Spider and I

"Spider and I" originally appeared in The Devil's Food

We leaned on a window ledge in our abandoned factory home while the full moon lit the streets below like little silver-grey arteries. An occasional car would skitter down one line like a dark insect. I did most of the watching because Spider was pretty much blind. He couldn’t hear well either, but he had this way of feeling. Spider could feel almost anything about you except maybe the color of your eyes. Sometimes things were harder at night with a full moon. I could see him better with a full moon. I could see just enough to make me want to stay awake all night.

“I’m hungry, Jackie,” Spider whined, “something for my belly, okay? Something crunchy and wet?” His long spindle-fingers flicked in front of his mouth, brushing across his jagged, mountain-range teeth. His black, almost lidless eyes shimmered like fat marbles in the moonlight under an angry patch of brush-bristle hair. He was one of those things parents lied to their kids about so they could sleep at night, one of those things that couldn’t exist in a sane world. Not my parents, of course. They were dead. Spider was just about the only parent I ever had.

“Jackie?”

“Quit moaning, all right?” I edged away from him, slipping toward the back window and fire escape. A breeze shuffled through the broken glass, floating through the darkness like a whisper. I grabbed an old burlap bag next to the window. “I’ll do my best. Bring you something as soon as I can.” My feet slipped over the window ledge as I hopped onto the creaking grate and rushed down the fire escape.

I climbed, silent and nimble as a cat, into the shadows around that factory. I don’t know what they used to make there, but that building was mostly empty now with nothing but bits of paper and trash, some graffiti, and broken bottles scattered on the floor. We’d been living in that hole for a couple of weeks, always moving to keep Spider fed and the both of us safe.

The building shielded a portion of the adjoining park from the moon, and I walked in the thick blue-black of midnight. During the day, giggling kids filled that park, little kids playing catch and swinging after school, but at night an eerie quiet spread across the grass. The air swam with a cold, moist smell; Spider was waiting, hungry, up in that building. I stopped at the edge of the big shadow for a moment and looked back at the factory like it was some big brick monument.

Standing out in that shaded playground, I heard a dog bark in the distance, clutched the bag in my hand, and turned to follow the sound. Spider was hungry, and the dog sounded like he might be just the right size.

_____

The morning light flooded through smudged glass. Scraps of Spider’s dinner lay about—a bit of blood sprayed on the square pillars and a few tiny snatches of fur. I never felt all that bad about the dogs. One of my foster homes had this little dog, Oscar, a little yipping thing that bit me once. Those folks worried more about the dog than me, took him to the vet, while I had to wrap my own hand with a t-shirt to stop the blood. That wasn’t even the worst of the homes.
Spider slept in the corner. Always in the corner. A light blanket covered him, something that would shield his nearly blind but sensitive eyes from the sun. The light bothered him—he had very thin eyelids, part of the “birth defect”. I felt at ease in the morning, pretty sure that Spider would never hurt me, but the way he ambled after his prey, skittering sideways and backwards on all fours, made my skin dance sometimes.

The little squeaks of children’s voices swelled from the playground. They weren’t at school, so I figured it was Saturday. I crept to the window, peering out at the little insects scurrying below. Spider always sought one of the highest buildings, and even as we hopped between these little towns, he seemed to find that one place that poked out of the prairie like a challenge to the sky.

Beyond the park, just across the street on the far side, was the town library. I liked to find the library wherever we traveled. Saturday meant reading, safe from anybody who’d want to know why I wasn’t at school. I’d been there last week, had overstuffed chairs tucked away in little nooks where I could hide all day and read. Where I could escape Spider for a while, escape the stench of our temporary home and imagine something different.

I crept out of the window, slinking down the fire escape into the grass below. As I started across the park, my eyes were fixed on the ground, scanning for loose change—quarters, dimes, and nickels that always fell out of the pockets of squirming children.

“Hey mister!”

The voice snapped my trance. I looked up and searched for its owner. A little girl, probably seven or eight with messy pigtails and dirty pink shirt—a brown puppy with sappy eyes on the front—trotted across the grass.

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Have you seen a little dog, a terrier? Her name is Patches.”

The smell of blood seemed to drift from the factory building. I shook my head and turned to walk away.

“Did you come from that building?” Her pudgy little finger poked toward the brown bricks.

