SPIDER
by
Adam Sifre
"JAY!!"
Just the sound of her voice
made him want to hit something. Lately, it seemed Wanda had only three ways of
yapping -- loud, bitchy and irritating. When it came to pissing him off, Wanda
was a multi-tasker.
"Jayyyy!! Get up
here!" It had been one grade-A bitch of a day. Triple digit temperatures
and a dying air conditioner at the office left him moist, stewed, and raw.
Receiving his first paycheck reflecting garnished wages for the ex was the
cherry on the fucking sundae.
He trudged up the stairs,
cursing himself for trading jerking off to the playboy channel for shacking up
with the built Harpy.
Wanda was standing in the
bedroom doorway. Jay had a few seconds to appreciate her finer aspects, mainly
a sweet ass framed in black and white polka dot panties, and a perky set of
titties that defied gravity just fine. If she could just keep her mouth –
"JAY!! Get up
here!"
"Jesus, Wanda --"
Wanda whirled around in
surprise and he marveled at the effect she still had on him. Even when he
wanted to kill her, he wanted to fuck her.
"Just kill it!"
"What are you
talking--?"
She grabbed his hand and half
pulled, half twirled him into the room, at the same time putting Jay between
her and the bed. His foot caught on the door jamb and he stumbled the rest of the
way. Being the proud owner of a recent ex with a decent lawyer, Jay's bedroom,
like the rest of his life, was sparsely furnished. There was the queen bed
directly in front of him, flanked by two IKEA end tables, and that was it.
Completely off balance, he
had little choice but to let inertia carry him to the bed. He hit it, arms
outstretched, the frame catching him just below the nut sack, thank Christ.
Just before arms and head met
goose down, he saw it. Smack dab in the middle of the bed; a big, hairy,
alien-looking spider. It had lots of brown hair, gray spots and legs, legs,
legs. He let out a small yelp which was drowned out by a screeching Wanda.
Jay hit the bed, and the
Spider flew into the air. He saw it pull its legs together, getting ready to tuck
and roll, for Christ's sake. And then he thought he heard –
No, spiders don't scream.
It landed on his hand and,
while spiders may not scream, sometimes a 230 pound divorcee with a thumper of
a headache and a dwindling hard-on screams like a little girl.
He snatched his hand away
like he'd leaned on a hot grill. The spider began its second flight of the
night, this time landing at the beautifully pedicured feet of Harpy Wanda, who
let out a scream that made her previous yelling sound like a lover's whisper.
Jay would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy that one.
Wanda kicked at the bloated
bag of legs and tried to back away at the same time, screaming the whole time.
The spider, now air-borne for the third time that night, made a bee-line for
Jay's chest. He jumped back in revulsion and smacked his head a good one
against the window air-conditioner beside the head of the bed.
He woke up some time later.
In fact, he jumped up, swatting at his chest and legs and -- well, not
screaming; definitely not screaming. Satisfied he was spider-free, he took a
few seconds to catch his breath. His head felt like someone had taken a hammer
to it.
How can something so fucking
big disappear so fucking fast? He asked himself, rubbing the back of his head
and grateful to find no blood.
"Wanda?" Jay called
out. Where the fuck did she go?
"Wanda?"
He swatted instinctively at
his arms again, sure he felt soft, alien legs skittering across his skin.
He found Wanda when he went
to look for a frying pan or a howitzer to take care of the spider. She was
lying at the bottom of the stairs, her left leg twisted at a funky angle, eyes
staring up at nothing. The spider was nestled between her breasts, which were
no longer defying gravity.
Jay stood there, transfixed,
for how long, he didn't know. But it was light out before he moved. He slowly
made his way down the stairs, his eyes never leaving the spider and, he
imagined, the spider's eyes never leaving him. To Jay, it looked like it had
staked its claim and was willing to die defending it.
He nearly pissed himself when
he had to jump over Wanda's body, expecting the thing to leap at his crotch.
He'd call 911 and tell them -- tell them what? A Spider murdered his
girlfriend? Well, never mind. He'd call 911.
The phone sat on the kitchen
table. A fat, bloated wasp crawled back and forth over the receiver, its soft,
alien buzz filling the room.
"Fuck."
*VOTE* Nicely done. Now I feel like the damn thing is on ME! :-)
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