Die, Spider, Die

It was nigh on to eleven o’clock, and having worked hard at squandering another day, I was ready to retire. The bed had a welcoming, comforting glow, but before climbing in I noticed the pole lamp next to bed had been moved. Margarita, the member of the housekeeping staff who drew the short straw and is assigned tidy my mess once a week, must have moved it when she vacuumed. It hadn’t been moved far, just enough that I worried I wouldn’t be able to reach it once I climbed in the sack. Getting the lamp back in its proper place was no problem. Though, like so many once-easy tasks, it took several minutes longer than it would have ten years ago. And getting it done without incident made this clumsy, inept fellow feel a little less clumsy and inept. 

As I sat there all full of myself, I thought I saw something dash across the carpet. It was a spider, a huge, fearsome, ugly spider. Well, perhaps not huge, but certainly the largest spider I’ve encountered here at Covenant Woods. And all spiders, regardless of size, are fearsome and ugly. The creature sprinted toward the table and once under it he stopped. He just stood there, daring me to do something stupid. He thought I’d lunge toward him and fall out of the wheelchair. Then he’d saunter over, bite my nose, casually stroll away and never be seen again. 

What was I to do?  I’d never be able to fall asleep knowing the beast was at large in my apartment. But, there he was, staring at me from beneath the table with that cocky smirk arachnids give you when they think they’ve got the upper hand. Perhaps I should call security. Yeah, right. “Hey, Mr. Spider, don’t move, someone will be here in five minutes to squish you.” I didn’t think he’d listen. Those eight-legged creatures all have that come-on-and-make-me attitude so prevalent among rebellious teenagers.

There he was under the table, knowing he had the upper hand, ready to stand there all night and watch me fret. Well, if I couldn’t get the wheelchair under the table far enough to run over him, maybe I could throw words at him. Admit it, you’re thinking, “Great idea! Read him a few paragraphs of your prose, Tom, it’ll bore him to death.” True, but I’m opposed to torture. My idea was to drop the Illustrated Oxford Dictionary on him. If successful, the eight-legged pest would be crushed instantly by the weighty words. I got the dictionary and moved slowly toward the table. The enemy held his ground, never moving an inch. I reached under the table, getting the book directly above Spidey and dropped it – THUMP. “Success. Yes,” I said, one second before the evil creature slithered from under the tome. Six inches from the book, he turned and looked at me. I’m not certain, but I think he said, “Nah-nah-da-boo-boo, I’m going to get you.” 

Ever confident of his ability to frustrate my efforts to end his worthless existence, he stood next to the dictionary, daring me to pick it up and try again. “I’ll show him,” I told myself, as I grabbed my cane. I no longer use the cane to help me walk, but it comes in handy when I reach for things I’ve dropped on the floor. Spidey wasn’t intimidated. He stood his ground until I thrust the business end of the cane toward him. As the cane’s base hit the carpet, the spider walked out from under the table. Foolish bug. BOOM! I brought the cane down again. And missed. But I didn’t miss a third time. The cane came down on him, and I spent thirty seconds twisting it back-and-forth, as if I was drilling a hole to bury him in. I lifted the cane, exposing what remained of his remains. And then to bed.