Robynn Gabel, click
here to update your pages on AuthorsDen.
Widows of the Night by Robynn Gabel
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Rated "PG" by the Author.
A little girl learns there are many different kinds of monsters in the world.
In dark so deep there was no distinction to shape or shadow she could feel it. A tickle on the arm created panic as she brushed and scratched. Her skin goose-bumped, shivered and the crawly feeling started again. Taking a deep breath she tried to escape back into the oblivion of sleep. Not going to happen. A touch on the foot caused her to sit up. She wrapped her arms protectively around her legs, rocking back and forth. Struggling to see shadows in the deep pitch, the faint light from under the door was not enough to see the hideous thing stalking her.
Shifting again, she felt the soft blanket under her. Soft wasn't nice anymore. Shiny black, with red bellies, and long delicate legs the creatures lived in soft, cottony webs weaved into holes in the cinder block wall beside the house. In a world that should have been innocent and safe, she was learning about death and monsters.
She tried to think about something nice like Christmas, little kittens, Popsicles and Halloween. Her favorite was Halloween with candy and dressing up. She wanted to be a princess, not a scary ghost or witch.
As the night lingered on she stood up to stretch aching legs. Her hand kept going towards the doorknob but the fear of getting in more trouble caused her to pull back. If she could just get more light to see how many of them there might be, she could kill them, squish them and she could sleep again.
When her back started itching, hands scrambled to find the place to stop the bite she knew would come and that could kill her. Her scalp crawled and her fingers tore at it, itching and fluffing her hair to make sure one of them had not fallen down from the ceiling on those thin threads they could spin.
She rubbed at her arms. At the same time her legs went up and down in a panic as she tried to keep them from crawling on her feet. The floor boards squeaked in protest at her frenzied dance. The light shifted under the door and before she could drop into a fetal position and fake sleep, the door opened. A flood of light poured in and she looked around the small cubicle, not worried about impending punishment, but to see if there were any tiny black shapes anywhere.
"I told you to go to sleep! I don't know why you are jumping around in here, but I can hear it!!!! I need sleep even if you don't want to. I'm going to beat you within an inch of your life if you don't lie down and go to sleep now!!! A hand whipped out gouging into her shoulder, pushing her to the skimpy blanket.
"Please, I won't do it again, Mom, please let me sleep on the bed. I will be good. Please!" her voice whimpered.
She could see her sister's curly hair in disarray and her fearful blue eyes staring at their mother as she sat up in bed. Then the door to the closet closed once again, bringing back the darkness. The light under the door dimmed and she could hear the bedroom door close with a slam.
Her sister started to cry softly and she whispered, "I'm ok, don't cry. You'll get in trouble." Quiet settled and she curled up on the blanket, reassured she was truly alone. Sleep stole over her worried little mind.
**********
Tired blue eyes stared back at her from the spotted, filmed mirror in the bathroom. She ate the soggy cereal her mother had made for her earlier.
Outside the window she could see soft fog wrapping the world outside. Cool, misty moisture that couldn't be touched or gathered but could be felt in damp kisses on her cheeks.
Walking to school her mood lightened. This soft cotton that she couldn't touch, only see, was safe. She imagined this must be what it was like to walk in the clouds, but instead of sidewalk and pavement there would be sunshine and blue sky to step on.
The school loomed large in the fog and she hurried up the steps, a smile breaking across her wan face. She slid into the warm pine seat, smoothing a hand over the desk top so slick and shiny. No crawly things here, just books full of things to learn.
Her teacher, a middle aged red head, warmly greeted the class. Sometimes she would daydream that she lived with her teacher in a world of books, plush blankets, and a beautiful swing set. She would eat pancakes, go on picnics and be cuddled all the time. She loved her teacher's warm hugs and perfume that smelled like roses.
The teacher started on science. "Class we are going to be studying the world of bugs!" The boys cheered, the girls moaned and her stomach churned. No, anything but that, the night before coming up vividly in her mind.
"Bugs are very beneficial to the eco system. We will be studying their habitats, how they eat, and how they produce young. Bugs are some of the most varied species on this planet."
The lesson was on caterpillars that turned into butterflies. The transformation idea had her imagination for the rest of the day. Then it was the time she dreaded most - going home.
She walked slowly, studying each front yard. Large mounds of leaves were raked into piles in one yard. She couldn't resist running through them, crunching and scattering, and breathing in the earthy smell rising from the disturbed piles.
Finally her front yard appeared. It was the last on the block before the frontage road and the wall that blocked the view of the cars on the freeway, but not their noise. The yard was a patchy green and yellow quilt looking forlorn in comparison to the manicured lawn next to it. A small tree strove valiantly to produce a crop of little wormy yellow-red apples.
She wondered if the crawly little white worms would one day turn into beautiful butterflies and wing away into the blue. Her sisters tricycle laid tipped over against the porch which had a weather worn garage door next to it. She opened the front door, paused and waited for movement or noise from inside to give her some idea where her mom might be.
It was quiet except for the tinny voice coming from the TV. It was important when she walked in to be able to assess where her mom was and what mood she was in. This was a survival technique, to keep her from stumbling into, or provoking one of her mom's rages. No noise came from the bedroom either which meant everyone was probably napping.
