Slippered Wrath by Nick Stead
Late was the hour in which the beast came crawling out from its dark lair, unbeknownst to me. I was still hard at work at my desk, struggling to meet another deadline when one of the cats alerted me to its presence, her unblinking stare fixed on something on the floor, something which called to her predatory instincts and had her up and ready to pounce. And I could guess what that something was, dread filling me as I followed her gaze to discover the nature of the creature.
Anyone who claims spiders are harmless has never felt the sting of an arachnid’s fangs as they puncture skin, often leaving angry mounds of swollen flesh in their wake. They have never heard the horror stories of limbs having to be amputated and worse, never seen the terrifying images of the damage those fangs can do on Google. But sometimes the deadliest killers are among the smallest, not that anything about this beast was small.
There it sat on its eight sprawled legs, each limb roughly the same size as my long, skinny fingers. The blood of tarantulas must have flowed strong in its veins, for its body was about the same length and thickness of my thumbs, far bigger than a native spider had any right to be on our small, cold island. Surely such monsters belonged in warmer climates, and yet there it was, unmoving on the carpet. But not for long.
Keeping my own sights on the eight legged foe, I crept across the room to grab a slipper, heart pounding as I expected the thing to start scuttling away. With all the hiding places my bedroom had to offer, I knew I probably had but one chance to slay the beast, and slay it I must if I was to get any sleep that night. If I missed I knew I would never be able to relax, too fearful of where it might crawl under cover of darkness. My skin itched with the thought of those long legs crawling across my flesh, perhaps climbing onto a bare foot as I lay in bed or maybe it would inch across my pillow and onto my face, leaving me a screaming wreck as I batted it away. I could not risk that happening for real.
A smaller specimen I would have beaten with the sole of the nearest footwear until it crawled no more, but there was no way I was putting my hand within a hundred metres of the half tarantula so I put the slipper on and crept back over to the monster. I took great care to line my foot above the creepy crawlie, ready to bring down on my foe, and yet even my size 9s felt insufficient for such a beast as I raised it above that huge body. My heart pounded faster still as I willed myself to strike, stomping down with a battle cry which startled both the cats.
My foot missed, the spider shooting off just as I’d feared. It disappeared amongst the wires beneath my desk, but all was not lost. For Yoda was still fixating on her prey, and its movement had spurred her into action, leaping from the bed with that feline grace to chase it in that tight space I couldn’t reach. With one mighty swipe of her paws, she brought it scuttling back out into the open, and I was given a second chance.
The monster was running straight at me and so I raised my foot a second time. Once again it felt insufficient for the sheer size of my foe, but even one with the blood of tarantulas so strong in its veins could not survive the might of my luxury fur lined slippered wrath. This time my aim was true, my foot dragging across the carpet to be certain of the beast’s demise. And sure enough, as I lifted my foot to inspect my grisly handiwork, there lay its shrivelled corpse, missing two of its legs and considerably less impressive in death.
And that is the tale of how I killed the biggest house spider ever to creep into my domain. Its body was left to rot as a warning to its fellow eight legged demons, until finally Yoda decided she was hungry enough to devour what was left. But the warning was unsuccessful and so the fight continues. And I leave my computer to do battle once again.
Anyone who claims spiders are harmless has never felt the sting of an arachnid’s fangs as they puncture skin, often leaving angry mounds of swollen flesh in their wake. They have never heard the horror stories of limbs having to be amputated and worse, never seen the terrifying images of the damage those fangs can do on Google. But sometimes the deadliest killers are among the smallest, not that anything about this beast was small.
There it sat on its eight sprawled legs, each limb roughly the same size as my long, skinny fingers. The blood of tarantulas must have flowed strong in its veins, for its body was about the same length and thickness of my thumbs, far bigger than a native spider had any right to be on our small, cold island. Surely such monsters belonged in warmer climates, and yet there it was, unmoving on the carpet. But not for long.
Keeping my own sights on the eight legged foe, I crept across the room to grab a slipper, heart pounding as I expected the thing to start scuttling away. With all the hiding places my bedroom had to offer, I knew I probably had but one chance to slay the beast, and slay it I must if I was to get any sleep that night. If I missed I knew I would never be able to relax, too fearful of where it might crawl under cover of darkness. My skin itched with the thought of those long legs crawling across my flesh, perhaps climbing onto a bare foot as I lay in bed or maybe it would inch across my pillow and onto my face, leaving me a screaming wreck as I batted it away. I could not risk that happening for real.
A smaller specimen I would have beaten with the sole of the nearest footwear until it crawled no more, but there was no way I was putting my hand within a hundred metres of the half tarantula so I put the slipper on and crept back over to the monster. I took great care to line my foot above the creepy crawlie, ready to bring down on my foe, and yet even my size 9s felt insufficient for such a beast as I raised it above that huge body. My heart pounded faster still as I willed myself to strike, stomping down with a battle cry which startled both the cats.
My foot missed, the spider shooting off just as I’d feared. It disappeared amongst the wires beneath my desk, but all was not lost. For Yoda was still fixating on her prey, and its movement had spurred her into action, leaping from the bed with that feline grace to chase it in that tight space I couldn’t reach. With one mighty swipe of her paws, she brought it scuttling back out into the open, and I was given a second chance.
The monster was running straight at me and so I raised my foot a second time. Once again it felt insufficient for the sheer size of my foe, but even one with the blood of tarantulas so strong in its veins could not survive the might of my luxury fur lined slippered wrath. This time my aim was true, my foot dragging across the carpet to be certain of the beast’s demise. And sure enough, as I lifted my foot to inspect my grisly handiwork, there lay its shrivelled corpse, missing two of its legs and considerably less impressive in death.
And that is the tale of how I killed the biggest house spider ever to creep into my domain. Its body was left to rot as a warning to its fellow eight legged demons, until finally Yoda decided she was hungry enough to devour what was left. But the warning was unsuccessful and so the fight continues. And I leave my computer to do battle once again.
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