Mother of the spiders

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Trippedy trip trip.

Submitted: July 12, 2012

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Submitted: July 12, 2012

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A bat whizzed round the foggy night sky. It perched itself on to the windowsill of a terraced house. Inside the house an old man sat in the corner drawing the spiders on the wall.
 

The old man sleeps during the day – and at night he’d come out of his shell and shoot some heroin. Then he’ll pick up his guitar and strum a web of sound. He might go get some food; he might not.

 

The bat sang its way across the room and settled on the mantelpiece. The spiders scuttled back to their holes. The old man looked at the bat and the bat sang back at the man.

 

The bat did something. The man hadn’t quite expected it and was shocked. The bat did something so terrible that the man had to sit down. The bat told him the spiders were real.

The old man was mother of spiders. They were the only things he feared. In the flash of a moment his had become a sprawling swarm of baby spiders.

 

The spiders crawled down his face and down his thin, bony arms. They settled on his pock-marked arms and prepared to bite. He clawed them away.

 

They pulled his fingernails off. He fell over in pain. They tied down his body with their cobwebs.


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