Jonathan Ray Hidgens was sitting on his apartment’s front steps, silently cursing and smoking a cigarette. His aged skin and graying hair only amplified his misery. He’d had an alright day, he presumed, until he had gotten home and heard the message from Victoria, his wife of sixteen years, separated wife of five months. Depression had immediately consumed him, and now agitation violated him as he heard Miss Suzie, his overtly ghetto neighbor, bitch about her lawnmower man who had hit on her that day. Jon thought he could physically feel her words pouring in one ear and out the other.
He finished his cigarette and flicked it without observance. It landed in the left lane of Pearl Street, which would soon enough be only a leftover of what it had been. The man who had once been proclaimed by his firm (and others as well) as “the best prosecutor in the state of Kentucky” reached into his pack, and brought out the last cigarette. Lighting it, he thought once more of how the damned death-stick was the essential reason why Tori wanted a divorce. She was a new-born believer in Christ, Jonny was an old-time believer in Marlboro. The two just didn’t match.
Jon had, he thought, put a lot into making their marriage work, regardless of what Tori’s [frick]ing parents might think. They had struggled at first, as most newly-weds do, but after a couple years he had proved himself at least worthy of providing for her. By 1999, three years into their marriage, he had been one of Laudener, Philips, & Trevino LLC’s top five lawyers, with a yearly income that was impressive, to say the least. Enough to buy her a two-story house, that SUV of some sort she’d always wanted, a Chevy for him. In 2007, God had blessed them with their first-born Veronica Ray Hidgens (the name “Veronica” had been pushed by his mother-in-law; he had wanted to name the baby Ellen). There was no baby shower; Jon had insisted on paying for everything, though Tori did go out to eat with a band of friends.
And still, after all he had worked for, after everything he had provided, Victoria wanted to leave him because he couldn’t put down a damned cigarette. He remembered the night she first mentioned the separation, and what a bitch-fit had she thrown. She’d walked in the front door of their house, and the first thing she noticed, of course, was the cigarette smoke. What the hell, Jon? She’d said. We agreed no cigarettes in the house, didn’t we?
I thought you weren’t supposed to be home ‘til seven? He had replied.
That’s beside the point, now the smell will be on the furniture, and in the carpet, ohh! He hated it when she whined like a priss. You know that stuff gives me a headache!
He stood up and put the cigarette in the ashtray. Yeah, well, I’m sorry. You sure haven’t noticed it all these years.
YEARS? She’d barked. Jon, this is serious. This can’t stay as the elephant in the room. You’ve got to be put those sinful things away. And damned soon.
These things won’t kill me, he’d finally yelled at her, and if they do, I’m pretty sure your God won’t throw my ass in Hell for a petty habit!
Think about me! She’d screamed. Think about your child!
He’d slapped her. The first time he’d ever laid a hand on a woman violently. He regretted it now, but not because he thought she didn’t deserve it for throwing that little card in his face, oh no. Jonathan regretted it because that’s what had prompted her to leave, leave and run off to her white-trash sister Lita’s house five months ago. Took Veronica with her, as if that would make him actually want to quit smoking. If anything, it made him want to smoke more. Cigarettes are depressants, and Jon had never been what you’d call an optimist.
There had been other problems, of course. A marriage does not crumble to the ground just because of a smoking habit, no matter how shitty your romantic partnership is. For one, as mentioned above, Jon wanted no part in her cute little God-kick (except it wasn’t really cute, not really, annoying is a better word), and Tori hadn’t approved. The only time Jon had even stepped into the foot of a church since he was seventeen was when she’d gotten baptized, and he wondered if maybe there was a little more lust in Reverend Timothy—the man who’d baptized her—than there was God.
More and more, Tori was acting as if she was somehow better than him because of her two-second bath in the Temple of the Lord. Now, sitting on the front steps of his brother’s house, Jon laughed. The whole thing was ridiculous, really, he should be thrilled he got that Christ-loving chick out—
“Jon, did I say something dat was funny to you, boy?” Suzie asked him, obviously pissed by his lack of concentration.
