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Subject: {ASSM} {Vickie Morgan} Hatred (spiders)
Date: Thu, 22 Jun 2000 15:10:03 -0400
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WARNING: This story includes sexually explicit material.
I would like to thank the proof-readers for all their help
Any comments, including constructive criticisms, would be
most appreciated. Please send to artemis55@hotmail.com
This work is copyrighted by the author. You may download and keep
one copy for your personal use as long as my by-line and e-mail
address and this paragraph remain on the copy. Any posting or
reposting on a website, other than the ASSM archive, or
to a newsgroup requires my permission first (but I'll probably say
yes). This story should not, under any circumstances be used to make
a profit by anyone other than the author.
====================================================
N.B. This isn't really an erotic story and there is hardly any sex in
it.
====================================================
Hatred
by Vickie Morgan
I hate spiders. I don't mean I don't like them very much, or they
give me the creeps. I mean I loathe, detest, abhor and hate spiders.
And no, it's not a phobia. I looked up phobia in the dictionary. A
phobia is an irrational dislike. My dislike of spiders is not
irrational, I know exactly why I hate them. It's not really the fact
they have more legs than any one animal should. It's the way they
lurk in the corners of rooms, hiding in cracks, skulking in shadows.
So many people don't notice them, but I do. Every night, before I go
to sleep, I go round my room hunting them all out and splatting them
into oblivion.
Things weren't so bad when I lived at home. My parents have one of
those nice, new houses in the centre of town and there weren't that
many spiders really. But when I went away to university, my hall of
residence turned out to be a big old house covered in ivy. Everyone
thought I was so lucky because I got one of the three single attic
rooms and didn't have to share. If only they knew. There must have
been thousands of spiders living in that ivy and however careful I
was, there always seemed to be hordes of them creeping around my room.
It took me the best part of half an hour to kill them every night, and
my walls developed strange blotches to mark each arachnid's demise.
I wasn't the only person lodged in the attic. I shared the top of the
house and a tiny bathroom with two other girls. Rachel was the
popular one. She had a wide circle of friends and a never-ending
stream of boyfriends willing to cater to her every whim. I could
understand her appeal. In fact, on first acquaintance I actually
succumbed to her charm. She was already settled in when I arrived,
and she eagerly gave a hand, carrying the lighter stuff, producing
cups of tea for my parents and making suggestions on the best way to
arrange my few pieces of furniture. When my parents had departed and
I was left feeling very much alone, she had perched on the end of my
bed and chattered away in an entertaining fashion until the heavy ball
of home sickness lodged in my stomach melted away. So of course I
thought Rachel was a wonderful person.
The other girl occupying the attic was Lucinda, who was completely
sport obsessed and could hardly spare the time to grunt hello when we
passed in the hallway. She had a big hulking boyfriend who I
occasionally saw lumbering out of her bedroom. I rarely saw her,
apart from when our places on the bathroom rota were adjacent. She
was my least favourite person to follow into the bathroom. She left
the plug-hole clogged and a cloud of astringent smelling steam behind
her. Rachel, on the other hand, left the bathroom spotless and
smelling of a myriad different scents.
I wasn't exactly happy during my first term at university. The work
was hard and there were times I wondered if I would ever be able to
keep up. I also had trouble fitting in. Apart from the odd time
Rachel dragged me in her perfumed wake to some party or other, I
rarely went out. I had few friends, and spent most of my time holed
up in my room. Things got worse when I went home for Christmas and
discovered that my parents were planning to go on an extended tour of
Europe. I returned to university feeling bereft and abandoned.
However, as the weather brightened towards spring, my circumstance
brightened also. I got the hang of the workload involved with my
studies. I even got to know a few of my fellow students, and most
importantly I met Chris. At first I could hardly believe he liked me,
let alone that he really liked me. When he asked me out for the first
time, I thought he was trying to make some kind of lame joke. When he
finally convinced me he was serious, my life became blissfully happy.
Chris was not just knee-meltingly attractive, he was intelligent,
compassionate, and he actually thought I was wonderful. I woke up
every morning counting the minutes until I would be with him, and fell
asleep every night dreaming of his smile. I even relented on the
spiders and started chucking them out of the window instead of killing
them. Rachel suggested that we should go on a double date, and we all
had a wonderful time. Instead of feeling like an outsider, hanging
around in the cold with my nose pressed up against the glass, I was
inside, part of the group. People actually listened when I spoke, and
even laughed at my jokes. I helped Rachel with her imitation of
Lucinda, and our dates just couldn't stop laughing. Rachel is a
brilliant mimic, and she somehow managed to twist her pretty delicate
features to resemble Lucinda in a way that always provoked laughter.