“No,” I lied. I shrugged and played dumb. “That place? It looks dangerous—like it could fall down or something. I’d make sure to steer clear.” I winked and started walking again.

“Okay mister,” the little kid called after me.

_____

I was four, maybe five when my folks died. Their car smashed up pretty good, sending bent steel and broken plastic to rend and tear their bodies. They had no close relatives. After that, I bounced a bit—had a rough time. Five years old made me too old for most to adopt.
Five years old, and I was garbage tossed around to foster homes for the next few years.
I had mostly forgotten everything about my real parents except the books they’d read to me before bed. When I scrunched into one of those fat chairs in the library, I imagined being a little boy again, sitting next to my folks, reading bedtime stories. Strange, but libraries had always brought sanctuary, a place I could almost disappear—a place no one would think to look.

Lord of the Flies captured me that morning, took me to a little island. I meandered through the pages for a couple of hours before a little stiffness crawled into my legs. As I set the book down to stretch, I saw the girl from the park—the pink shirt with pigtails. Her little hand intertwined with the long, white fingers of another girl, older though, and my eyes couldn’t help but rest on her for a few moments. The older one had hair like coffee—the kind that truckers fired out of convenience store machines, sparkling and shimmering in the light. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in these curls, and she caught me looking with her dark eyes—green and thick. My neck burned, and I tried to remember the last time I snuck into truck stop for a shower. Such a stupid thing to worry about.

“Hi.” The tall one smiled. “Amanda told me you were in the park this morning.”

I looked at the little one and tried to smile in return. “Yeah.”

“Are you new here? Going to school?” She tilted her head and sort of thrust it around to take a look at my reading material. “I’m Meghan.” Her hand stuck out like I needed to touch it or something. I pushed my own hand out, and my head suddenly felt lopsided and awkward, like it was stuffed with wet paper. Her long fingers brushed my palm as she took my hand and gave it a little shake.

“Jack,” I whispered. We were in the library, and I always wanted to fly a bit under the radar, so I kept my voice low. “Just moved here. I’m done with school though—nineteen.” I tried to straighten my back and look like a convincing nineteen-year-old.

“Right. Do you live near the park, or just out for a stroll on a Saturday morning?”

I shifted on my feet. “I just like the weather, that’s all.” I glanced down and spotted this little brown spider skittering across the dented hardwood.

“You like the weather.” She kept smiling, but I felt like some hobbled mouse that an alley cat would bat around for hours. “That’s why you’ve holed up in here reading, Lord of the Flies.” Her hands rested on her hips.

“Yeah.” This heavy feeling, like three pairs of eyes boring into my chest, grabbed me. Maybe it was because of the grand inquisition Meghan laid on me. I snatched the book and started for the counter. “I lost track of time.”

“See you around, Jack,” she called after me. I waved one hand without looking, dropped the book at the desk, and hurried down the stairs.

_____

The kids played below while I listened to Spider breathe all afternoon. I thought about killing him sometimes, how I’d do it. He didn’t exactly hold me hostage, but I didn’t know any other life. He started mumbling, mostly incoherent ramblings, when the sun crawled really close to the horizon. I looked a my bag, this old army duffle with everything I owned—three shirts, another pair of jeans, some underwear, a pair of dull scissors that I used to hack off my hair every couple months, some other stuff. Mostly junk I’d lifted from various stores while we drifted.

“Jackie, mmmm,” Spider called, waking. “So tasty.” Spider stretched in the dim light, casting the old wool blanket to the ground. His long, leg-like fingers danced toward the gray ceiling. My skin shifted, not quite a shiver; I could never quite swallow the parts of him that weren’t human.

I’d cleaned up the bits of dried blood as best I could, but now that he mentioned it, the smell came back, swimming around the empty building and driving into my nose. My stomach cried out. I hadn’t eaten anything all day.

“Look, I’m going to go find some grub, for me. I’m hungry.”

Spider lurched toward me, the waning daylight slicing across his pale face in bands as he moved across the floor. “Jackie, so lonely when you go.” His breath hissed from his mouth and I caught a face full of the awful, stale-blood smell. Spider usually reeked of that smell.

“I’ll be back, promise.” I backpedalled to the window and slipped down.

_____

The park below our building stretched out blackly, tucked in the shadow again. But across the street—away from the library—a convenience store glowed like its own little sun. Some people, kids I figured, milled around their cars, crawling around the lot like insects.

