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Saturday
night.
It was time to feed.
Number 27 placed its
forelegs against the stone wall and spread the tarsal claws
at the end of its feet to secure footing between the stones.
Dense tuffs of hair covered the claws, allowing them to act
like fleshy pads that wedged into the gaps. Number 27 began
to climb. It reached the ledge and waited.
Number 27 touched its short
ventral hairs against the wall to feel the vibrations within
the cave. The splashing and rumbling of water trembled
through the stones. One of its prey occupied itself in the
water chamber. Where was the other?
Number 27's front tarsal
claws clasped the bars along the ledge. A sharp middle barb
extended between each pair of claws and locked around a bar.
Number 27 pulled its bulk up to peek into the nesting cave
of its prey.
As expected, there were two
prey. The male rested on the mating platform, and because of
the splashing in the water chamber, the female must be
completing her cleansing ritual.
Number 27 relaxed its legs
to let air circulate through the slit valves along its front
femurs and tibias. The first scents were the pungent odors
of the fermented grain and sweetened juices the prey enjoyed
drinking. The second layer of smells belonged to flowers, a
perfumed scent the prey also enjoyed. And the final layer
carried the delectable aroma of succulent warm-blooded
flesh.
Number 27 twitched its jaws
to prime its fangs with poison that paralyzed its prey and
dissolved the organs and muscles for siphoning. Its thorax
flexed to circulate abdominal fluid from the midgut into the
sucking stomach. The maxillae behind the fangs opened and
closed to lubricate the serrated edges that chewed a hole
through the prey's skin and bone. The wound would be a
channel for Number 27's mouth to draw out the lumpy soup of
rendered tissue.
Allyson patted her body dry.
She folded the damp towel over the hanger bar and stepped
close to the vanity to dry her hair.
Finally, married and alone
with Paul. The last few weeks had been a blur of
expectations and worries. Allyson fretted that Paul would
find out the truth about her. As she ran the blow dryer and
brushed her hair, she wondered how she should feel.
Allyson thought she heard a
noise, a thump from the bedroom. She turned off the blow
dryer and listened. Nothing.
She turned the blow dryer
back on and looked at herself in the mirror. She stared into
her eyes and decided that she felt ... happy.
Why shouldn't she be? Paul
was a great catch. Allyson gave a chagrined chuckle. Only a
man as big and healthy as Paul could satisfy tonight's
appetite.
Was devour too strong a
word?
This cabin was a perfect
refuge for what she had in mind. They had the most secluded
of the luxurious Alpine cottages nestled in the forest. A
couple of hours from the city and relatives. What a lucky
find. The cabin had a huge bedroom with a king-size bed and
a hardwood floor. This bathroom was gorgeous: hand-blown
glass basins, custom brass fixtures, and beveled glass
everywhere. The view from the balcony was worth triple what
they were paying. At these rates, how could the owners
afford to make a profit?
Allyson put the dryer aside
and rubbed lotion on her hands and arms. To marry Paul she
had to deceive him. Anyway, soon he'd discover the real
Allyson and after tonight, it wouldn't make a difference.
She draped herself with a
white diaphanous gown. No point in fussing with lingerie
tonight. Let's get straight to the goodies.
Allyson turned the lights
off and opened the bathroom door. The dim blue light of the
night sky fell as a rectangle from the balcony doors, across
the floor, and to the bed. The bedcovers lay in a jumbled
pile and spilled off the mattress. Vodka, some sodas, glass
tumblers, and wine in an ice bucket sat on the nightstand on
Paul's side of the bed.
Where was Paul?
Was he playing games? She
tipped her head to see if he hid on her side of the bed. No.
She crouched to peer under the bed, a tight squeeze for a
guy Paul's size. Again, no.
The room had no closet, only
an armoire and there was no way Paul could hide in there.
"Paul?"
Silence.
Had he left? If so, why?
Where?
Allyson clasped the top of
her gown and started for the cabin door.
This wasn't funny. Talk
about a mood kill.
She looked back to the bed
and noticed a trail of strange markings along the wall next
to the armoire. In the darkness she couldn't tell what they
were so she changed directions to switch on the lamp by the
nightstand. She winced at the splash of bright light.
Deep gouges marked the
plaster, symmetrical patterns of wedge-shaped holes in
overlapping arcs with a seven-foot span between the
outermost holes. The gouges started at the floor, ran up the
wall, and continued to the vaulted ceiling.
