I'm sitting in my car, hating to wait, listening to experimental radio, which is never comforting, and needing a shave. The street lights begin to flicker in their pathetic effort to deny the night.
Something catches my eye and I turn quickly. It was something about the angle of the leg of the black chair the man carried. I shuddered and settled down. Small spiders are unbearable. What if there were big spiders, as big as that chair, a biological joke?
I'm sitting in my car, smoking, the cold breeze carrying the fumes out of the car, and then I'm snatched. She pins me to the sidewalk, stabs her venomous fangs into my neck, and drags me down the street into the darkness where no one can see me. I lose a shoe.
Killing me would be merciful. Her paralytic venom allows me to breathe but I can't move. She drags me into her lair and throws my body onto a heap of other bodies and then goes out to hunt again. I'm superconscious of the situation.
I can see this sheet of white silk attached to the basement walls. Each thread is attached to the others in white perfection, a bridal veil, a work of great and desperate love.
She returns, one leg dragging, in her jaws a little girl that she drops onto the pile. She inspects each body. When she comes to me, her eight black eyes are shining and her black, bristly legs have that unmistakable hideous, spidery angle. She adjusts my position, the claws on her mandibles digging into my skin. Her presence is unbearable.
She leaves. There is nothing to do but wait and stare at the pure white covering of silk. I can see the little girl's leg. Her dress is pulled up. Her terror must be complete. I begin to weep tearlessly because I cannot save the child.
The changing light means that days have passed pass. My left leg begins to tingle. I can move a toe. Perhaps she's not coming back. Maybe she's been captured or hit by a bus. If the venom wears off, I might escape. I could take the girl with me. I could carry her. I'd could go for help.
I could dream of safety. I flex my foot. Yes, definitely, I can move my foot. I allow myself to think of escaping, of being in the daylight once again, of being surrounded by human beings whose worst aspect is their boredom or some faint inconsideration like not holding the door open for you.
Suddenly I see a shadow and hear her scuttling and scratching gait. She is weak and smiles terrible. She throws another victim on the heap and then sets about inspecting each of us. My revulsion is so profound that I shudder convulsively and so she gives me another kiss. All I can do is look. Her gait is clumsy now. Her time is short. The people on the bottom are dying.
She's gone for a long, long time. I drift in and out of consciousness, from nightmare to nightmare. I'm very hungry. The perfectly white silk sheet reflects the faint light, appearing brilliant, like new-fallen snow in the moonlight. It is the most beautiful, most lovingly fashioned work of art I have ever seen. She has not returned. Again the venom begins to wear off but now I haven't the strength to move.
Something moves beneath the silk sheet shining beautifully in the dim light. Then it's quiet. Then, from within, a small, sharp object breaks the smooth, white surface. An armored leg emerges, featuring that unmistakable arachnid angle.
The girl laying on top of me, her leg begins to spasm as the first hatchling emerges. Others begin to moan and shudder.