Despite popular belief in the western hemisphere. Access to indoor plumbing is a luxury few in the total population of the world have. In America, it is considered to be the standard, even for the poorest to have indoor plumbing. However, there are places, where even in the wealthiest country on earth, it is a luxury that has never been afforded. This story occurs in one of those areas. A man, who is called John, was walking the same path he had tracked since he was a boy. Up to the top of a grassy hill in the shadow of forest border. It was very cold tonight; his breath steamed with life, forming small clouds with each exhale that died as soon as they left his mouth.
Even though he wasn’t warm, he could see where he was going. Using the full moon to guide him. To help him pass the time, he brought a phone and strategically placed a lit Winston cigarette in his mouth as he finally reached the old outhouse. Despite the dry air, he could smell the faint odor of feces from several yards away, which reminded John that the outhouse had been on top of the hill for nearly a year. It was past time to dig another hole. A quick one over at the rotted structure told him it was also time for an entirely new building. The door sported a stereotypical hole in the carving of a crescent moon. While the rest was filled with cracks and warped boards. Various twists in the wood had pulled many of the nails from their spaces, it had been dried from the sun. The outhouse did not look stable.
John sighed as he stepped forward and opened the barely hanging door. The inside was in poorer condition, having barely enough integrity and space to sit. There was half a roll of toilet paper on the junk space. It had been repeatedly wettened and dried, making it wrinkle like an old man. The toilet seat was stained, caramel brown from over a decade of use. Earlier in the day a lady social worker came by and asked John if he needed anything. She mentioned being able to get him services to help build onto the house, he said no. John felt disgusted as he gave the inside a full review, he decided then, when the social worker came by next month, that he would ask her to help him get indoor plumbing. Part of why he hadn’t came back to him. He recalled a warm summer where he crafted the outhouse with his brother, whom he hadn’t seen for years.
Dropping his ripped jeans and resting on the stained toilet seat. John’s old body relaxed with a satisfied grunt, as the cigarette sat comfortably in his teeth burning away, his phone clicked open to pass the time as nature moved in his bowls. John inhaled and puffed in ease, just as he heard something shift above. It wasn’t a creak of old wood or the familiar dry rotted crackle beneath his very worn shoes. It was a soft crinkle sound, like steel wool being pressed against the ground. Glancing upwards John saw something that almost made him lose complete control of his bowels in that very moment. As far as he could tell between the dim light of his phone and the moon shining through the crescent carving it was a very large spider.
Not a small pest capable of hunting only moths and crickets. This predator was far larger than anything outside of an arachnophobia nightmare. Its hairy brown legs curled close to its dark body and were as thick as water bottles perched against the upper part of the door, curled into a pouncing poster. It’s round hind, hidden behind a set of large glistening black eyes that stared at John intensively, unblinking. Below the apple sized eyes, were a larger set of gleaming fangs buried inside of a surely dead creature, this one John recognized. A dead limp fox, devoid of all color aside from red fur and two large wet blood stains on its white undercoat. Occasionally it dripped some dark blood from its mouth onto the ground by John’s shoes. Deep red surrounded the two fleshy gashed holes, with which the pair of large fangs were comfortably imbedded inside. Like butcher hooks into a freshly slaughtered pig.
John thought for a moment, his reason desperately wrestling control away from going completely insane. A past in the military helped him to win over himself and be still. Analyzing his situation. John figured the fox had not been dead for very long, seeing as it still had blood dripping from it. It must be a fresh kill. Carefully recalling what little he knew of spiders and what he could remember from walking into the outhouse. John deduced that the spider must’ve ran inside when it heard him coming. Quietly moved around him as he focused on his phone.
Trying to hide as it did even now, that’s what it was doing. The spider was still, curling its legs to be as small as its large body would allow, acting as if it were a part of the wall. Blood dripping from the fox was the only movement inside the outhouse. Even stiller than John himself. There was no webbing around, so it couldn’t be living in the outhouse. Then again maybe it was a type of spider that didn’t make webs. No matter the type, by the kill, John could tell that this creature was likely not waiting for him. It already had a meal. This wasn’t an ambush, they just so happened to have caught each other at the perfectly wrong time.
John considered his options. There was a gun in his house… about 30 yards away, not an option. Since the fangs were full, maybe he could just run, it was worth a shot. Spiders are after all more afraid of us than we are of them; at least John hoped this was still the case when the spider was on equal footing. If it was this large curled into a corner how big was it when it sprawled out? Those fangs were roughly the size of KA-Bars, the same knife he had in the military. John figured they could nearly cut his head off if they got him right.
