There is a spider that lives in the corner of my bathroom, right above the door when you walk in. Every day it is curled up pretending to be dead, but last night I couldn’t sleep and went to the bathroom just to break the never ending silence. It wasn’t in the corner, but half way along the ceiling. I watched it spin it’s web and curl it’s legs outwards and walk along its tightrope. I know it’s alive now. This morning it’s back in the corner again, curled up into a ball thinking that I’ve forgotten. Thinking that I don’t know it’s alive. I know. It thinks that I was half asleep last night and didn’t realise or maybe that I’ve forgotten. I have done none of those things and it doesn’t suspect that. I sit on the rim of the bath, starting at it. He’s planning something. I can tell. What, I don’t know yet, but I will find out. I scream out at the world, not making eye contact with him. Scream that I know everything and nothing gets passed me. I bang on the wall, keeping a distance away from him.
I spend most of the day away from the bathroom. Apart from my little outbreak he has no reason to suspect that I know anything he’s planning. There’s been an itch on my arm that won’t go away, no matter how much I scratch. It’s getting red there now. Every so often I go to the toilet, just so he knows I’m still there. I don’t look at it. I don’t want to let it know that I know that it’s alive. Not yet. Not just yet. Not yet. The itch won’t go away.
The itch is bothering me now. I want it to go away. There’s a little red bump where the itch is, probably from scratching too much. That’s what my bitch of a mother would tell me. Don’t scratch too much. I can do whatever the hell I want. Don’t you understand that? I’m not a child anymore. I can deal with this itch however I want and I can deal with this spider like an adult.
For dinner I had chicken, peas and some roast potatoes. It wasn’t cooked long enough to be delicious but it will do. It was late when I put it on and I was hungry. I left it long enough just to eat it and that’s enough. I will do the washing up tomorrow. I don’t want to do it now. I will leave it out until I want to do it. It’s my house now.
I’ve been waiting for nighttime, all day. I want to see if it comes out again, taking over a little bit more of the room. Earlier, when it was still light I had gone in with a duster and destroyed its webs. I didn’t get close enough to the corner to touch it though. I didn’t start with the webs I started with the dust and cobwebs near the showerhead that had been building up since you know when. I stopped to scratch my growing red itch and then moved around the room, cleaning surfaces, giving the impression that this was just something I needed to do. I then reached up and got rid of the strands that he had made in the night. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, curled up again, pretending to be dead. I didn’t look at him directly, that would have gave away too much.
It’s finally time. My alarm went off at three in the morning, not that I was sleeping. It was finally time. I got out of bed and still in my pyjamas walked across to the bathroom, as if I need to go to sleep again. I was going to catch it out finally and then what? I don’t know, but it was going to be good. I reach out and grab the door handle tightly, twist it and open the door. Before I step inside, I reach around the corner and pull the light cord illuminating the room in front of me. I take my first step and my eyes inch upwards towards the corner. I don’t look straight away, but step into the room and close the door behind me. I even lock it, not that it can escape anyway. Once I’m ready, I turn and face the corner and the spider isn’t there.
I’ve caught you! I scream out, scanning the room looking for him. I can’t find it. Where did he go? It isn’t anywhere along the ceiling and I can’t see him on the walls. Where the hell is it? I don’t know. I can’t find him. How did this happen? I spin around, panic setting in. Where, where, where, where? He must have left. I don’t know when I started, but I’ve been scratching the itch. I stop myself and notice that the bump is still there. How did he do it?
I didn’t think it would be so sneaky to even try and get away with something like this. I throw open the door, letting is slam against the wall. I don’t care if the neighbours hear, I’ve got to get this thing out of me. In the spare bedroom is a tool box and inside it is a retractable knife. I take it in one hand and steady my arm, looking at the itchy bump. I don’t know how, I tell him. I actually say it out loud. Addressing it directly. I don’t know how you found out, but I’m going to get you out and kill you. You hear me? I’m screaming now. I WILL KILL YOU. I pierce the bump with the tip of the knife, blood pooled around the tip of the blade for a moment and then runs down my arm. Are you dead now? I don’t think so. I push the knife in a little harder and more blood rushes out. It doesn’t hurt at all and that means it’s his blood. I move back the knife and look at my arm. I can’t see the spider yet. I can’t see him. I put the knife back to the bump and dig it in further, this time at an angle, pushing it into the already pierced hole, digging it under my skin. I haven’t found him yet but I will. I will find you. I twist the knife around, letting more blood fall onto to the table in my spare room. I drop the knife, letting it bounce of the table and land on the floor near my barefeet. It’s deeper inside my arm than I thought. I push my finger into the wound and try to find him. He’s not there. How did I let him get away. I need to get him out now. I don’t have time to pick up the knife. I pinch my skin on the edge of the wound. I lose my grip instantly in the blood but try again and peel it back, tearing my skin back. More blood covers my hand and runs down my arm, dripping onto the floor. I can’t see him. Some how it is hiding inside of my arm. I keep peeling and peeling.