Spidermouth

Horror Flash Fiction

Photo by Lori Ayre on Unsplash

Her lips parted ever so slightly at the sight of her prey, a handsome man, dressed in black leather, caught in the strands of her web, his face fraught with desire, his eyes open yet unseeing, blood rushing in his ears. Outside the wind was howling, the barn doors were rattling, and the wooden beams were creaking and moaning, ready to succumb to the elements at any moment.

“Caleb,” she called his name without her lips moving, holding out her hand, her white, silk gown clinging to her like a second skin. “Come to me.”

Perspiration breaking from his brow, Caleb swallowed. He stood there, staring at her form, her face framed by long dark hair, her eyes as black as the night. Every fibre in his body wanted to obey and take that hand.

Without realising he made a step forward and something cold and hard pressed against his left side. With a frown he stopped. The wind ceased. Everything was still and through that silence her voice came to him in a mere whisper.

“Caleb, don’t you want to be with me?” she intoned song-like, basked in shafts of moonlight falling in from holes in the roof.

He wanted nothing more, he thought, and took another step, crushing something underneath his heavy boot. The sharp cracking noise made him look down and for the first time he noticed some sort of debris scattered across the earthen ground all around her and his frown deepened. Take her hand. He shook his head.

“No…,” he stammered, looking down at his boot, at the white bone underneath it, snapped in half. It’s nothing.

“Caleb… come,” her words carried a promise he could not refuse.

He made another step towards her and his hand brushed against steel. It irritated him. Something uncomfortable was lodged against his thigh. He grabbed and pulled it from its holster.

“You won’t be needing that anymore.” Her voice was more command now than invitation.

The urge to drop what he was holding was strong, yet the handle felt so smooth and familiar, that it gave him pause. He looked at the shotgun puzzled. Why did I bring this? Why am I here? Where am I?

“Uh… what?” Caleb uttered, looking from his sawed off Remington to her and back, over the barrel of the gun.

“You can’t stop me,” she hissed.

His muscle-memory kicked in as he chambered a shell. The clack-clack echoed in the still of the night and Caleb saw her, saw what she was and he knew why he had come.

“I have 870 reasons that say otherwise.” He pulled the trigger.

She absorbed the shot, as if it was nothing. Caleb reloaded, shot again, and again, until his chamber was empty.

“Are you done?” her voice mocking him.

“Uh, I guess?” Caleb was checking the pockets of his leather jacket.

“You’re mine.” Her mouth was a black hole, opening wider and wider.

Caleb pulled out a Mighty Mint Spider Repellent and sprayed her with it.

“What the…?” She started to convulse. A spider crawled out of her mouth, dropped to the floor and scurried away. First one, then another, and another, more and more spiders came spewing forth.

“Effective. Plant-Based. Safe. Huh!” he shrugged and reached into his chest pocket of his half unbuttoned flannel shirt, took out his last bullet and reloaded.

“I must respectfully decline your offer,” said Caleb and fired.

She exploded with a shriek into a million spiders and seconds later Caleb stood alone in the abandoned barn, a minty scent hanging in the air, moonlight falling through the rooftop onto heaps of bones on the ground.

“Spider at night means I got lucky, I guess…”

Somewhere outside in the forest an owl was hooting. Caleb holstered his rifle and headed for the barn door to the sound of a sea of scurrying feet all around him.

“Shit… shit! Shit!” he sprinted to the door and stopped. A big black spider the size of a football was sitting between him and his freedom.

He took out the repellent and sprayed but it was empty.

“Come on, you got to be kidding me!” he threw the bottle at the spider. “Eat this with your stupid spider mouth!”

The spider hissed, all eyes trained on him, ready to jump.

#

“And what happened then? How did you get out?” Sam asked, as Caleb paused to empty his pint and sat the glass down with a satisfying sigh, signalling the waitress for another, which she acknowledged with a nod and smile.

The pub was almost empty, except for a few regulars at the bar and their usual table with the usual suspects sharing the usual hunter gossip.

Rick shook his head. “Mighty stupid to go and face a Spidermouth alone, if you ask me. No one has ever lived to tell the tale. Why the hell risk it?” Rick grunted.

The others murmured in consent.

Caleb looked at them with a smirk.

“You know why. You all do.”

The waitress brought Caleb’s beer, sat it down on the table, picked up the empty glass, looked at the four hunters, the four empty chairs and then at Caleb. “You need anything else?”

“Yeah, bring the boys another round, all of them. They will need it.”

“You got it.” Trix knew that all meant eight, even if four of those pints would never be emptied again. “It’s on the house,” she said.

“Thanks, Trix.”

Their hands touched for a brief intimate moment, and the others jeered.

“Oh, shut it, guys.” Trix waved them off and left.

“So you and Trix, eh?” Adam teased.

“You heard her, shut it,” repeated Caleb grinning.

Everyone looked at Caleb, waiting for him to continue.

“Alright. You know I would rather die than let anything happen to any of you and I know you feel the same.” He paused, agreement mirrored in their faces. “Look around you, we were eight. I couldn’t risk losing anyone else. I made a promise to my brother.”

“Screw your stupid promise, you could have gotten yourself killed,” Rick scolded. “Then I’d have to bring you back just to kill your stupid ass again for being so stupid. Stupid!”

“Thanks Rick, I love you, too, man.” replied Caleb.

Rick grunted.

“For real, Caleb. Don’t pull that shit ever again, man. We’re all brothers. We don’t need your protection. No more suicide runs, you hear?” Adam added.

The beers came and everyone took their glasses and raised them to the empty chairs.

“To those who hunt no more,” they toasted, drank and sat in silence.

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