Reaching a nervous hand slowly towards the wooden latch on the door. The predator above suddenly dropped its prize directly into John lap, bearing its blood-soaked fangs it raised two hairy arms that nearly touched John’s face as it postered more threateningly. Opening more of its legs to grow larger than before, stretching move over the door. Now with a dead fox on his lap, John froze again as he weighed his options. In the middle of his thoughts’ however, there came a prickling feeling in the back of his neck. Not daring to move for fear of provoking the spider; John was soon able to rightly guess what it was.
Now that the spider had opened itself, he could now almost see her rather large abdomen, which seemed to writhe and pulse in the pale moonlight, here and there. Despite not being able to look directly at them, John recognized the sight from other spiders he had seen throughout his life. The mass on her back was wriggling with pups. Little spiders so large they likely wouldn’t fit well in a grown man’s hand. There were dozens on her, a hundred maybe. From the slow prickles on the back of his neck, John guessed they could be the size of a baseball, give or take.
It was then that John realized the true potential of what he was to the spider. The fox would have been plenty for her, but not much for her young. John would do far better, feed more mouths and he was right here, less hunting. She may have not dropped the fox out of startle, maybe it was an effort to stop the better kill from escaping. Her many unblinking eyes stared at him. It was as if she were thinking. John had never heard of anyone being killed by giant spiders. They must avoid people and where she’s pregnant and its winter, maybe she’s more desperate? Hunting outside of her usual quarry. Not quite sure how to incapacitate him without possibly hurting herself or her many children. Maybe she’s never hunted humans before? Her black glistening eyes had a cunning look to them, she was planning where she would sink her fangs. In that moment, he had not touched it for too long, the phone’s light went off.
John knew he had no time, he had to figure something out right now, in that moment. As the black legs stretched across the door, touching both corners, seeming to strike at any moment, he recalled something. Something about how a man destroyed a building with nothing except for fertilizer. How shit and its fumes were flammable. This outhouse was more than full, he could smell the vapers from below, they were lingering thick in the air. His cigarette was nearly out, but had some length left. Having no time to think of the possibilities’, John only knew that he did not want to fight a spider large enough to kill a fox with his bare hands in an outhouse. He’d rather risk being burned.
Gentilly, slowly, scooting back, ignoring the passenger on his neck and the slightly warm blood of the dead fox dribbling on his thighs and penis John shifted carefully backwards. The spider seemed to move with him, easing itself and sprawling its large legs even more, completely cutting him off. Its hairy brown body now covered the crescent moon carving. Blocking what little light was available and leaving the lit cigarette as the only illumination in the small outhouse. Black eyes stared intently with an orange flicker of fire in front of John’s face waiting for just the right moment.
Black eyes that only focused on turning him into a fresh corpse for her children to feast on. John opened his legs a bit and slowly opened his mouth to allow the cigarette to fall between the fox, his blood covered thighs and into the hole. The darkness covered both of them as a small flash from below carried a flame upwards which lit the entire outhouse in a flash of fire. John felt his face against something hairy and wet as the wooden structure rose fast. He couldn’t keep track of it all. The heat, the hair, and weightlessness, the grass. He tumbled several feet away and laid on his stomach outside in the moonlight. John saw it scurry away into the forest, as grass became so soft and everything so dark.
“He’s got burns ranging from 2nd to 4th degree on 60% of his body. Broken ribs, legs will have to amputated in the morning. He’s probably going to lose his penis and testicles too, there’s just not much left. Concussion with a skull fracture. We’ll need skin grafts and rounds of antibiotics to stave off infection. He should make it though, as long as we keep him clean.” The voice was from Dr. Woolum. John knew it well. He peeked and saw his daughter speaking with the doctor as he slowly began to come too. John didn’t let them know he was awake yet as he glanced around for a reflective surface. He saw himself in a metal meal tray. His beard was mostly gone and what was left was singed. His hair was bloody, gashed, nearly bald. He had no eyebrows; his lips were painfully dry looking. And the faint dullness of pain medication told him he’d be in a world of hurt once they wore off.
Although he wasn’t very happy about losing his manhood. John realized that he really wasn’t using it anymore anyway. And if he had to do it over. He’d have made the same choice rather than fight that spider inside the outhouse. John was about to speak before he felt some hairs tickling on the back of his neck.
Credit: Bryan Holly
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