Why Do The Heathen Rage?

Last night I had a horrible nightmare about being at Angela's house. I can't remember the specifics of it, but I was reaching for the doorhandle, and a spider jumped on my hand. I freaked out, but I couldn't move any of my limbs. I tried to smack the thing off my hand, but my stupid arm just wouldn't move. I was terrified, horrified, my God it was awful. I woke up unable to move, from sheer terror. It took me forever to separate the reality from the dream enough that I could get up and out of the room.

And then, a few minutes ago, I walked into my bedroom and saw a spot on my bed. I thought, hmm, must be a dustball. But then it moved. I jumped. I looked around for something to kill it. I couldn't reach my shoe, it was on the other side of the spider. My eyes shifted wildly around the room, looking for anything to club it with. I grabbed my machete; it's in a case, it was sort of flat. But then I realized that if I hit it and didn't kill it, or worse, if I just missed it, it would probably crawl into my bed where I couldn't reach. Terror. Sheer terror. I used the machete to pull closer my shoe. Shoes are bigger, I reasoned, more accuracy.

I pulled the shoe back, struck. The spider curled up. But I knew spider tricks. The bastards always act like they're dead. So I struck again. A third time. A fourth. A fifth and a sixth, right together. At last, I was satisfied. I rolled the sheet up around it and brought it into the kitchen. My father came inside, and I told him of my conquest. I asked him to go and look.

He pulled up the sheet, stupidly, with utter carelessness. The spider lept madly in the air; probably aiming for his vein, but he missed. Dad said: "Oh, you killed this little fellow, who's still crawling around?" I screamed and ran around in circles, jumping whenever my foot brushed against the carpet. Dad smashed him with his foot. I said it wasn't good enough, to do it again. He did. "Again!," I screamed, "and squish it around!" He did. And at last, I was satisfied; or satisfied enough that I've ceased staring at its corpse incessantly. Now I only check it every five minutes or so.

However, I have a sneaking suspicion that my dream was not so much dream as reality. A spider was crawling about on my bed today; certainly he could have been there last night. My unconscious tried to warn me. But I stupidly wrote it off as a nightmare. Such naivety! My God, it could've pirouetted around on my eyelids while I slept. My God, it could've done so much worse! I don't want to sleep ever again. I hate my room now. My God. Spiders in my bed. That's two of them in the last week! Two!

Does anyone know the patron saint of getting spiders the hell away from you?

posted by Sarie @ 3:07 PM >Comments: 0