No, Miss Bitch. “No, miss Suzie.” He didn’t really give a [frick] if she was offended. All he wanted was to watch these cars roll by and feel sorry for himself. And smoke.
“Dat’s what I thought,” she said, leaning back in her rocking chair. She was wearing a faded pink gown with red roses on it. “Boy don’t even know what the hell he talking about. Thinks he coud jus sit dere and…” She rambled on; mumbling words Jon didn’t even care to hear. She, too, pulled out a cigarette, Jon saw. A Pyramid.
TJ Rivera—the neighborhood rascal who rode his bike around the block almost every day—came strolling by. “Hey, Mr. Hidgens! Hey, Miss Suze!” he yelled at them.
“Was goin’ on, boy?” Miss Suzie said to him. She loved that kid.
Jon just grunted and bopped his head at the boy.
TJ made a circle in the road so he could make conversation with them. “I’m headed home, Miss Suze. Me and my sister Ali went to the lake today.” He smiled wide. “We saw a ginormous turtle!”
“Pretty cool, man, pretty cool.” Miss Suzie said cheerfully. “Run along now, scat.” She shook a hand down the street, toward TJ’s destination. With the big grin on her face, Jon thought that it was funny how quick she could transform from bitch-mode to nice-grandma-mode. All you have to do is put a youngster in front of her.
TJ smiled too, and went along. “Bye, guys!” he waved, his oversized T-shirt fluttering behind him. Jon heard him saying hello to other neighbors down the road. Good kid.
“Can I have a smoke, Miss Suze?” Jon asked cautiously. He was aware that she could go from nice-grandma-mode to bitch-mode just as easily as she had done vice versa. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kinda going through a tough time right now.”
Miss Suzie just smiled and tossed him one. Jon caught it, said thank you, and stood up. His plans for the night were to go back inside and watch the Yankees game, go to the Exxon station half a mile down the street for a few packs of Marlboro (perhaps he’d walk), top the night off with some porn, and attempt sleep. First though, he’d smoke his dearly beloved cigarette.
He had no more as lit the cigarette when the terror began.
In the middle of the street, about twenty feet up in the air, what looked to be a black hole somehow twisted into reality. Jon saw the cigarette he’d flicked out onto Pearl Street get sucked into the thing. All of a sudden, as if on cue, the clouds above turned gray, and thunder rolled.
“What da fug is dat?” Miss Suzie screamed, in an accent that sounded uniquely Southern. Jon remembered how he’d been meaning to ask her for quite a while now if she was from Louisiana. This was brief, however; the supernatural blunder directly in front of him seemed to be sucking at his thoughts too. He felt something wet and hot pour down his pants, and it didn’t even register to the horror-struck [frick] that he’d pissed himself.
Jon managed to get one more puff out of that cigarette before it was sucked away, too. He thought he might lose his balance; his feet seemed to be moving forward. He grabbed on the railings around the steps and screamed.
Then he saw something he’d rather not have seen. A giant, black razor poured out of the hole, and the black hole had to expand for it to do so. Then another, and another, and then a head. The head of a spider.
Now Jon couldn’t scream, but believe you me, he wanted too. His stomach turned, and it is probable he would have vomited if not for the fact that his throat seemed to be turning, too. He even heaved a few times, to no avail. His legs finally went out from under him, but still he held onto the railings. He grimaced as even those seemed to begin to tug out from their foundations. He looked up at Miss Suze, who was holding on for dear life to the sides of her porch. Her feet were on the ground, too, but wasn’t being sucked into the air like he was. More like being tugged.
That’s weird, he would have thought, but even that simple contemplation was cut off as he saw the the black hole expand and expand as the terrible creature continued to crawl out of it. The first leg hit the earth, and the street cracked violently, shaking the railings he was holding on to enough so that the first long bar pulled out of ground. Now Jonny found the strength to scream, and how morbidly good that felt!