Allyson's gaze followed the
markings along the ceiling and stopped when she saw the dark
shape above her.
 A black creature, a spider
the size of a rottweiler, clung upside down from the
ceiling. Legs as big as tree branches splayed from a
segmented torso. Before the creature hung a long bag of
silky material conforming to the shape of a man. A pair of
naked human feet, pale as plucked fowl, dangled from one end
of the bag. The spider pivoted its pumpkin-size head away
from the bag toward Allyson. Light reflected across the
shiny eyes that dotted the hairy face. The two central eyes,
as big around as fists, swiveled to focus their inert gaze
on Allyson.
Shock ran down Allyson's
spine to her limbs, like ice water pouring through her
arteries. Her body heat contracted to her chest, fueling the
panic which made her heartbeat race into a snare drum
staccato.
The spider exposed more of
its head. Two large jaws swiveled apart, revealing matching
fangs the size of meat hooks. A black hole appeared between
the fangs, framed by a second set of serrated jaws.
Allyson's mind sputtered in
confusion. That was Paul cocooned against the ceiling. That
was a giant spider feeding from him. That creature was
looking at her. She was next.
A gooey, white ball oozed
from between the spider's jaws.
Her brain fired the command.
Run.
Allyson's lungs heaved with
breath, and her legs tensed to spring away.
The white ball splattered on
Allyson's face. The goo splashed into her eyes, mouth, and
nostrils. Allyson tried to scream but the cold, slimy mass
filled her mouth and smothered her. Blinded by the goo and
retching uncontrollably, she fell to her knees and tore at
the mass in panic, but the mass congealed instantly,
covering her face in hardened gum.
Vomit filled her mouth. A
scream echoed in her head, unable to escape. Her lungs
bellowed, pumping for air that wouldn't come.
The mass tugged at her head.
Allyson felt her neck stretch upwards and she realized this
creature was pulling her off the floor. As her body
stretched from her neck, the pain made Allyson feel as
though her head was about to snap off.
She grabbed what seemed like
a sticky rope connected to the mass. Her fingers became
glued to the strands. Allyson's feet scrambled against the
floor in a frenzied dance until she was aloft and then she
whipped her legs through the air.
A pair of hairy, firm pads
seized her upper arms and bent them down. When the two sharp
points touched the back of Allyson's neck, she stopped
squirming. Allyson relaxed. In this moment of clarity, she
knew what was about to happen.
Monday morning.
Toby Johansen pulled the
radio from his belt. "Maintenance, get a crew to cabin
5A." The newlyweds Paul and Allyson were goners.
"Let's not waste time. We got another set of reservations
for tomorrow night."
Toby's Jeep sat outside the
porch. A steel cage on a trailer was hitched to the Jeep.
Earl waited beside the trailer, an assault rifle in his
hands.
Toby clasped the sparker to
his front. He only had to show the device to remind Number
27 of the pain he could inflict if she didn't behave herself
and get into the cage. The embedded electrode would shock
her into submission.
Toby waved at Earl and then
cracked open the cabin door. "Number 27? Did you eat
well? Is your tummy happy?"
The odor of putrefying flesh
blasted him. He grimaced in disgust. Toby expected to see
regurgitated remains, like piles of rotted jerky, litter the
cabin. But the floor looked clean. A solitary silky hammock
hung from the ceiling. It contained only one bony and
desiccated form, not two.
Toby rested his thumb on the
safety catch of the sparker. He should hear the footfalls of
eight feet rapping softly against the floor but none did.
Toby clicked the safety
catch. "A pregnant girl like you is in no condition to
give me trouble."
He pushed the door fully
open.
Shards of broken carapace,
like the rind of a hairy watermelon, lay strewn about the
bed.
Toby felt the breath leave
his chest.
Allyson crouched on the
mattress, bent legs tucked against a grotesque naked belly
swollen to the size of an oil drum. She licked the strands
of mangled tissue stuck to the long barbs of her immense
praying mantis arms. Bits of torn flesh clung to her chin
and neck.
Terror and nausea welled up
Toby's throat. His guts weakened and he fought to keep from
wetting his pants.
Allyson wiped the gore from
her face with a swipe of her left claw. "Number 27? She
was delicious. As was what she left of Paul."
Allyson stretched one leg
off the mattress. Her foot clutched the floor with talons
that knifed into the wood. "And guess what? You're next." |