It seemed only natural that Chris should sneak upstairs with us, along
with Rachel's boyfriend. We sat around in my bedroom talking for a
while, then the other two disappeared into Rachel's bedroom and I was
left alone with Chris. For once I was able to ignore the presence of
the spiders in the corners of the room, because Chris had my full
attention. Somehow, without any conscious decision on my part, we
were in bed together and I was no longer a virgin.
My life would maybe have continued in this blissful fashion if I
hadn't returned home from a lecture earlier than usual. Shouts of
laughter were coming from the common room, and led by my curiosity I
put my head around the door. Rachel was in the centre of the room,
surrounded by an audience of sniggering girls. She was performing her
imitation of Lucinda again, and I couldn't help smiling as I watched
her. But then she changed, and began jumping awkwardly around the
room, flapping her arms and flailing around with a rolled-up magazine.
She was also screeching in a high-pitched voice
"Die, foul insects, die. I'm going to kill you all," she was
screeching in a high-pitched voice as she leapt around.
For a moment I couldn't work out what she was doing, then it dawned
that she was imitating me. I stood there, desperate to leave but
afraid to move in case I drew attention to myself. Rachel had
finished her parody of me to a round of applause.
"Really, I know that the crazy people are traditionally locked up in
the attic, but whatever am I doing there?" she asked, twirling around.
She stopped short when she found herself face-to face with me. She
gaped at me, at a loss for probably the first time since I had met
her. Somehow, being confronted with her helped me to regain my power
of movement. I fled to the sanctuary of my bedroom but she followed
me. She couldn't seem to make up her mind if she was apologising or
making excuses, but I wasn't interested in hearing either. I just
ignored her while I got changed and dug out my books to start my
homework. Eventually the sound of her voice got on my nerves.
"I'm not interested in anything you have to say," I told her, with as
much dignity as I could muster. "Just get lost."
"Fine," she said. "Goodness only knows I've been as nice as I could
to you. There's not many that would have bothered with a weirdo like
you, but I did. And this is the thanks I get. Well, don't come
running to me next time you're feeling lonely. I'm off to have a bath
now, you can just stay here and sulk as much as you like." She
marched out of the room, then stuck her head back around the door.
"There's a spider up there. Hadn't you better hurry up and kill it."
And she slammed the door as she exited again. I was feeling betrayed
and miserable, and wanted nothing more than to have a good cry. I
couldn't indulge my misery until I had hunted down that spider though.
It was tucked away in a corner above the door. I grabbed a newspaper
and began to stalk it.
"Horrible, disgusting creatures," I muttered as I dragged a chair
across. "If you were any use, you'd scuttle out of here and go jump
on Rachel's face. Give the bitch a good scare." By the time I had
climbed on the chair, the spider had gone. I didn't think anything
about it until a few moments later I heard a scream. Sticking my head
out into the corridor, I saw Rachel jumping up and down in the
bathroom, flailing at her hair.
"Spider, bloody spider on my face," she was yelling. I just laughed
at her, pleased to see her making a fool of herself for a change. I
just thought it was a strange coincidence, and didn't think any more
about it.
Over the next few weeks I had to put up with people telling me that I
was being unfair to Rachel. Even Chris tried to get me to forgive
her. Anyone would have thought she was the injured party and I was
the one in the wrong. I got tired of Rachel's snide remarks when no
one else was around and the silly tricks she started playing on me.
She tied plastic spiders to dangle in my doorway, or she hid them in
my bed. I just threw them all in the bin, and tried to get on with my
life. After all, I'm not scared of spiders, I just don't like them.
It began to get irritating though. I came home with Chris one evening
to find yet another big plastic spider on my pillow.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Oh, just a very sad person's idea of a joke," I said loudly, so
Rachel could hear. I started collecting up the spiders in the room
and throwing them out of the window. Chris had become used to this
habit of mine, and sometimes even helped me. On this occasion, he lay
on the bed watching me and idly playing with the toy spider. I
collected up a particular large specimen and tossed it out onto the
ivy.
"I'd like five spiders just like that to crawl into that bitch
Rachel's bed," I commented. "See how she likes that."