The colossal spider let out a long, bellowing roar that reminded Jon of the T-rex from Jurassic Park. As the side and rear legs also hit the ground, he saw a red mark on its otherwise black belly. It was the shape of an hourglass.
My God, he thought, it’s some sort… some sort of mutant. Yes, that it. Some sort of mutated black widow spider.
The black hole vanished from the air, and as it did, the spider-hulk’s front right leg hit a house on the opposite side of the street, directly in front of Jon’s own house. Jon had enough time to register that it was Old Man Kelly’s house—the village redneck—before the beast let out another deafening scream, shattering all possibility of thought. It as well shattered the windows of any home or car within fifty yards. Jon closed his eyes, and found himself seeing Tori’s face. It faded, and came back with a pound. This is what you get, you smoker, the face said, and Jon let out a long, crazy moan, and looked up again.
The spider continued it’s wonderful stroll down Pearl Street, spitting out lengthy sprays of what appeared to be webs from its mouth. The web was gray and somehow fuzzy. Well that’s just great, Jon thought. You do that. He turned and, with one hand on the rail—though the black hole was gone, he wouldn’t take his chances, no sir—and grabbed with his left hand for the doorknob. As if in response, the spider let out another roar which momentarily [frick]ed his train of thought. He shut his eyes and counted to three, opened them, and went for the door again. The spider took another step, and the vibrations knocked him off his feet.
“Dammit,” he muttered, and tried sitting up. His back ached, especially the bottom, like it felt when he’d lost his virginity to a girl named Annabel at fifteen. He was vaguely aware of several cuts on his face, but didn’t notice the blood running down them. He looked up at the havoc-wreaking creature, then over to Miss Suzie. She had her cellular phone in hand, dialing nine-one-one, no doubt. Her forehead was bleeding. She’d probably been banged against the porch by the spider’s steps. Either that, or she’d willingly hit her head against it to gain concentration after that maddening roar. Jon thought both were equally probable.
He looked again at the spider, and saw that it’s spider webs had fallen on two pedestrians. He squinted his eyes, and saw that the stuff had gotten onto the hair of another neighbor, Angela Walters. Laying down on the ground, whom he guessed was her husband was covered from head to toe in the web. No, cocooned was a better word.
Then, with absolutely maddening dismay, Jon realized that the webs were acidic. They were burning into Angela’s blonde hair, and he barely heard her scream over the steps the spider was taking. The eight-legged horror was walking over them now, stepping onto another house. Jon saw that Old Man Kelly’s house was on fire.
He heard the kind of painful moan only an elderly man could make, and shivered.
He turned around and decided he’d go inside and take a nice little cat-nap. After all, the spider was moving right along. Hauling ass, even. Though horrified, Jon Hidgens was in no immediate danger, and there was certainly nothing he could do. He’d go inside, skip the Yankees game, hell, he’d even skip the porn, why not, and forget the cigarettes, man, the black hole-thing had sucked his last one away, and if that wasn’t a sign from Victoria’s Yahweh, he didn’t know what was. In fact, he might even pick up that dusty Bible again, you know, turn to Genesis or whatever they had read as kids, pray a little, pray a lot, maybe, hell—
Suddenly, Jon remembered a rifle his father Rick had given him when he bought his own house. It was the same one he’d used to deer hunt with back in the groovy days, and he knew just where it was. Maybe he wouldn’t take a cat nap after all, and you can forget reading that Bible. If he could only get in that damned house.
Jon turned again, and went for the door once more. He wasn’t as quite in a selfish state of mind this time, but he figured if the .308 didn’t seem to do anything to that tragic beast, he’d proceed with sleep. He grabbed at the doorknob, thankful for no interruptions this time, but at first it wouldn’t budge, as if locked. He tried a second time and, gracefully, it opened with a simple turn. He practically flew inside the living room, and tripped on his own two feet. He got up, cursing the laws of physics, and ran toward his bedroom. When he got there, he immediately went to the closet, separated his clothes by pushing them with his hands to either side, and saw it, there in the gun case. He yanked it out and unzipped it.
