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Chelicera
By Jaysen Robert Wolfe
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"Come here, you little . . ." Jonathan Thatcher was clutching the twisted magazine.
Quickly sweeping his arm in a wide arc, he struck air again. Fighting for three hours was all he could stand.
Jonathan felt like abandoning his hunt for the spider, but it would be pointless. His hatred
for black widows burning at the very core of his soul. Loathing was festering in his brain for twelve long years.
His daughter, April was only seven years old. It was then, he discovered her allergy to
their bite - one which horribly killed her within three hours. Poison forever cursed his entire
bloodline so deadly, leaving him paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair.
In one deft motion he was spinning the chair around and wheeling himself to the
telephone. Referring to the yellow pages, he then dialed an exterminator. Glancing at the
grandfather clock - seven P.M. - he was praying they would be open.
"Corman Extermination, This is Hank Corman speaking. Can I help you?"
"Mister Corman. My name is Jonathan Thatcher. I live at thirteen-forty-five Palindale
drive in Hampton. I wish for you to do an extermination at my estate this evening. Can you come
tonight?"
"I'm sorry sir. I'm just closing for business until morning."
"You don't understand. I have a black widow spider infestation. If you would come over
and kill them for me, I would. . . ."
"We are closing until tomorrow morning. I'll make you an appointment for. . . ."
"I can't wait for tomorrow. You must do it tonight!" Panic gripped Jonathan by the
throat.
"How much would it cost for you to make this special house call?"
"I don't know that I could . . ."
"Would two, maybe three hundred dollars suffice?" Silence. Jonathan was smiling as he
spoke the words: "Five hundred?"
"Let me call my wife and see . . ."
"Mister Corman, I will pay you one-thousand dollars in cash to come over here right now
and kill these spiders for me."
"I'll be there in two hours. Hampton is quite a drive."
"Thank you, mister Corman. I'll expect you by nine o'clock then."
"I'll be right over, sir."
"You won't regret your decision. Thank you, and goodbye."
Jonathan Thatcher put the receiver upon its cradle. Somehow, he could sense the spider's
presence. He knew then "They want me dead."
Without warning, the black widows were crawling onto the telephone. Jonathan began
swatting with the magazine, but his aim was too high. The spiders were disappearing behind the
phone.
Lightning flashed outside as dark bulbous clouds filled the sky. They completely drew a
veil over the light of the moon. Gusts of cold wind filled the empty orchards outside Jonathan
Thatcher's estate.
Thunder split the night. The lights in the house flickered twice. Suddenly, Jonathan
Thatcher found himself within a blanket of darkness.
Swatting at invisible spiders upon the telephone to ensure they were gone, he picked up
the receiver and placed it to his ear. Static echoed over the line. Silence, nothing more.
Eyes, black as coals were observing the human. Mandibles clicked, as poison moistened
sharp, needle-like fangs. Soon, the human's lifeblood would fill its belly. It had been so long since
it tasted fluid so rich and flavorful.
Rarely did it step into the light for shadow was its realm, but its thirst was overwhelming,
driving it into the open. Thirst hurt its brain, blinded its eyes, and deadening its senses.
* * *
Turning the light to their five-year-old daughter's bedroom off, Anne Duncan glanced
another time into her daughter's bedroom. She held Snow White and the Seven Dwarves under
her arm. Little Sherry's favorite. Softly closing the bedroom door to not awaken her sleeping
angel, she stepped into the hallway and headed downstairs.
Entering the living room, her husband was speaking into the telephone. "Thank you" he
said into the mouthpiece.
"What's the matter, Clarke?"
Worry etched over his features. "I've been trying to call your father to see if he's all right.
The operator says the lines are down."
"The storm is hitting everyone pretty hard. Do you think daddy's okay?"
"I don't know" he said, shaking his head. "I think I'll drive over just to be sure." Standing
up, he pulled his overcoat on and started for the front door.
"What about the storm . . ." she asked. It was her turn to worry now.
Kissing her upon the mouth, he said, "I'll be back in a few, okay?"
"Love you."
"I love you too. Please be careful" she said as he stepped out into the night.
* * *
Within the spider's lair, they were watching and waiting. A stray cat was entering the
basement to escape the downpour. The baseline window was ajar just enough for adequate entry,
so it would stay here until the rains stopped, then return home.
Moving as one body. As one collective mind with only one purpose: prepare food for their
new queen. A small gift, but a gift nonetheless.
Surrounding the stray completely, they attacked. The last thing the cat saw was a black,
undulating form fall upon her. Thousands of black widows were descending upon it at once.
It tried leaping to the window it entered, but a wave of crawling spiders overtook her.
Within seconds, covering her entire body in a writhing mass. It tried to shriek in protest to its
dreadful capture, but its cries muffled in her mouth as the cat's throat filled with arachnids.
The spiders were working quickly, tightly wrapping the cat within their webbing.
Struggling at first to free itself, they bit her over and over. Their venom never entering the cat's
bloodstream to ensure it would be alive for their queen. Within seconds, spiders' silk encased the cat into a
cocoon. Soon it was too weak to fight any longer.
It waited, for its destiny belonging to the spiders now.
