words I spoke, or checking all the locks in the house even though Taylor had already told me that they were locked, or following the same pattern every night, you know, the normal stuff.
I figured we all did these things, probably, in one way or another. Ah, oh well, I sighed.
I looked at my watch. 10:08 PM. Only a minute had gone by. Damnit.
I felt something tickle the back of my neck. I patted my hair, it went away.
Tap, tap, it tickled back.
Wack, wack, I patted back.
Go away fucker, I don’t have time for this. There are too many locks to check and indents to count and papers to scatter in a way that I hate people touching them. You know. The normal things.
Tap, tap, tappity, tap. The creature was back.
The hair on the back of my neck tickled back this time. I sighed. It didn’t go away.
I stood up in defiance, anger, or just to pass another minute by.
And I saw it, of course, that’s what it was, who else would it be?
A spider.
The good old-fashioned ones, you know. The ones that sized up my car wheels. I laughed. Of course, that was what it was. The creature didn’t stop there, either.
He wanted to tap, tap back, and back.
I sighed and knew it was time to run. He was fast.
I felt his furry, fringy legs graze the back of my ankle in the way that my dog used to do when she was excited.
Oh yeah, my dog. She just stood there watching. Come on, aren’t you supposed to help?
The spider kept coming, ignoring the other furry beast that could’ve taken it on any day. The spider wanted me, and the spider was too fast for me.
I sprinted around the house, shoving chairs in front of it, catching myself some distance.
“Get out of here! Can’t you see this is my house?!”
He didn’t care.
He didn’t reply.
Why would he, you know?
I jumped, he missed. He jumped up onto the wall and then the ceiling and paralleled me throughout the house. Tracing my patterns, making a mockery out of my humanity.
“What do you want?”
His large, human-sized eyes stared back at me, into my soul. Why do spiders even come into people’s homes?
I heard the garage door open. Thank god, it was Taylor. He’d get it out of here for sure.
“You’re in trouble now.” I stared at it. It just stared back. It knew I could do nothing to it.
He just followed me back and forth until I curled up in a ball on the floor, hands cupping my ears, rocking back in forth, passing time like my rocker, and saying, “just go away, just go away, please, just go away.”
Taylor opened the door.
“What are you doing?” He yelled at me.
“Get it out!” I yelled at him.
“Get what out?”
“You see it!” I pointed up at it. “The life-sized spider that’s been following me back and forth, grabbing my ankles. Have you ever seen a spider that size?”
He looked around. He checked the walls. He looked up and down. He spun around in the patterns I traced. One, two, three, no he has to spin one more time. Damnit.
Great, he was making a mockery out of me, too.
“It’s right there!” I yelled. Above me stood the largest spider known to man. His legs sprawled out the size of my five-foot arm span. He could swallow me whole if he wanted.
Taylor squinted and pulled one of our metal chairs from the table to stand on.
“You mean this guy?” he asked, half smirking.
He picked it up. When he brought it down to my eyes, the spider was the size of his fingernail.
10:09 PM.
Joan Gray is an English educator in Houston, Texas. She holds a master's degree in Literature from the University of Houston-Clear Lake. She loves spending time in nature, and of course, can almost always be found with a book.