brood

Drip, drip in the dark. I flick a switch and find myself in a nursery room, empty except for a bulging sac of eggs hanging from the low ceiling and a bulbous mother spider the size of a dog poised above, protecting her unborn, staring at me with her cluster of bottomless black eyes as poison drips from her hollow fangs. I back slowly into the hall, but there are spiders there, too. Fat black ones hang from the ceiling. Furry brown ones run along the walls. These are her many children, they bear an unmistakable resemblance. I dodge away, barefoot, careful where I step. My stomach cramps, and my hands begin to tremble. Swerving through the nearest doorway, I discover a party in full swing, loud music blaring, people conversing and eating and drinking like nothing is wrong while the room seethes with spiders. A chunky beige one the size of an infant paws at their legs like an anxious puppy, emitting a high-pitched chittering whine as if trying to tell them something, but they nudge it away without looking. Do they not see them? I wonder. Or do they just not care? But how could they not? A woman runs her fingers through her hair and dozens of baby spiders fall out onto the floor like crumbs. Couples dance, and spiders crawl across one partner to the other. My head grows cold and there is a ringing in my ears. I'm debating whether I should talk to someone or run away screaming when I spot my brother across the room. He doesn't notice me, but he clearly sees the spiders. The big beige one scurries toward him, but he lifts his foot and crushes its head with a resounding crunch. Its legs skitter wildly then curl inward. The hum of the room falls into shocked silence. People glare and whisper and point, but my brother doesn't care. He glances across the room, and it's as if a surge of rebellious energy passes between us. Then the arachnid massacre begins. We kill them with chairs, with forks, with our bare hands. The human crowd flees, unable to fathom such impropriety. Slimy spider guts squeeze between our fingers as we continue. It sickens me, but I can't stop until all of them are eliminated. I work my way through the hall to the nursery and the dangling sac full to bursting, but when I enter, my brother is slumped against the corner, white and dead, with mother-spider's fangs buried deep into his face, sucking. Furious, I grab a rattle from the floor and jump and swing at the sac. Direct hit! It splits, and green spider juices spill onto my smiling face. I strike again, and it falls to the floor with a splat. The translucent eggs are filled with tiny embryos that look strangely human. I kneel and smash every last one. Mother-spider attacks, latching her arched fangs into my forearm for one heart-stopping moment, but I swing the rattle, and she flies against the wall, bloodying the painted stork. I approach and her legs tremble and her globular eyes convey something akin to fear, but I raise my arm and finish her until her legs curl in defeat. I wipe my face and stand, shaking, thrilled and ashamed at what I'd done. I feel a calm spread through my body, filling me with a wild, childlike energy. I could do or be anything now, no limits, no restrictions. I'm only dimly aware of a commotion behind me, and before I can turn, rough hands seize me, pinning me against the wall. I glance back at the corpse and see, not the spider but my own human mother slumped against the corner, dead.