Tag Archives: black widow

Eight Legged Evil

Spiders.  I hate them.  One of the most hideous creatures, they walk into your house, thinking they own the place, building webs, laying traps for you.  Several times, I’ve almost walked into one as it hung from a thread from the ceiling.  I sometimes find them in my bed, sometimes in my clothes.  I have to check these things now.  It takes a long time, but I don’t want to get them on me.  I even found a fairly juicy one in my shirt once.  The beasts!  Once, I walked through a web one made right across an entire yard.  I have nightmares about them, dreams where they are everywhere, and I can’t escape from them.  I’ve even been bitten twice.  Once when I was walking into a restaurant wearing sandals, I suddenly had this strange pain.  When I sat down, I found two fang marks on my foot.  The second time, I felt something tickling my hand one night in bed, but I assumed it was nothing, until I felt a sharp pain.  In the morning, I found two marks on my hand.  Why, you monsters, why?

            I remember once as a little duckling, my mom and I were going to go outside, when I saw a black widow in the doorway.  Mom started to spray it with bug poison, but it wouldn’t die.  The battle continued outside as it tried to escape.  Eventually, it writhed about and died after at least a minute of spraying.  I had a battle of my own not too long ago.  I found the spider on the carpet before I went to bed, during my nightly bug check.  It was a decent size, not huge, but not tiny.  I started to beat it and beat it with a magazine or something, but it wouldn’t die because of the soft carpet beneath it.  I got a heavy book and kept trying to squish it, but every time I lifted the book, its mangled body would start to drag itself away.  I didn’t want it to suffer, but I couldn’t get it to die.  I didn’t know what to do and was rather tired, so I left a heavy book on it, planning to finish it off in the morning.  That morning, I found a spider nearby, but I don’t know if it was the same one because there was no spider left under the book.

            I remember as a duckling, I would pick up daddy long legs because I heard they can’t bite.  I don’t know why I’d want to hold them, though.  They are rather awful.  But, one became cross with me one day and started hitting my arm over and over with its fangs.  I got it off me and never touched them again.  Also, in my ducklinghood, I remember a dead spider stuck to a door leading into the backyard.  I hated it.  Even though it was dead, I was terrified to go by it.

            Strangely, sometimes spiders amuse me.  Once I picked up a toilet paper roll, and a long-legged one ran to the top of the roll with quite a bit of attitude, like, “This is mine!”  It was startling, but a bit funny.  Another spider was afraid of me.  It was in a corner between the wall and the bathroom counter.  It would come out when I left, but whenever I returned, it would hide under the counter.  Maybe it’s true that they’re as afraid of you as you are of them, but it doesn’t really help me any.  I still hate them.

            I wonder if spiders think we’re as ugly as we think they are.

An Arachduck