With a persistent hum, the lift rattles its way up to the second floor of the apartment building. Rain has been falling all day, and it puts a veil of grey over the walls, the floor, everything. In the communal semi- open-air hallway, a dim half-dome ceiling light emits a weak glow, barely enough for her to see where to insert the key into the lock of her front door.
Against the dark shadow of the front door, she notices a diagonal strand of pale thread across the top corner. Her gaze follows it upwards, where the strand becomes a simple web, with a curled-up clump of life sitting in the corner of the doorframe. It is not large, but she visualises the legs tucked in, keeping out the cold. She has been feeling the same, toes permanently cold, body wanting to be warm to the core. Spiders might prefer the cold. It is not dead, she knows that, by the way the tawny mass suspends itself in a confident stillness.
Feeling alone, barred from entry, she scans the ceiling of the L-shaped hallway, where she stands in the crook. There are several more dim half-moon-shaped lights, and from each of them, she sees a messy tangle of wispy lines.
Does no-one think to ever brush the cobwebs away here? The contrast with the flat-viewing in the summer couldn’t be any starker, when the green leaves rustled gently outside in the warm breeze and the dappled light made its way right up to this very door.
Moving away from life in the city was easier than staying and facing the truth. This flat was the sanctuary she needed, to clear her thoughts and make sense of all that had been before and all that would come after. Yet how these webs, cobwebs, and tangles reminded her that clarity cannot be achieved quickly, with a box of new saucepans and a mini balcony.
Next morning, there is enough light for her to want to pull open the curtains and step out onto her balcony overlooking the quiet street. As she puts one foot out, she instinctively starts back as she senses a presence. Right in front of her, a majestic spider web spans across a quarter of the railings, quivering in the cold air. Flecks of dust, or could they be particles of prey, punctuate many of the joins. In the middle, rests a spider, showing off its speckled colouring of black and ivory; one thick band of black runs from top to bottom of its stocky abdomen. If she gets a broom to swipe it down, she worries that the spider will find a way to cling to a lifeline and come into her flat. It has happened before. She retreats inside and pretends she did not see it.
The night before, in the bathroom and already unsettled, she saw a small black dense mass at the bottom of the door frame. It was not just a small hole. She was sure it was a living creature that was filling the space. Part of the body was there and one leg stuck out. It could have easily been mistaken for a hair if one didn’t look too closely, but she was alone and could see that this ‘hair’ was much thicker than her own. How big would it be if it emerged, she could not tell; not wanting to find out, she approached carefully with a scrumpled-up piece of tissue. Then in one sharp movement, she thrust the tissue at the target. A pair of nail scissors were reachable, and to make sure, she speared the tissue into the hole in the hope that she could stab and be rid of the threat. However, when she peeled away the tissue, there was no mark of anything on the underside, no damage. Worse, the leg and body had gone, leaving an empty entrance in view.
Being alone was the point of changing location. But she needs a person to be with her now, to make her feel like she is not being conquered by a cohort of spiders. She has not yet met any of her neighbours, though she hears them well enough, scraping chairs and running water. They sound so content in their movements. She doesn’t feel she can call on any of them for help if she needs. The loneliness reaches her every limb and peters out in the frozen tips of her fingers and toes.
That evening, in the bathroom as she runs hot water, her eyes turn to the doorframe. Dense body and leg are back as if to say, ‘catch me if you can’. She can’t take it again, and moves much faster with the tissue, screwing into the space left and right, digging in her nail for good measure. When done, she gingerly turns the tissue upside down and there, pressed firmly in the folds, is one solitary leg. Dismembered.
Another encounter with a spider is going to come soon. But she suffers by not knowing where and when and how this is going to end.
This story was inspired by the prompt ‘Strange’.