SUMMER 2005 SHORT FICTION CONTEST

THIRD PLACE WINNER

Charlotte Walks Into a Web

by Danielle Mutarelli

“Paul!!!” The shriek filled the house. “There’s a big spider in here!”

“All right, relax,” came the responding voice of reason, “where is the beast?”

Charlotte pointed with loathing disgust to a beige speck in the corner.

“Geez, honey. Next time tell me to bring my glasses.”

“Stop kidding and just get rid of it. Why are there so many spiders in the house?”

Beside the toilet there was a rack of magazines. Paul reached for a People with the cast of Desperate Housewives on the cover, all looking fabulous and anything but desperate. Bending down, Paul held it in front of the spider. “Come here, little guy,” he coaxed.

“They won’t hurt you, Charlotte,” he added.

“Well this is my house and I don’t want them in it.”

"Charlotte, I’ve already told you that once they’re in, there’s not a lot we can do about it.”

“Then keep them out. And start with that one.”

Paul sighed, “Sorry there, fella, I tried to plead your case.”

At 6:00 AM the alarm went off announcing the start of Charlotte’s annual spring cleaning session, a thorough and exhausting twelve hours of scrubbing. It was a rewarding effort to Charlotte in that it gave her peace of my mind that at the end of the day every nook of the house had been checked for spiders.

Her spring cleaning routine started first in the attic and then gradually wound down through the house, ultimately ending in the basement. And this is where it happened. Heading down the stairs, Charlotte walked straight into a web.

“Whaaaaahhh!!!” Charlotte screamed, swatting the air and wiping her face to remove every strand of offensive web.

Her eyes were bugged in horror, and so it was easy to spot the constructor of the web. A lone spider stood on the wall. Charlotte wasted no time. Reaching for her shoe she slammed it with unprecedented fury against the wall.

"Charlotte," Paul came running up behind her, “Are you okay?”

Drawing back the shoe, she tentatively snuck a peek at the sole. Spider splatter was everywhere.

Paul announced, “It’s going to rain, now.”

Charlotte held the shoe out, “I thought you didn’t believe in those old wives tales.”

“I believe in that one. Spiders can sense the rain, and they move inside. And now you’ve gone and made them angry.”

“Stop teasing me, Paul. It’s not funny.”

Paul chuckled. "Well, you shouldn’t go around killing spiders that haven’t done anything to you."

"They’re in my house!" Charlotte shouted.

For the remainder of the day Charlotte had the irrational fear that there were tiny eyes upon her, lots of them, in pairs of eight.

During dinner that night Paul motioned to her plate, "What's the matter, Charlotte? You haven’t touched your pork chop."

"It's the spiders, Paul. I think they’re planning something."

Paul laughed, "What makes you think that? Are your spidey senses tingling?" 

"You know this is all your fault. You're the one who said they'd seek revenge on me for killing one of their own."

"I said no such thing." Paul shook his head, "Maybe you got some of that cobweb in your ears."

Charlotte jumped up, pulling on her ears, "Oh lord! Don't say things like that."

Paul laughed even louder which infuriated Charlotte. Grabbing her untouched plate, she stormed out of the room. 

Paul muttered, "Revenge of the spiders. That's rich."

In the middle of the kitchen Charlotte scanned the top of the cabinets lined with an assortment of copper pots and artificial strands of ivy. They're up there plotting their attack.

At midnight, Charlotte woke with a start. She had been having a nightmare that a million little spiders were crawling out of her ears. Rolling over she swatted Paul, who simply grunted in his sleep.

"I hate you," she whispered.

Charlotte tried her best to settle back to sleep, but she was awake now. Having skipped dinner she also realized that she was hungry, and so with a huff, she got up and went to get herself a bowl of cereal.

The Cheerios floated around in the milk making the bowl look like a pool full of beige colored life preservers. Charlotte picked up some junk mail and absently sorted through the pile. Eyeing a Talbot’s catalog, Charlotte dipped the spoon in the bowl and carried it to her mouth. A Cheerio hung for a moment on her lip. A brief pause, and then it moved.

Charlotte dropped the spoon and clawed at her face, catching the camouflaged culprit on her cheek and flinging it hysterically across the room.

Tearing off down the hallway Charlotte screeched like a banshee. She burst into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, vigorously scrubbing her face to erase the most horrid sensation of spider feet on her face.

When her face was sufficiently numb, and the panic had subsided, Charlotte turned the water off and reached for a towel. The bathroom was dimly lit by a small shell shaped nightlight. As she had barreled into the bathroom, she’d been too much in flight to stop and turn on the light. Now, though, she noticed a curious pattern being cast on the wall just behind the nightlight. The shadow seemed to be pulsing.

“That’s strange,” Charlotte commented, “I wonder what’s wrong with the light.”

Flipping on the switch filled the bathroom with light. Charlotte then saw that the odd strobing had not been caused by the nightlight after all. It was caused by the hundreds of pin point sized baby spiders, recently hatched from a rather massive egg tucked on the inside of the shell.

Charlotte lurched back gasping. How many are there? How many have already escaped?

Reeling with disgust, Charlotte envisioned each of these spiders venturing off and breeding, their sole purpose to divide and conquer. Fear left her rigid as wave after wave of spider youth streamed out of the nightlight. With sweat beading on her forehead, Charlotte touched her fingertips to her lips and muttered, “They’re in.”