Arachnophilia

I live in a small, rural town that was nestled away from the hustle and bustle of city life in an area not that far from Richmond, Virginia. It’s the kind of town that would take about 20 mins to drive from one end to the other. There’s this main road that cuts straight down the center of town, and everything is situated alongside or branching off from it. My house sat on a hill, just in front of a thick patch of trees which separated my house from the next street. The next street over in that particular direction was a little over half a mile, but as a kid it felt as big as the Amazon. I loved playing in the woods, and the sound of the leaves crunching underfoot as I ran from imaginary monsters or towards a castle in the trees. Those were good, simpler times. I’m an only child and I never really made any friends in school, quite the opposite, actually. I was bullied the entire time I was in school, until it happened. For the meantime, however, I found my solace using my imagination to take me on grand adventures under the shady canopy.

One of the things that always interested me were the many different spiders that could be found living within these woods. All of various shapes and sizes, some harmless and others pretty lethal, they would adorn the trees like eight-legged ornaments. I would imagine I were a secret agent on a dangerous mission, dodging the almost invisible webs as if they were laser beams and could slice off an arm like butter. I’ve never been afraid of spiders but I have always felt pity for them. As soon as any person sees one of them their immediate reaction is to kill it, and that’s a terrible way to live for any creature, spider and human alike. Because of this, if I would ever spot a spider inside my house or somewhere that was potentially dangerous for them, I’d always try to gently pick it up and take it to safety. I’d use a piece of cardboard or a stick and usher the little guy on, then carry them outside or to the grass or something and let them walk off. If I found one that I thought was especially interesting, like one with bright colors or abnormally long legs, I’d take it to the biggest tree in the woods and place it on a branch. Now it might sound silly to you, but I’d also talk to them, too. They wouldn’t talk back, obviously, I didn’t think I was having real conversations with them or anything like that, I’d speak to them like you’d speak to your pet. I would always say “hello” whenever I saw them and I’d apologize if I ever disturbed one of their meticulously crafted webs. I saw the spiders, and all creatures really, as equals to people. After all, we are, every one of us here on earth, just trying to survive.

My father, however, did not share my optimistic disposition. My father was, well, let’s just say he was never going to win a “father of the year” award. My mother, God rest her soul, died giving birth to me, and I’ve always felt like he blamed me for it. From the stories my neighbors and aunt have told me, she was the sweetest person they’d ever met, and way too good for someone like my father. Shortly after my mom’s passing my aunt Rose stayed with us for the first 5 years of my life or so, and things were about as good as they could be for people in our situation. But that all changed when one day I came home from school to find my aunt sitting on our porch alongside all her things. When I asked what was going on, she just simply stated that she had to leave and couldn’t live with us anymore. It was only on one of my father’s late night benders that I found out she had tried to make a move on the old man, only for him to violently react with a slap to her face and a boot out the door. That day was the true start of his, and consequently my, downfall.
He drank like a fish just about every night I can remember since then, and I actively avoided him every chance that I could. Some afternoons I’d come in to see him lazily slumped in his recliner still clutching his precious and empty bottle. There was one night in particular he would drink much more than his usual amount, a day I had grown to despise and never looked forward to, my birthday. On that day, when I got off the school bus and headed down my long, curving driveway and into the woods as usual, I would make it a point to stay out later than normal to avoid dealing with my dad. Most of the time, even though it broke dad’s “back before dark” rule, I would walk into our little trailer to find his bedroom door shut and locked with his obnoxious snores coming from inside. On my eleventh birthday, however, it seemed my luck had finally run out.
I had just walked in a little late from another escapade in the woods. As soon as I walked in, I could smell the liquor permeating the air of the small trailer. “Where you been, boy?” My father asked in a gruff tone before bringing the bottle of whiskey to his lips. I stammered a bit but finally said “I.. I was just outside playing with some friends and I….” He cut me off with a loud scoff. “You think you’re funny, boy? Look at you, I know you ain’t got no friends. You know my rules, boy. I told you to be in this house before dark, yet here you are coming in without a care in the world and lies falling out of your mouth like ain’t nobody waiting up for you.” He took another swig of the dark liquid and looked me in the eyes. My heart started to race and my face grew hot. He smiled and said, “You know what to do. Go pick a switch.”