"You really don't like her, do you?" Chris asked, laughing at my
vehemence.
"Nope, not at all," I told him. "I like you, though."
"Do you?" he queried. "Why don't you come over here and show me how
much?"
I snuggled down next to him, only to be startled by loud screams
coming from the next room. We instinctively ran to see what the
problem was, only to find a naked Rachel jumping up and down in the
middle of the room with her quilt on the floor.
"What on earth's the matter with you?" I asked, entertained by her
ridiculous display. "Break a nail of something?"
"No, spiders," she gasped, throwing herself at Chris and clinging to
him. "Hundreds of them in my bed."
I poked around in her bedding and found the remains of four large
spiders, and another live one scurrying for cover. Feeling mean, I
didn't mention that there was a survivor but just pointed out the
corpses.
"Crisis over, I'd say. So we'll leave you to it," I said firmly.
"Oh no, please don't go," she begged, clinging to Chris even more.
"She's in shock," Chris told me helplessly. "She's shaking all over."
"Well we're not medical students, there's nothing we can do for her,"
I said unsympathetically. "She's got a kettle, she can make herself a
hot drink. Oh, and don't worry Rachel, I won't be doing imitations of
you jumping around screaming in the common room tomorrow." And with
that parting shot I swept from the room. Chris reluctantly followed
me. I hadn't particularly appreciated the way Rachel had plastered
her naked body against him. I did think it rather strange that my
wish had been fulfilled so exactly, but I was more interested in
distracting Chris' attention from Rachel's ordeal, as he insisted on
calling it.
It wasn't until the following afternoon that I began thinking about
what had happened. It seemed more than a coincidence that every time
I wished that spiders would visit Rachel, they did, even down to the
exact number that I had wished for. I curled up on my bed and tried
to make sense of it all. It could have been that spiders disliked
Rachel just as much as I did, but it seemed strange that they would
choose to torment her at the exact moment that I voiced my desire that
they would do so. I sat there mulling it over for a while, until I
had the strangest idea. It seemed a bit silly, but since I was alone
in my bedroom there was no one around to notice if I did make a fool
of myself. Feeling a bit of an idiot, I stood in the centre of the
room and said as clearly as I could:
"I want every spider in this house on this wall right now."
For a moment nothing happened, then I heard a whispering rustling
noise, and spider after spider scuttled into the room and gathered on
the wall as I had ordered. They just kept on coming until the whole
wall was covered, and still they kept coming, climbing on top of one
another until the wall was a heaving twitching mound of spiders. I
staggered back against the opposite wall and gaped in disbelief. I
swallowed hard, and managed to say:
"I want all you spiders out of that window right now except seventeen
big ones."
The mass of spiders began to pour out of the window like a river of
glossy black oil until only seventeen remained. It seemed incredible
but it was clear that the spiders were obeying my every order. Just
to confirm it, I picked up a shoe and held it over the windowsill.
"Ok, I want the remaining spiders to line up on this sill," I
commanded. They obediently scurried over and stayed on the
windowsill, even when I began to splat them one by one. Once they
were all dead, I collapsed onto my bed and tried to come to terms with
my amazing discovery.
I was still sprawled on my bed contemplating my new powers when Chris
knocked on my door.
"Come in darling," I cried, giving him an enthusiastic hug. "You'll
never believe what I can do! I won't have to kill any more spiders;
all I have to do is tell them to leave and they will. I think they
worship me like some kind of goddess figure, probably because I've
killed so many of them. I don't know if they're trying to placate me,
or if they're just scared of me but they do everything I tell them."
"Look, can we not talk about spiders just this once," Chris said
brusquely, not really listening to me. "I think we need to talk about
something a bit more important."
"This is important though," I told him.
"No, it's not," Chris insisted. "I want to talk about you and me."
"You and me?" I echoed, flopping back down on the bed. "No good
conversation ever started that way."
"Please don't make this harder than it already is," Chris pleaded.
"If it's hard, then don't do it," I suggested, hoping that my
premonition of what he was about to say was wrong.
"Please, just let me say what I have to say without interrupting,"
Chris requested. "I was going to just write you a letter, but I
thought I owed it to you to do this face-to-face. The thing is that
these last few weeks I've seen a different side of you, and quite
frankly it's not attractive. The way you've sulked over a harmless
joke. Rachel was doing imitations of everyone in the building, not
just you. But you were the only one to take offence. And then your
unsympathetic behaviour to poor Rachel last night was the last straw.
