*********************************************
The Haunting.
A Short Story.
Part one.
*********************************************
The Haunting.
A Short Story.
Part one.
*********************************************
"It was just a shadow." He thought. "A trick of the light. It couldn't have been... It was dead... I buried it in a shallow grave in the back garden."
But he was wrong. It wasn't a trick of the light nor was it a shadow. It was back.
He was sitting at his desk typing. His fingers were tapping the keys as he tried to put his thoughts into some semblance of order. Then he saw it. A flash of movement across the floor. Just a glimpse. A brief glance. A coup d'oeil.
He did a quick double take. "Was that...? No, it couldn't have been." He said aloud, as though saying this would dispel his fears. "It was just a shadow" He thought. "A trick of the light. It couldn't have been... It was dead... I buried it in a shallow grave in the back garden."
Suddenly he was gripped with a sense of dread. A cold clammy feeling crept over him. A shudder went up his spine and he whipped his legs up underneath himself. He looked at the floor but saw nothing. No spectral spider sat staring at him.
A small voice in his mind spoke. "It's behind you. Just waiting for its opportunity to strike."
He spun around and saw nothing. His paranoia had tricked him. He laughed aloud and thought about how silly he must look. A grown man sweating with fear at the thought of a spider he had killed coming back from the grave to exact revenge.
"Get a grip of yourself." He said. "You're mind is playing tricks on you. It's late and you haven't slept in two days. These things happen when you're sleep deprived. Forget about it and get back to doing what you were doing."
He slid his legs from beneath himself and focused on the screen in front of him. The empty screen taunted him. He searched his mind for something to write about. Should he write of his childhood? Or maybe his schooldays? Or his recent trip to Dublin?
He started writing.
His fingers skipped across the keys and his thoughts began to form on the screen in front of him. He wrote of his recent trip into the world of the unemployment office, then he wrote of the uplifting feeling he had when he received an email from someone he hoped would get in touch and then he hit the Create New Post button on his browser.
His mouth was dry so he got up from his chair and walked through to the kitchen to get a nice drink of cold water. He turned the tap and the water began splashing off the bottom of the sink. The running water made him want to go to the toilet so he let the water run and stepped into the hallway.
Then he saw it again. A small flash of movement. A brief glance of something disappearing under the hall cupboard door. He reached for the lightswitch and flicked it upwards. He had forgotten that the bulb had popped and he hadn't replaced it yet. "Damn it!" He said.
He reached up to the coathook and got a hold of the torch that hung there. He hit the power button and light spilled over the floor in front of him. There was nothing but a small ball of dust sitting forlornly in the corner. He cursed himself for being so freaked out by something that he shouldn't be worried about.
He switched the torch off and hung it back on the coathook. Then he walked to the bathroom, switched on the light, lifted the lid on the toilet pan and began to empty his bladder. As he emptied his bladder he leaned against the wall and sang along to the music that was playing on his media player in the livingroom.
"Shoot the runner, shoot shoot the runner. I'm a king and she's my queen." He sang. As he sang he attempted to keep the beat to the music by aiming his piss from the water to the porcelain of the toilet.
He shuddered as he tucked himself back in and made his way back towards the kitchen. He walked up the hallway and went to fill his water bottle. He filled it to the brim and turned the tap off. Then he walked from the kitchen to the livingroom.
As he opened the door to the livingroom a cold air seemed to blow past him. A sense of dread slid up his spine and his head went light. He shook his head and attempted to tell himself to stop being such a wimp. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was no specter haunting him. The spider was dead. It was buried. It had gone to the happy hunting ground in the sky where the clouds are made of golden strands of silk and there are all the flies you can eat.
He shook off the feeling of dread, opened the door and walked towards his desk where his computer sat waiting for him to return. Then he saw it. As large as it was on the day that he had fought with it.
The Spider had returned...
But he was wrong. It wasn't a trick of the light nor was it a shadow. It was back.
