True Terror

Arachnid fright

Tim Buckley

Short Fiction

Words: 632

Copyright: 2003

 

True Terror

 

            Some images strike at man’s most basic fear, forcing even heroes to admit frailty.  For example, imagine swimming alone in a deep ocean, only to chum-up to a large shark who is more than pleased to “meat” you.  Such man-eating mania made moviemakers millions.  However, the most revolting, horror filled scenario fathomable is not yet playing at theaters.  I speak of true terror: being in the shower with a spider.

               A spider in the bathtub pushes the same fright button in us as does the shark.  As quickly, too.  Yet, there is more to this creature, an intangible.  Is it the surprise element?  After all, seeing a third big toe when you look at your feet on the tub floor is enough to make a dork out of the most coordinated individual.  Yes, but there is still more.

               Maybe it’s the helplessness.  I mean, you can’t do a barefoot grape making stomp on it’s head; you went to the shower to get clean, not to create a gutless wonder.  And, us men can’t run from the bathroom screaming, either.  How far would eyes bug out at night from wife and kids after viewing you as the REAL gutless one?  I think the intangible comes from a combination: unsuspecting…indefensible…naked…

               I’ve not met yours, but the arachnid in my bath grows battleship size.  Floats, too.  For this reason I’ve named mine after the feared German warship Bismarck.  And I never see Bismarck until I’m surrounded by porcelain.  In fact, I do not spot him until I turn the shower on and get wet.  His meditation disrupted by this sudden flood, he full steams ahead to a dry area with hydroplane speed.

               I notice my ugly companion and freeze as if Simon Said.  Then, moving like a guy with a gun pointing at him, I inch my hand WAY over him and turn the water off.  God forbid I startle Bismarck into attacking,  he might get ON me.  I eye him, he six eyes me.  Neither one blinking, I retreat, slowly, tail first.  The further I get, the faster I go.

               Dripping wet, I calmly wave as I shiver past family spectators to the bedroom for a shoe.  A really big shoe.  Thus armed, and hoping the beast has resumed deep thought, I re-enter the “rest” room like a submarine inching into an enemy minefield.  Bismarck’s pulled anchor.  Gone.  Gone?  No!  Dripping sweat, I sprint back to the bedroom to plot strategy.

               If I don’t hurry I’ll be late for work; maybe I should call my boss.  “I can’t come in today because of a wild animal,” I could truthfully lie.  Or, maybe someone else could sink the Bismarck for me.  Like the kids from the school next door.  I can invite them over to do what they do best, which is, play in the bathroom.  A child’s living curiosity works death on playground bugs.  They’ll find him, and even with eight, Bismarck would not have a leg to stand on.  No, I must play the man.  I will search and destroy.

               With "up periscope" senses, I tiptoe to the war zone.  But I am so busy looking down, I fail to notice my foe bungee jump from the shower curtain rod an inch from my face.  He stops nose level, and I raise my head to view legs dancing an aerodynamic ballet.  I freak.  Yelling, “Fire all torpedoes!”  I swing the shoe like  Barry Bonds hitting a career homer and connect with a solid “crack.”  Bismarck sails to the wall, stunned.  With Lizzy Borden’s forty whacks I finish the attack, breaking his web of terror.  Victory!

               Or was it a victory?  For, now, I am too “creeped” to take a shower.  When I do, I inspect tub, roof, shampoo--EVERYTHING--searching for the next invader.  Also, I get soap in my eyes because I’m afraid to close them.  But why bother.  It won’t happen again until I’m unsuspecting…indefensible…naked…

              

 

 

               

 

Reviews

[Marie]

I won't keep telling yu your writing is good. It's always good. You write like a professional....maybe you are.
So far I seem to be your only reviewer, but that's got to change.

Incidentially, ther a spider who lives in my bathroom. We coexist peacefully enough. I believe it may be bad luck to kill a spider...