Now, for anyone who doesn’t know, when your parents tell you to get a switch, they mean “go outside and find a skinny flexible stick so I can beat you with it, or I’ll pick one myself.” And trust me, you did not want them to get one. So, begrudgingly, I went outside and did as I was told. When I came back inside, my father was standing up, bottle still in hand and a stone cold look of hate on his face. Hot tears began to form around my eyes as I said “I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t mean to..” He snatched the stick from my hand and yelled “Are you about to give me lip, boy? Today of all days? I don’t take backtalk from arrogant little shits like you!” He sat the bottle down and cocked his arm back, starting to whip me relentlessly and aiming for any bit of bare skin he could see. After about 8 or 9 swings the stick started breaking into strands with every impact, leaving hot stinging pain all over my body. Through my ensuing wails I heard him chuckle, “Oh now you’ve done it, boy. You really thought you could bring me this hunk of shit and get away easy, huh?” He dropped the broken piece of wood in his hand and grabbed the bottle off the countertop, taking a long drink. After he set it back down his hands went to his belt, undoing the latch. “You better make a decision, boy.” My heart stopped, suspended in the eternity of seconds it took him to remove the belt while fear bubbled inside me. “Do you want bruises on the front or back? Hurry up now, or I’m just going to start swinging wherever I want.” He grunted as he gathered the belt in his hand.
I began crying uncontrollably at this point and therefore wasn’t able to answer right away, which only made him angrier. I wiped the stinging tears away from my eyes and saw him glaring daggers at me. “Time’s up.” He said as he raised his hand up, preparing to unload his fury on me with the belt. I shut my eyes and tensed my body, ready for the imminent impact, my heart feeling as if it wanted to beat out of my chest. It’s not true what they say, you know. About your life flashing before your eyes when you think you’re going to die? In that moment, all I could see and hear was blackness. The world fell away and my only thought was that I would die. “Ahh, what the fuck?” My father called out as I heard the loud smack of a hand against skin. I opened my eyes to see the old man standing with his hand on the back of his neck. He pulled it away to reveal the squished remains of a spider in his palm. “Stupid fucking bugs!” He shouted as he wiped his hand on his pants. I looked up at him and a sudden wild idea crossed my mind, filling my face with heat.

When I saw him reach over for the bottle, I acted without further hesitation. I bolted past him and ran for the door, not bothering to look back at the man I called my father. I heard his angry grunts as he downed the remaining alcohol just as I reached the door and turned the knob. The door flew open and I shot out of it like a bullet, heading into the woods. My heart beat like a drum and my vision was blurry from the tears, but I knew that if my dad caught me he would probably actually kill me. I heard him shouting from the house but I didn’t look back. I pushed on, my mind was still back in the house but my feet were on autopilot, carrying me towards the safety of the trees. I had run through these woods so many times before, I could probably run blindfolded and not hit a single tree. I reached the big one and stopped, my lungs burning with relentless intensity. I sat down and propped myself up against the tree, panting heavily and sweating. I tried to steady my breathing while still listening out for my father, but in my panic I thought I must have lost him. I turned slowly and stuck my head around the edge of the trunk just as a size twelve steel toe boot was launched into my face, the force knocking me backwards. I screamed in agony as pain exploded throughout my head, blood already beginning to pour from my freshly broken nose. “You’re gonna regret running away, boy. You took my wife from me the light of my life! You sucked all the life out of her like the mosquito you are, and you took my angel from me! My life has been hell ever since, and all you ever do is disobey me and make excuses. So, since you love these damn woods so much, I might as well bury you here, and fix all my problems!” My father snarled at me.
I shut my eyes and tensed my body, preparing for the inevitable strike that would end my life, but it never came. Instead I heard the loud thud of something massive hitting the ground. I opened my eyes when I heard the blood curdling scream of my father to see an ungodly sight. There, standing impossibly in front of me, was an enormous spider, with legs as thick as telephone poles and mandibles as long as my arm. It lunged at my father and bit down on his shoulder, leaving two huge holes when it pulled away. The wounds instantly darkened, and my father’s blood began to bubble around the edges of the holes. His body stiffened and he screamed again, falling over to the ground. I sat paralyzed with fear, my heart feeling like it would explode at any second. My father’s body, however, was paralyzed by other means, for he remained stiff while continuing to scream and plead for help. The monster then turned its eyes to me, blinking a few of them. “Do not be afraid, young one.” A voice spoke in my mind. The spider’s huge mandibles produced chittering and clicking sounds as the words entered my head, and I knew it was speaking to me. “We do not mean you any harm, little one. He, however, will not be so lucky.” The beast clicked, rolling my father’s body underneath its massive body. As it began to cocoon my still wailing dad, it spoke again. “Do you remember me, little one? It has been many nights since then. I was the first you brought here, to this tree. For countless decades your kind have been hostile to us, ending our lives beneath their heels or swatting us with newspapers. It is why we birth so many young, for most of them shall never get the chance to live a full life. You, however, are different.”