*********************************************
He was sitting at his desk typing. His fingers were tapping the keys as he tried to put his thoughts into some semblance of order. Then he saw it. A flash of movement across the floor. Just a glimpse. A brief glance. A coup d'oeil.
He did a quick double take. "Was that...? No, it couldn't have been." He said aloud, as though saying this would dispel his fears. "It was just a shadow" He thought. "A trick of the light. It couldn't have been... It was dead... I buried it in a shallow grave in the back garden."
Suddenly he was gripped with a sense of dread. A cold clammy feeling crept over him. A shudder went up his spine and he whipped his legs up underneath himself. He looked at the floor but saw nothing. No spectral spider sat staring at him.
A small voice in his mind spoke. "It's behind you. Just waiting for its opportunity to strike."
He spun around and saw nothing. His paranoia had tricked him. He laughed aloud and thought about how silly he must look. A grown man sweating with fear at the thought of a spider he had killed coming back from the grave to exact revenge.
"Get a grip of yourself." He said. "You're mind is playing tricks on you. It's late and you haven't slept in two days. These things happen when you're sleep deprived. Forget about it and get back to doing what you were doing."
He slid his legs from beneath himself and focused on the screen in front of him. The empty screen taunted him. He searched his mind for something to write about. Should he write of his childhood? Or maybe his schooldays? Or his recent trip to Dublin?
He started writing.
His fingers skipped across the keys and his thoughts began to form on the screen in front of him. He wrote of his recent trip into the world of the unemployment office, then he wrote of the uplifting feeling he had when he received an email from someone he hoped would get in touch and then he hit the Create New Post button on his browser.
His mouth was dry so he got up from his chair and walked through to the kitchen to get a nice drink of cold water. He turned the tap and the water began splashing off the bottom of the sink. The running water made him want to go to the toilet so he let the water run and stepped into the hallway.
Then he saw it again. A small flash of movement. A brief glance of something disappearing under the hall cupboard door. He reached for the lightswitch and flicked it upwards. He had forgotten that the bulb had popped and he hadn't replaced it yet. "Damn it!" He said.
He reached up to the coathook and got a hold of the torch that hung there. He hit the power button and light spilled over the floor in front of him. There was nothing but a small ball of dust sitting forlornly in the corner. He cursed himself for being so freaked out by something that he shouldn't be worried about.
He switched the torch off and hung it back on the coathook. Then he walked to the bathroom, switched on the light, lifted the lid on the toilet pan and began to empty his bladder. As he emptied his bladder he leaned against the wall and sang along to the music that was playing on his media player in the livingroom.
"Shoot the runner, shoot shoot the runner. I'm a king and she's my queen." He sang. As he sang he attempted to keep the beat to the music by aiming his piss from the water to the porcelain of the toilet.
He shuddered as he tucked himself back in and made his way back towards the kitchen. He walked up the hallway and went to fill his water bottle. He filled it to the brim and turned the tap off. Then he walked from the kitchen to the livingroom.
As he opened the door to the livingroom a cold air seemed to blow past him. A sense of dread slid up his spine and his head went light. He shook his head and attempted to tell himself to stop being such a wimp. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was no specter haunting him. The spider was dead. It was buried. It had gone to the happy hunting ground in the sky where the clouds are made of golden strands of silk and there are all the flies you can eat.
He shook off the feeling of dread, opened the door and walked towards his desk where his computer sat waiting for him to return. Then he saw it. As large as it was on the day that he had fought with it.
The Spider had returned...
3 comments:
Brilliant!!
However, it has been known that the mate of the deceased spider (as with snakes) will come to where the now deceased mate last left it's scent....
You will have to go to battle again.
But, you need to keep in mind that you are now faced with a more ferocious and formiddable opponenet, as she's probably PMS, pregnant, pissed off...
Good luck
Salagatle!
Wreckless,
There will be more on the spider story when I write it. Whaen that will be I dunno. But stay tuned.
Yea the spiders back!! Never thought I'd hear myself say those words!
I'm kinda rooting for the spider now!
Post a Comment