It was a dark and stormy night. The raindrops tapped on the window like spiders at a dance recital. My wife and I watched the weather channel, hanging on every word Jim Cantore had to say.
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Just kidding, actually the weather channel helps us sleep. It's like a warm glass of milk at bedtime. In fact, that should be their tag line: "THE WEATHER CHANNEL... KINDA LIKE A SEDATIVE."
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We had been doing some steam cleaning too, that little hand held steamer is great at cleaning out the birds cages. (Oh, by the way, we have a pterodactyl and a red footed booby.) Well, we were up late and Jim was standing in a zephyr pretending it was a "cat 5" as tourists walked behind him laughing.
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In the corner of my eye I saw something skirt across the floor underneath the TV stand. It was... a spider. Quick one too. We went to yellow alert and I phoned in an air strike. Then I remembered, we can't use bug spray in the house.. the birds are too sensitive!
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I turned on all the lights as my wife clung to the ceiling beams. I got down on my fingers and toes and my joints creaked like a wooden ship. I peered under the TV stand. Yep, there it was, by the vent, looking for a place to spawn. It was a Hobo allright- a buck, about 2 years old. "Underhouse Dweller" by the shade of brown, and part of it's leg was missing indicating a previous battle. It was experienced. It was a survivor. It was a warrior.
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At that exact moment lightning struck. As my screams died down, the lights blinked and went out. It was like a horror movie. The emergency lights came on, but they emit a pale red light giving an erie effect to the living room. The spider hadn't even moved. It was there, smirking at our emotional reaction to a mere bolt of electricity.
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I was waaaaaay outta my league, but there was nothing to do except proceed with the confrontation. I barked out commands to my wife. "Bring me a boot, a broom, a sturdy chair and a bottle of Jack Daniels." I had to stay in place and not take my eye off the creature. For if you turn your back for an instant, that gives them the window of opportunity. When you look back, the spider will be gone. And as you back away, wondering where it is, the camera pans to the spider dangling above your head- fangs dripping with venom-soaked saliva.
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My wife was back with the weapons. I jammed the broom under the stand hoping it would crush the spider. It grabbed the broom and almost got it away from me. I cursed loudly and long, like a trucker falling off a cliff. When I looked back under the TV stand.... it was gone. The dark, blood-red shadows were empty.
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My nightmare was real now. I slowly backed away. "I lost him- he's on the move." My wife began burrowing and chewing through the ceiling. Suddenly the lights came back on. We wailed like air raid sirens and clung to each other on top of the chair. There was no sign of it.
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"It... must've gone down the vent." I stammered. We climbed down slowly and began chanting the 23rd psalm. Then came a noise, we both stopped and strained to listen. It was soft and slow at first, then it grew louder. IT WAS A HISS.
THE SPIDER WAS HISSING LIKE A DEMON.
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Just as I began to lose consciousness, Melody laughed- "It's the steamer! It's back on!" We both started to laugh. "Were we really that scared? It's only a little sp-AAAAAH there it is again!"
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It came from under the TV stand like it was fired from a cannon. It wanted me. It sensed my fear. From 6 feet away it leapt straight up towards my neck. I pulled my wife in front of me, but it wasn't fooled. In a frenzy of web-slinging it swung around her and towards me. I fell backwards and knocked over the table. The steamer landed by my head.
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As I lay on the carpet, eye to eye with the approaching spider, I grabbed the steamer, and in one swift movement, brought it around and fired.
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The spider was a shell now, it's legs still trembling, flexing... groping for my flesh. But it was dead, and soon it's body was swirling down, counter-clockwise in the toilet. I flushed repeatedly after that- just to be sure.
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I had hit the spider dead on. It had immediately shriveled up from the steam blast. BUT... was it the escaping pressure that screeched in a hideous howling whistle? Or was it the spider? Screeeeaaaaaaaacch!!! I'll never know, and I know I'll never forget that horrible sound that night....
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Lookout Lookout Lookout Lookout! I'm so glad I killed you, the leader of the pack.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
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