Arachnophobia

A true story by Pat Davids.

Here at the WARA blog we are kicking off October with some spooky personal stories. If you are a new visitor to our site you can learn a ton of things about writing by clicking through our archives. If you’ve been here before you know what I mean. We have some great stuff gathered together by talented writers at every stage of the craft. Check us out.

But on to my story.

I love the fall, but one thing I don’t love about this time of year is the way spiders seem to find their way inside when the weather gets cool outside. Did I mention I hate spiders? If I didn’t, let me tell you that spiders inspire fear, loathing, hate and disgust all the way to my very core. I hate spiders. I’m okay with snakes, but I hate spiders.

I am not alone. 55% of females have a fear of spiders. Only 18% of men do. Girls are smarter than boys.

I understand that spiders have a wonderful purpose in life. They eat insects, they create intricate webs that sparkle like diamonds when the early morning sun strikes one bedecked with dew, but I hate them anyway....because....I do.

I grew up in an old farmhouse that we shared with the occasional brown recluse spider. I’m sure I’d die if I actually knew how many lurked in the dank basement, in the attic or beneath all those boxes in the junk room. Happily, I remain in ignorance of the total number but let me tell you about one encounter I did have.

Do you remember when you were finally old enough to stay home alone? I do. I was nine and delighted at the chance to stay home by myself. I felt so grown up. I parked myself in dad’s recliner and watched Gunsmoke on TV…until the old house began to creak and groan as it settled down for the night.

It really isn’t the same without your family in the house. It was...spooky.

I will admit things got spookier the later it got, but I wasn’t going to give in and go to bed when I finally had the house to myself. I got a book and decided to lose myself in the story. I kicked off my shoes, curled up in the chair and began to read.

Quietly, in the still house I turned the pages one by one…and then I heard it.

A faint skit-skitta-skit, skit-skitta-skit.

I looked down and saw a brown spider the size of a dinner plate—okay, well—maybe a saucer—okay, okay, a half-dollar—but a big half-dollar—crossing the hardwood floor straight towards me.

I am not kidding you. I heard that spider walking!

It ran under my recliner and I went straight up and out of that chair like a scalded cat. Barefoot, I turned in panicked circles looking for somewhere, anywhere safe and spotted a kitchen chair a few feet away.

I made the leap with amazing accuracy. I’m sure it was a sight to behold. And there I stayed.

An hour later, when my family finally came home, I was still perched on that chair. I had never taken my eyes off that recliner.

When you tell people (ie, parents and siblings) that you heard a spider walking across the floor they don’t believe you. They don’t. Even if they find you perched on a kitchen chair in the dead of night. My brave dad took one look at me and said, “Why didn’t you kill it?”

I was barefoot. It was fast. It was BIG!
I said, “I don’t know.”
Hey, I was nine.

Dad tipped over the chair and guess what? No spider. Gone! Vanished! Lurking to this day in the dank basement, hidden within the dark corners of the attic, concealed beneath the empty Christmas boxes piled in the junk room. He was Gigantico Arachnosaurus. The biggest darn spider I ever saw. So big you could hear him walking.

I never sat in that recliner again.