I stand urinating at my toilet when I notice a huge spider on the wall, just next to my head. An icy chill hits my heart and I jerk backwards, the stream splashing the wall. I redirect it to the bowl, then lean as far back from the spider as I can, keeping it in sight, never looking away, using the sound of splashing water to aim my stream. I contract some set of muscles somewhere, and try to urge the urine out faster. My eyes are locked on this thing, black, crouched, ready to pounce, it seems. I keep my mouth firmly shut.

After an eternity of Diet Coke and coffee egress, the stream stops, drips, and I leap back, do up my trousers, and dart out the door. I feel a warm trickle. Damn spider. I can’t let it stay there. I wanted to have a relaxing bath later. No chance with that about to shoot a web onto me, or whatever they get up to.

I take a deep breath and brace myself. I flatten down the hairs on the back of my neck. I sidle into the bathroom, back against the wall. Shit! I leap up and bang my head on the low doorway, swiping away at my hair. Something touched me! I jump backwards into the bathroom, see that it was just a dressing gown cord on the door, then see IT again. I think it has turned around. Its up to something.

Eyes locked on it dead, my hand feels behind me. I hear something clatter into the bath, then feel the cold of an aerosol can. I turn my hand and grab it, bringing it to my front to see – shaving foam. No use? Maybe I can out-web it… probably not. What else, hand? It brings forth another thing – razor – no use. I don’t want to have to get close enough to give it a Chelsea smile.

In front of me – a towel. I grab it with both hands and before I can think I’ve whipped it through the air, it has smashed the globe lampshade above me, glass has cascaded to the floor and the spider made a run for it. I daren’t move. The floor around my bare feet is covered in fine glass, but worse, the spider has played his card and is lying in wait.

I think to chemical warfare. Attrition. What can I survive, that it can’t? Water? Flood the place, like some Old Testament God? Noah missed a trick taking spiders aboard that Ark. Well, the house is insured… but not against Acts of God, however minor. I look around into the bath – there is a can of hairspray there, lying at the bottom, surrounded by more glass. I pick it up and read. Well-ventilated area. Harmful. This sounds ideal.

I press my finger onto the button, and mace myself. In my excitement, I forgot to aim the little valve forwards. Shit. That stuff stings like mad, and burns my throat out. Excellent. Eyes jammed shut, watering, a deep, deep breath, clamp mouth shut and hissssssssssss…

A throbbing pain in my head awakes me, and I force my eyes apart. There is blood smeared all around the walls of the bath, and the shower head is doing its water torture thing on my forehead. I remember now what I am doing here, and sit up alert, head whizzing around, eyes scanning every surface, checking the bath I lie in especially – they seem to like baths.

I hold my breath and sit here, dead still, finger poised on the aerosol. The drip of the shower and silence. He can’t stay hidden forever.

I am like this when the Police finally find me.


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