It then finished the cocoon and the words continued in my brain. “Ever since you brought me here, I have grown and I have watched you. Since then you have continued to show kindness to many of us, these woods are filled with those who have benefitted from your selfless actions.” My father then made a gurgling noise as he tried to choke out my name. It seemed the toxin was spreading all over, for when I looked into his eyes they were a dark shade of purple, no irises to speak of. He tried to talk, but it sounded like his throat was closing up because he produced a wheezing sound. I looked back to the spider and asked, “Is he going to die?” The monster chittered its response. “Not for another few hours, no. He will stay paralyzed until it is over, however, and he will feel everything until the end. Does this upset you?” I paused for a minute and shook my head, then asked another question. “So wait, that spider that bit him in my house, is that how you watched me?” Another few gurgling and coughing sounds came from my father before the spider replied, clicking its wet madibles together. “Of course. As I said, these woods are filled with those who owe you their lives. He was to alert us if ever things got too bad, but he chose to give his life to help you of his own accord. Before he died, he released a pheromone which alerted us to danger, and that is when I knew something was wrong. Many more of my kind would gladly do the same, it’s because of you that most of us are here.” A small feeling of pride welled up inside me, and for once in a long time, I felt loved. My good feelings were gone an instant later when once again my father choked on words which would not form. I walked over and crouched down so my face was close to his, studying all the dark veins under his skin. “What was that?” Was all I said. After about half a minute of gags and gurgles, he finally said “I’m sorry, son. Please, help me.” I looked into his dark, sick eyes, stood up and said, “Are you about to give me lip, boy? You know the rules, pick a switch. Better hurry up, or I’ll decide for you.” His eyes grew wide as a moment of clarifying silence hung in the air.

Slowly, I backed away from him and looked over to the monstrous spider and gave him a nod of confirmation. The beast shrieked in delight while dozens of spiders descended down from branches and slowly covered my still choking father, beginning to wrap around his coffin made of web. Within minutes he was completely secured in webbing and I stood there, patiently waiting until his muffled groans fell silent. A vicious smile crept its way across my face as I watched the hundreds of strands descend upon him, lifting him slowly into the trees as if he were being raptured. A sudden relief washed over me and my eyes began to water while I looked upon the denizens of the trees. “Thank you. Thank you all.” I said to my unlikely saviors, these supposed pests abhorred by society, and I turned away to head back up to my now empty house. The chittering and scurrying of millions of tiny legs following me brought an almost alien emotion back into my life. Joy.

I didn’t write this as some sort of confession, or form of atonement in any way, oh no. This is a testament to the tenacity of life, the will to survive. My father was a real piece of shit, and even now after 3 long years without him, I do not regret what happened. In fact, I revel in knowing that he isn’t around to spread his hateful nature anymore, because with his life taken, mine could finally start. Shortly after this I began going to school again, because even I knew that if I went missing from school, cops would be involved. So I kept my head down for the most part, but never again did I allow myself to be bullied. It’s funny how one small little creature can make someone sick for days, or leave burning welts all over your skin, or even kill you. Word spread quickly amongst the delinquents about weird shit seeming to happen with anyone who fucked with me, and eventually they left me alone. Everyone left me alone. My only friends now are the eight-legged inhabitants of the woods, and I very much prefer it that way. Let this serve as a warning to those of you who treat others as lesser life forms than yourself. All life has value, no matter how small.

Credit: J.B Orander