You of all people should have sympathised, but instead you enjoyed
seeing her upset. I don't want to be going out with someone as petty
and vindictive as that."
"No, Chris, it wasn't like that," I began, but he just held up his
hand to silence me.
"It's no use, I don't want to hear your excuses," he said firmly.
"We're finished, and that's final. Goodbye."
And he just turned and left before I could say a word. I never felt
the lack of a friend more. I needed someone to comfort me, and tell
me that everything was going to be fine. Stuck with my own company, I
paced back and forth trying to work out what had gone wrong. My
cramped room was just not big enough, and I fled outside to walk the
streets. I wandered for hours, stopping in every pub that we had ever
visited, unable to believe that Chris really had finished our affair.
At last, I convinced myself that if I apologised to Rachel, he would
change his mind and take me back.
Rather the worse from the numerous pints I had downed, I made my way
to Chris' halls of residence, and sneaked in through the back door, as
I had on many happier occasions. I crept upstairs to Chris' room and
quietly opened the door. I was at once assaulted with the
unmistakable sounds of a couple engaged in extremely active sex. At
first I presumed that it was Chris' roommate having fun, but then a
female began to moan Chris' name. Even worse, the voice unmistakably
belonged to Rachel. I slapped on the light. They were writhing
together on the bed, torsos melded together, four limbs contorting
with lusts. They froze and turned startled faces towards the
unexpected light, removing any possibility of a mistake. I turned and
ran back into the night, my heart thudding in time to my scattered
footsteps.
I eventually ran out of breath, and collapsed on someone's front wall.
Of course, as soon as I sat down, a spider ran over my hand. I
flicked it away and stamped on it. Even the satisfactory crunching
noise of it disintegrating under my shoe didn't make me feel better.
"If spiders were any use, one of those big hairy poisonous tarantulas
would go and bite Chris right where it would hurt the most. It could
happen you know," I told no one in particular. "People reckon they
are always coming over here in boxes of bananas. One could curl up in
a pair of Chris' boxers, and when he pulls them up, chomp!" I smacked
my hands together for emphasis. Unfortunately the action was too much
for my precarious position and inebriated condition, and I fell on the
floor. Feeling foolish, I somehow scrambled to my feet and made my
way home to bed.
I wasn't feeling at my best the following morning, and I skipped my
morning lectures to nurse my hangover. So it wasn't until I staggered
into the library at noon that I heard the news. Chris had suffered a
bizarre accident and had been bitten by a tarantula. Speculation was
rife about exactly how it had happened, but of course I knew. My
drunken ramblings had been taken by the spiders as gospel, and they
had carried out my orders. Racked with guilt, I hurried over to the
infirmary. They tried to tell me I couldn't see Chris as visiting
hours were over, but I just pushed past them. As soon as I saw him
lying on the bed so white and still, I started sobbing. He had a tube
in his arm and some kind of protective covering lifting the covers
away from his groin. I fell to my knees by the bed and clutched his
limp hand.
"I'm so sorry, so sorry," I wept, covering his hand with kisses. "I
didn't mean it, I was drunk. I didn't really want the spiders to hurt
you, honest. I'm so sorry, really."
"I knew it was you," a voice I knew well hissed. "You did this to
him, you total cow. I knew that spider couldn't have got into his
boxers on its own. Well I'm going to see you pay for this."
I hardly had time to focus on Rachel's angry face before strong arms
took hold of my arms and dragged me out of the room. I yelled and
fought as hard as I could, but they just called another orderly over
to help restrain me. They stuck a needle in my arm and everything
whirled into blackness.
When I recovered consciousness I found myself in a small room with two
police officers who asked me a lot of questions. At first I gave them
evasive answers, but when they told me that Chris had been so
seriously injured he would never be able to father children, I broke
down and told them everything. For some reason they didn't believe
me, and kept asking where I had found the tarantula and if I had got
it imported especially. I kept explaining over and over that spiders
worshiped me and obeyed my every command, but they just wouldn't
believe me. Eventually, doctors in white coats who talked to me in
over-friendly monotonous voices replaced the police officers, but
still no one would believe my story.
So that's how I ended up here. They tried to tell me that it's just a
rest for me, that I'm over-tired from studying too much, that the
stress of university life was too much for me. But I know better.
