Spiders

As a rule, Mark was not afraid of spiders. Sure, they made him nervous (and he killed them whenever he could) but some people have a genuine terror of ocotopods that Mark simply did not share.

The spider that he found in the hall closet, one morning, was a stark exception. He had gone to get the bleach, and there it was: at least a foot across, huge and hairy. Later, all he could remember of it were its fangs, or pincers, or whatever you wanted to call the things that stuck out from its mouth. They were at least an inch long, barbed and jagged. They looked wet and if you watched them, you could see them slowly closing and opening.

Mark jerked when he first saw it, then froze, tense. He tried to convince himself that it was a joke, that he was being taped, until it started to come forward in a series of staccato bursts, its movement punctuated by the clicking on the floor. Mark grabbed for the broom and swung it. The spider skipped to the side and started to climb up the broom. Mark jumped back (dropping the broom) then recovered his dignity and backed slowly into the kitchen, reaching for the phone. Then the spider was gone. He looked around the room, poked his head into the hallway while he dialed 911. No spider. He looked up.

On the hall ceiling, the spider crouched and glared down at Mark. The pincers, stilling moving in and out, dripped once onto the rug floor.

Mark backed into the kitchen, again. The spider followed him, skittering back and forth across the kitchen ceiling. Never moving in a predictable direction, but always closer to Mark. Then it paused and moved to the corner.

It began to weave a web. Mark couldn't believe the intricacy and speed with which it worked. The strands were large and the web was bigger than Mark's torso. It was round and perfect and materialized with a mechanical speed.

Mark broke out of his stupor and dialed 911. He was transferred to animal control where a woman explained to him in a condescending tone that he was panicking. There were no spiders of that size in this area. He was probably, she explained with poorly pretended patience, seeing a wolf spider. They were not dangerous and he should not worry.

Mark looked again at the spider. He convinced the woman to send out an Animal Control agent, then climbed out the kitchen window.

When the Animal Control agent arrived, Mark followed him inside. The spider was gone. The agent, not even bothering to hide a snear, repeated the woman's spiel about wolf spiders and then drove away while Mark watched, dazed, from his porch.

He considered getting a hotel for the night, but the back of his mind wouldn't let him accept the blow to his pride. He stood, undecided, on the porch for a full half-hour, before he heard a kind of shriek from inside the house.

When Mark reached the kitchen, the neighbor's cat was lashing inside a second web on the kitchen counter. The spider circled, throwing out more webbing. Mark jumped forward, grabbed the cat, and fled the house. He returned the neighbors cat and went to get a hotel.

He called a real estate agent.