I laid down on the left side of the bed and out of the corner of my eye I caught a very rapid movement in the folds of the comforter to my right. Very. Rapid. Small and dark object going about a hundred miles an hour directly toward me and then disappearing into the shadows and folds. Narrowly avoiding smashing my head into the ceiling, I jumped straight upwards like one of those little suction cup spring toys you stick to a table. Landing cat-like (I will have you know that Garfield is a cat) to the side of the bed, my eyes glued to the spot I had last seen the moving blur, thoughts of full length flannel pajamas with footies and suits of armor flashed through my head as appropriate sleeping gear. Having neither of those, I tried very hard to appear fearless in my I-suddenly-wished-they-were-boxers Hanes. I truly believe, beyond any rational thought, spiders can smell fear – and are highly attracted to it. I was dangerously close to being Belle to this Beast. Slowly, systematically, starting at the corner of the sheets hanging down near me, I started pulling the fabric taught and folding it in squares while I pulled it toward me. All the while, I watched vigilantly for any signs of motion. If I did not find this thing, I was barring the door and sleeping downstairs with a flashlight. On the kitchen table. Wrapped in cellophane with a straw through a breathing hole. Wire mesh on the end of the straw. One can NOT be too careful. I also lamented the fact that I did not choose a white comforter, and instead picked one the color of spider. Panicking somewhat as I reached the far corner of the covers with no success, my theory of fear-smelling-spiders panned out as the little bugger made a run for me. It did not matter the sheer impossibility of seeing it's eyes for me to know they were filled with violence. Lustful violence, no doubt. Shiver! Channeling my inner fencing pro, I jumped back, parrying my non existent sword in what must have appeared a very silly mime of one of the three musketeers. It must have been comic because the dark creature stopped and, I am quite sure, laughed. Foolish prideful laughter, because I had grabbed a piece of tissue clinging to a disposed toiletry role nearby and, going against all survival instincts, dove unto the bed with only two ply of cottony softness between me and certain death and/or dismemberment. Smashing the tissue down I then squeezed it together in my hand almost letting loose a warrior yell that came out more like something from Shaggy on Scooby-Doo when I remembered daughter was asleep in the next room over. Well, so long as the earlier blood curdling reenactment of Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween did not already awaken her. I released my death grip long enough to briefly flip over the tissue to verify it contained my evil foe. It did. Bounding (gerund or present participle of "bound"; to walk or run with leaping strides) to the commode, I propelled the compressed mass of generic brand Cottonelle® and spider guts into the porcelain rimmed waters like a depth charge looking for Red October. It was over. I could finally go back to bed and sleep. Or… nervously glance at any imagined motion around me as I distracted myself by writing the tale on the laptop. You know, just in case I am not heard from again come morning. Hey! Did anyone see that shadow in the corner move?! Anyone!??!?!
Image by Reji-Tsukoiyo:
http://www.deviantart.com/art/Scared-Out-of-My-Mind-457194934?
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