They know I've figured out that everything bad that has happened to me
had been Rachel's fault. So I'm going to make her pay. There are
some very poisonous spiders on this planet of ours, and some of the
smallest can be fatal to a human. They've done their best to isolate
me, but spiders can get anywhere they want; through a door's hinges,
in someone's hair, drifting in on a breeze and a single gossamer
thread. The spider I want is coming from Australia, so it may take a
few weeks. But I've told the spiders to bite her on her nose so she
is in no doubt about who's killed her. Once she is dead my life can
get back to normal. And if anyone else tries to get in my way, well
there are plenty of spiders everywhere.
The spiders are starting to get on my nerves though. They keep on
coming into my room, even after I'd told them what I wanted them to
do. They crawl up to the ceiling and hide in the corners,
camouflaging themselves with intricate woven webs. I have tried to
tell the nurses about them, get them cleaned away, but no one listens
to me because they think I'm crazy. There are so many spiders now,
how can they not see them up there? At least the spiders still obey
my every command. I've got so fed up of them that whenever I'm bored,
which is quite frequent in here, I order them to line up on a clean
sheet of paper and I squash the disgusting multi-legged creatures
until there's not a bit of white paper left showing. It's quite fun
and I end up with something that wouldn't look out of place in a
modern art gallery. They leave behind their little white mounds of
lacy web on the ceiling as memorials and each new arrival makes a
fresh home for itself, so the ceiling is now almost covered.
My latest doctor has suggested that I write down my version of events.
They gave me a new doctor because I managed to trick the last one into
telling me that Rachel had died mysteriously. I laughed so hard I got
hiccups. This doctor objects when I show him the sheets of paper
decorated with arachnid corpses and humours me in a patronising
fashion when I tell him what happened. I have considered having a
spider teach him a lesson but I think he may be my best bet for
getting out of here so I've left him alone for now. Besides, it's
nice to have someone listen to me and he also makes sure I always have
a plentiful supply of paper. I've been trying my hand at origami but
so far all I've mastered are aeroplanes and hats.
The strangest thing happened today. One of the webbed gravestones on
my ceiling split open and a shower of tiny black specks drifted down
from it. A few landed on my arm and when I examined them I realised
they were miniature spiders. I brushed them away into sooty smears
and it was only later that I realised the small itchy marks on my arms
were spider bites. I used my hour's library time to do some research
into spider's reproductive process. It seems that spiders lay their
eggs in web pouches and then die. When the babies hatch out they feed
on their mother's corpse before venturing out on their own.
Feeling vaguely uneasy, I meekly followed my captors back to my cell
and re-examined the ceiling. There were an awful lot of white mounds
up there and even as I watched a couple of them ruptured and infant
spiders rained down on me, momentarily coating my face. Feeling
panicked, I clawed them away and tried to calculate just how many
spider incubators were up there. It was impossible to count them all
and, unless my imagination was getting overexcited, lots of them were
now rippling and twitching. Trying to calm down, I stumbled over to
the sink and splashed water on my face. Catching sight of my
reflection in the tiny mirror I saw that my face was covered in red
blotches that started to sting. My feeling of unease clarified as I
realised what was worrying me. I had disposed of all the adult
spiders that should have served as fodder for their newly hatched
offspring. The only source of sustenance left available in the room
is me.
As the full realisation of my situation hit me, it's no wonder that I
became terrified. I ran to the door and pounded on it, begging them
to let me out. At first they ignored me, then they yelled at me, and,
when I still wouldn't stop, they went to get the straitjacket. I
should have realised it was a mistake to behave hysterically when
everyone already thought you were crazy. I have to hope they will
take the time to listen to me before they strap me down. As a last
resort to make them realise I am rational, I have written this
explanation and I might be able to get them to read it. I can hear
them coming this way and I have to hope they will believe me. The
whole ceiling is now a mass of heaving, undulating movement, a
horrible harbinger of the voracious infants that were about to burst
forth. I don't want to be strapped down helplessly on the bed while
thousands of spiders float down on me like carnivorous dust motes,
searching for warm flesh. I hate spiders.
Copyright Vickie Morgan, 2000
E-mail artemis55@hotmail.com
Website now under construction at:
www.members.tripod.com/VickieMorgan
This is where I usually beg for feedback but my knees are beginning to
hurt. I'd love to hear from anyone if you feel like e-mailing me.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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