Taking the gun out of its case, he had to take a moment and admire the gun and the memories that it made him recall, even in his state of utter terror. At the bottom of the case was a pack of gun shells. He’d always figured he’d take time to deer hunt again, but, alas, that never happened. Taking a bullet, he was about to load the gun… but he was shocked at the fact that he didn’t remember how to do it. It’d been at least fifteen years since he’d shot this thing, and he was sure that his heightened state of terror had something to do with it, but still. He was, essentially, a country boy; he should be owning this shit. It made him shiver.
But that moment passed, and he remembered.
Jon loaded the gun and simply walked back outside, feeling like a badass. What he saw was the most amazing, terrible thing he’d seen yet.
Three more buildings had been destroyed. Two of those were on fire, in addition to Old Man Kelly’s. There were still people screaming at the end of the street, but only because the giant spider hadn’t gotten to them yet; the beast had sprayed nearly every person in its path with its web. The street itself was cracked beyond simple repair duties; it would take months to fix this shit. Miss Suzie was leaning forward in her rocking chair, crying, with her hands folded together. Almost every vehicle in sight had been either crashed or crushed by one of its legs. Though most of the buildings on the right side of the street had been without damage, Jon saw one, at the very end, toppled over from the vibrations and cracks caused by the spiders moving steps.
And then Jon saw TJ, awestruck with horror, staring up at the thing.
The spider roared, and sprayed web.
Oh hell no, Jon thought, and bent down. He put the .308 on top of the railing and balanced it the best he could. The scope was dusty, but he paid no mind. He was more anxious to see what would happen than anything.
He took aim, pointing it at the belly, and shot right over the red hourglass. The gun fired and kicked his right shoulder like a mother[frick]er, and Jon barked at the long forgotten pain. It wasn’t so bad, though; he imagined getting sprayed by those acid-webs hurt a helluva lot worse.
He looked over at TJ and thanked God—actually meaning it for the first time in his life—that the boy was, thus far, okay. While all of his other neighbors ran away, the boy just stood there, dumbfounded. Stupid kid probably thought the humongous spider was cool.
You may be stupid, Jon thought, but for an eleven year old, at least you have some balls.
He threw the gun down and took a few steps, then looked up at the spider again. Thick, pink slime was pouring down the side of its belly. A long stream of it, too. It reminded Jon of that strawberry yogurt that Tori liked so much. He shivered and ran on, intending to save TJ if it was the last thing he did.
He ran past Miss Suzie—who was now outright-bawling—and almost stumbled as the earth had risen about a foot from its original setting; the spider’s steps had done this, and this was minor in comparison to other destructions. Jon ignored this and kept on running. He had to save the kid, he had too. If there’s only one thing every person in the world deserved, it was a childhood. He didn’t know this TJ kid well, but he liked him good enough, and supposed it didn’t matter either way.
The spider-monstrosity once again let out a roar, and this time Jon did trip, on another neighbor named Richie. He appeared to be unconscious, but not dead. Jon didn’t know much about Richie; only that he had a wife named Susan who loved to scream and holler at him, a lot of times on their front porch or with the windows up so the whole neighborhood could hear. Miss Suzie and he had been amused many times in the past week by these frequent bitch-sessions.
Jon struggled to his feet, feeling lost and ancient—as if he’d been awake for a thousand years. Then he once again remembered his present mission: save TJ. He got to running again, then sprinting. The spider was still wrecking havoc, and he tried to keep up with its walking patterns. Every time it’d take a step, he would jump, as to avoid the miniature earthquakes that kept [frick]ing him up.
But, in the end, his heroic effort amounted to nothing. At the end of the street, that black hole twisted into reality again, and he halted, frozen with terror. “No!” Jon shouted, feeling that sucking wind pull at him again, though this time not as strongly. He hadn’t noticed TJ moving closer and closer to the giant spider, and cursed with disbelief. Surely the boy couldn’t be that stupid!