The soft lights in the library were kind; those humming things inside the store accused me, scrutinized my face and the dark lines under my eyes. I jiggled the change in my pocket, counting my scavenged wages from the park by the feel of the coins. The lady at the counter, this little buzzard with swept-back grey hair and a vicious beak, zeroed on me the whole time, right up until I dumped my change on the counter and scooped away a pile of candy bars and peanuts, making for the exit.

I pushed on one side and the door yanked out in front of me. Startled, I dropped my loot, the plastic wrappers crinkling when they hit the sidewalk. Two giggling girls brushed past, trailing a sweet smell of something alive. I pushed my eyes to the ground, away from them.

“Jack?” Meghan’s voice stabbed me in the ear.
I burned again, flayed open under the nighttime sun of the bright parking lot. “Hey,” I muttered, kneeling to gather my food.

“Looks like…um, a nutritious dinner.”

When I looked at her, she smiled. I wanted to run, crawl into the shadows under the building. “Yeah,” I said as I stood up. My hands shook slightly, rattling the wrappers.

“Some friends and I are just, you know, hanging out.” Her head nodded toward the others inside. “Not much to do in Springdale, right? You’ve probably already figured that out. Look, you haven’t seen a little dog, have you? Our dog ran away. Amanda—my sister—she’s really worried.”

I opened my mouth, but caught a glimpse of something trying to move across the road before the words came out. Spider, trying to cross the street. My heart scraped against my ribs, swelling like a balloon in my chest. I glanced at Meghan, the artificial sun showing her green eyes, and then shifted back to Spider. He staggered into the street, holding his long hands in front of his face, shielding his eyes from the headlights. The cars moved so quickly, one—

I ran. Meghan shouted something behind me, but I ran. I hit Spider at full sprint; we were close enough to the curb that the impact sent us tumbling to the grass. I rarely touched him—I can’t remember touching him. His body felt so bent and brittle. The car honked, and the driver poked out a finger and yelled “assholes” as he sped away.

“Jackie,” Spider muttered.

I scrambled to my feet, glanced back at the convenience store. Meghan was inside now, looking this way but talking to her friends. When I looked at Spider on the ground, those black orb eyes poking out of his pale head and his wiry body sheathed in old military fatigues, I just saw an old man.

“C’mon, you should stay hidden,” I said.

_____

Spider and I sat up most of the night, regarding each other in darkness and silence. I hovered on the ledge, dividing my attention between the window and his odd expression. He fidgeted nervously, weaving invisible thread with his long, needle-fingers. The sky started changing, started moving slowly toward the new day, when he spoke.

“Jackie?” He didn’t move from his shadows.

I looked at him, thinking about the last few years. Spider never really expected much, just a little something to eat and my company. Moments of real freedom drifted through that time, but everything else floated beneath the surface. I missed my parents. I didn’t have much choice when they died, I didn’t have much choice in those foster homes, and I didn’t have much choice when Spider came to get me in the night. I could have let that car crush him on the highway.

“Jackie, the car tonight. Thank you.” His voice sputtered slowly, hissing between his crooked lips.

“You’re welcome, all right?” My knuckles whitened as I grasped the ledge. I glanced at Spider. “Couldn’t have you splatted, could I?”

We sat in silence again, until Spider looked at me. “You were so little when your parents died.” His body jerked, snapped forward as he leaned on his grabbing hands and started crawling. He stopped the advance, dropping to the floor at rest. “Jackie...” His head tilted from side to side as he spoke, and the waning moonlight sparkled off his black eyes. Then he stopped, resting on his haunches.

Cold washed over me; I turned my attention to the window and then quickly back him. My eyes flicked to the bag on the floor and back to the window. Spider remained motionless. My body went numb, full of nothing, like a bag of dust. We sat in that empty, silent space until the silence grew monstrous and nearly swallowed me.

“Jackie?” More silence. “Jackie, I’m hungry.”

My parents—I couldn’t help them, but I saved this thing. What was I now? What had I been most of my fifteen years? The memories burned. I burned. Spider’s stench—the smell of decay and rot—grew into an obscene thing. I leapt from the window, stumbled down the fire escape, and ran across the grass in the dark.

