A Real Horror Story
No one was home except my mom and I, so my brother won't be disturbing my peace and quiet.
Over the excited chirping of the reporters, I heard some muffled crackling, as the cheap black portable radio/CD player tried to catch the right wave.
A fly buzzed around my ear. I swatted it and missed; it landed on the red and white wallpaper of oriental buildings and noblemen. I must admit it was placid, but boring. Too bad there was nothing to do. If only my brother would be at home!
“Onto the weather forecast. Chances of rain and thunderstorms. Flash flooding warning in most parts of Vermont...” The weather reporter’s voice trailed off as I raced outside. A thunderstorm….. Wow!
I sniffed the air. The wind was picking up just slightly, but the faint traces of an upcoming tempest were hanging in the atmosphere.
This is when I noticed the spiders: fat spiders with terrifying legs and grayish bodies like over-inflated tiny balloons. They lived outside our windows, on the special duty of fly control. (Regardless, how good they were, I was absolutely terrified of close encounters with arachnids: small ones, or big ones at a distance, were fine.) The spiders were stowing away their webs, hastily pooling in the silky threads.