But the boy was not what you would call stupid. The boy had always been intelligent, a bright kid with a bright future. In fact, he’d made some of the best grades in his fifth-grade class, and would have made straight A’s and B’s if not for the fact that he didn’t do his homework. No, TJ was not by any means stupid, but rather hypnotized. The boy had gotten lost in the spider-thing’s eyes. No one else on Pearl Street looked long enough into its eyes to notice, but if they had, they would have been just as entranced as little TJ was.
You see, with TJ, it was much like being in love. He didn’t love this terrible being, couldn’t, wouldn’t ever. But in those eyes held everything he had ever wanted, desired, longed for (or so he thought). He saw a daddy who would rather take him fishing than abandoning him. He saw the magical creatures and rides from Disneyland. He saw love. He saw sex. He saw all these things and more.
And it was just too, too wonderful to resist.
He didn’t notice walking closer to the spider, he didn’t notice being drawn ever so slowly to his left, in the direction of the black hole, and he didn’t notice Jonathan Ray Hidgens, screaming bloody murder from behind him.
The spider’s front right leg lifted, and went into the black hole. And as the front left leg lifted, so did its eyes.
The kid moaned tragically, forlorn. The trance had been broken off, and he wanted it back. At last, TJ heard Jon’s cries, and he turned around quickly, alarmed. Was something wrong with the outside world?
He saw Jon screaming. No, TJ! TJ, no! Don’t do that! No!
The words had no affect on him; they didn’t matter. He didn’t even notice what he was doing until he turned his head back around to see; he was jumping on a crashed Camry. He was intending to jump in the black hole with the spider. He wanted that trance back, as dangerous as he knew it was, that trance that was so much like being in a mother’s womb.
And then Jon leapt at TJ, no longer screaming words, just screaming. He almost had the boy’s ankle as he jumped into oblivion, but the kid was one inch out of reach. And then he was gone. Jon hit the ground, and slammed his fist into it. A second later, the spider’s last leg hit the ground, sending its earthquake his way and bits of concrete rock in his face. Jon paid it no mind. He had [frick]ing needed to save that kid, and, like so many other times in recent history, he had failed.
As Jon rose to his knees, he heard that horrible roar for the last time, only now it was coming from far, far away. He looked into the black hole as that last leg entered in, and saw radiant stars, and what looked like a purple sun. Then it all disappeared, and the terror of Pearl Street was no more.
Jon stood up completely and turned around. Pearl Street was nothing but a shadow of what it was six minutes ago. He didn’t understand it, wouldn’t ever understand it, and most importantly, didn’t want to understand it. What Jonny wanted at this moment in time was to go back to the house and take a cat nap. A good, long one. He started walking back to his house.
As he walked, he saw all the people that had been touched by the acid-webs, and immediately looked away. Where the webs had touched them—and a good number had been completely covered in it—there was nothing but bone. The people who were unfortunate enough to only be touched by this were letting out some odd combination of moan and scream like no other on the face of this earth.
In the distance, Jon heard the sounds of sirens. In less than a minute police, ambulances and fire-trucks alike arrived onto the scene. He heard one policeman ask another if this could be a terrorist attack. Jon burst out laughing, but just kept walking. He was a failure, and intended to go sleep like a failure.
As he reached the front steps of his house, he paid the gun no mind at all. He opened the front door. Like a boss, he thought, and laughed again. As depressed as he was, it felt good to laugh. He turned around to get one last glance at the road.
“You know, maybe there is a God,” Jon said, for what reason, he didn’t know. He saw Miss Suzie talking to a police officer. She said something that sounded like ice cream cone, but then he rolled his eyes and thought, who the hell cares?
He went inside and crashed on the couch. About five seconds after he hit the couch, he was fast asleep dreaming about Victoria and the wonderful sixteen years they’d spent together. While he slept, she called him, wanting to know if he was alright.