_____

I walked the rest of the night, past the dawn, and into the morning. Spider was hungry. I was hungry. I shed tears for my parents, but could I hate him? Last night, he was so helpless—just an old man stumbling in the road. The air felt colder, inviting winter. The weather would work against us soon; we needed to find a spot to hold up for the long, dark months. I wove through rows of little houses—little bungalows tucked behind fading trees. Eventually I had to go back, and I was empty-handed.

Once I found the highway, I turned toward the park. Our world usually slept on Sunday mornings. A car flashed behind me, zipped past, but stopped abruptly just in front of me. I kept my head down as I walked beside the car.

“Jack?” Meghan’s voice shot from the car. “What are you doing out here?”

I shrugged. “Just walking.”

“Jack,” she said and her voice wavered, “have you seen Amanda?”

I bent to see inside the car. Her eyes looked dark, rimmed with red. “Your sister? No.” I shook my head, trying to shake out the thoughts that materialized inside.

“She ran away…Amanda was so upset, must’ve slipped out of bed in the dark, looking for Patches. She wasn’t home when we got up. I think she left early this morning.” Meghan leaned over and pushed the passenger door open. “Get in; I can take you home.”

My stomach flipped. “No thanks, really. I just want some air. I tell your sister to hurry home if I see her around.” I stepped to the car and slammed the door shut. “Thanks though.”

Meghan nodded, and with a quick growl the car was gone. I hesitated for a moment, frozen inside, but quickly ran toward the park, the old factory, and Spider.

_____
I slipped through the window and scanned the floor. Dark gouts of fresh blood streaked the nearest pillar. My stomach sank under the weight of Spider’s last meal. He slept in his corner, covered with the blanket. I took a few furtive steps toward the glistening, fresh blood. Behind the pillar, I found her shirt—the little pink one with a puppy on it—drunk with blood. Spider and I had scavenged around the building when we first came to town, and I remembered the broken concrete walls with exposed rebar below. I crept down the stairs into the deeper layers of the old building. Something sharp, I thought, something that would do the job quickly.

A long segment of bent and rusted rebar jutted from a half-smashed wall, and I wrapped my hands around it. It wiggled with pressure, and I leaned against the iron bar and twisted. The metal squeaked and groaned, and a long segment, about two and a half feet, broke from the wall. I held up the bar and examined the broken end, a sharp, shiny point.

Spider slept soundly, especially after feeding. He always slept so soundly, almost peacefully save for the carcass and blood. I knew I had to finish it quickly…for me and Spider. For years, he was my only family. Now, I forced myself to see the monster. I forced myself to see that he was mortal, just like me—frail and weak, or I wouldn’t have pushed him away from the car last night. If I hadn’t saved him, that little girl…

I yanked back his blanket, exposing those naked eyes, and he flinched—woken by the bright daylight, I’m sure. Maybe he knew—maybe he saw me. I hope not. His awful hands flashed to his face and covered his glassy eyes. I held my breath and pushed the point to his chest.

“Jackie?” he mumbled. My stomach lurched. My heart cried—for Spider. For Amanda.

I leaned on the rebar, forcing it through his chest and to the floor, pushing all my weight behind it. An arterial spray caught me in the face as Spider lurched, snatching at the bar with his long fingers. I stumbled backward, across the room, while the heavy blood leapt from his chest, swelling into a pool and soaking his old blanket. He made some noises, gibbering and squeaking like a monkey, stumbled a few times, and collapsed with one hand spread toward me.

“Jackie…” His voice was weak, fading. My own lips trembled as the tears broke free. I sank against the wall, sobbing.

His body twitched for a while before I moved. Eventually, I stood, stripped off my bloody shirt and pants, rubbed the tears and blood from my face, and stuffed the rags in the old burlap sack. I slept for the rest of the day—a black sleep void of dreams.

When dusk came, I gathered my filthy clothes. Behind the old building, just around the corner from the park, there were some old barrels—the steel kind for fuel or grease. I pushed the soiled clothes inside an empty barrel and mixed in a few handfuls of dry leaves. Fishing out the matches, I struck one and ignited the trash; it took a while, but soon the flames licked at the top of the barrel. I stood there, watching the fire and wondering why Spider never killed me. What was I to him?

Maybe I should have attempted a prayer. My mouth opened, but no words would come.

The night grew cold, and I turned away. Shouldering my duffle, I returned to the highway. There really wasn’t any traffic on a Sunday night, so I turned south and walked down the silent road.