She took full use of this to slip onto the worn couch in front of the ever noisy TV and curl up to catch some sleep herself. A sudden feeling that she wasn't alone caused her to glance up warily to see her mother, bleary-eyed with the usual frown in place.
"Haven't I told you a million times to change your school clothes when you get home? Do you think I just like hearing myself talk? Think I like saying things over and over!!!"
She knew better than to answer, jumping off the couch to scurry to the bedroom. Her sister looked up from the Barbie fest she was having on the floor. From the looks of the odd pieces of worn doll clothes strewn about it had been quite the fashion show. She quickly changed and decided to read. She pulled off the old dresser a school library book. It was one of her favorites because of the bright colored cart and donkey on the front. She sat by the window for better lighting and started sounding out the words.
A robin's warble caught her attention. Looking out her gaze wandered over the bench that had been built around the large scraggly tree. Paint peeled from the bench showing the gray weathered wood beneath. At one time the brick patio was neat and well kept. Now the bricks were chipped and uneven. Lining the edges with an opening into the grass of the back yard were crumbling brick planters full of weeds.
She loved to play there. Her imagination made animals in clouds, and the sparkling rays between the leaves were gold coins falling to earth so she could buy anything she wanted to eat. Voyages on ships, camels, and wagons were acted out and wild animals lurked in the jungle of the weedy tiger lilies.
But there was one boundary not to be crossed. She never went beyond the brick entry way, out into the yellow grass because then she was in the wicked land of the black widows. The sentinel to this land was a blackened, gnarled carcass of what was once a tree, arms reaching to the sky, begging for release from an earthbound grave. Sporadically here and there on its bark were patches of deadly cotton, the lair of those widows of the night that haunted her waking and sleeping nightmares.
From there stretched the gray block wall that was the fence between the two different lawns. Sometimes when she peeked around the dead tree she could see them hurrying about, deadly neighbors running errands on the gray wall pocked with holes and webs.
Dinner time came and she picked at the dried, tacky macaroni and cheese. Her sister knocked over her milk and the rage flamed from her mom.
"You are the most stupid, clumsy klutz I have ever seen!! Can't you even reach for a glass without bumping it!!! Clean it up you idiot!"
She hurried to her sister's rescue but in the process stepped on her mom's foot, receiving a kick. But they were not fast enough. Her mom reached down grabbing her sibling’s arm dragging her away to the bedroom. She heard the slam of the closet door and a terrified wail.
Her sister's pitiful cries tugged at tender heart strings. She felt protective towards her only other family member. It was one thing for her to fight off monsters, but her baby sister was so little. She bit her lip and buried herself in a book.
By bedtime they were both allowed to sleep in the bed. No headboard, just a wide mattress covered in a mound of dirty, scratchy blankets that they burrowed into.
"It's safe here" she whispered. "There is a magic spell around the bed and nothing can climb up here to us."
She put her thin arms around her sister, for tonight they were safe from monsters.
**********
Concentrating on a vivid rainbow splashing across her desk from a prism hanging in the school window she heard her teacher say, "Class I want you to bring an insect to class tomorrow. Ask your mom and dad to help you catch one and put it in a jar."
A knot formed in her stomach. She didn't know where her dad was and she longed for one very much so, and catching a bug would not make her mom happy. How was she going to do this? Sometimes she got angry at her teacher because she asked for things that were impossible to come by.
Plotting and planning began. She'd seen empty jars in the trash cans behind the cafeteria. What about a bug? On the way home from school, she looked in bushes, in the grass, in the cracks of the sidewalks, searching.
When she got to the house an idea was forming. Could she do it? Capture one of those black creatures? How’d she lure it in? What would the teacher think of her monster? She wasn't brave enough to attack on their turf.
Mom's bedroom window faced the wall and the weather stripping allowed air, dirt and the occasional monster through the gap. She wasn't allowed in that room unless mom sent her in to fetch something.
She was in luck; mom was busy gathering wormy apples in the front yard to make into apple sauce and in a good mood, so that would give her a little freedom. Quickly she snuck into the bedroom, looking for signs of white cotton in corners and cracks.
Her heart lurched. Perched on the window ledge, shiny black, was a monster.
While knowing it couldn't bite through glass, her hand still trembled. Drawing out a jar from her backpack, she poised above the crouched spider. Down the jar went, opening first. The black widow used its front two legs to test the glass, feeling gently. It scurried to the other side, testing the glass again, rearing up, and finding its boundaries.
She slid a sheet of paper under the opening, and then with a little gasp flipped it over, sliding the monster down into the jar. Even then she dared not put her hand on the bottom, to be anywhere next to the trapped spider. Her fingers went beet red with the effort to keep the top of the jar firmly in her grasp. She slapped the lid on, screwing it down quickly and slipped away to her room. She put the jar into a dresser drawer and closed it, not wanting to look any closer at her nightmare.
A crash in the next room sent her flying to find her sister standing next to a broken canning jar, scared, applesauce all over the tile.
"What were you doing!" she whispered frantically, but before her sister could answer their mom came in.
Looking between the two she asked harshly, "Who broke it."
She looked quickly at her cringing sibling then made up her mind. "I did it" she said.
While the closet door was open her glance scoured every inch looking for any sign they were in there. Nothing but water stained ceiling and peeling wall paper met her anxious gaze. Her mom stood behind her, hand on the doorknob, waiting. As she closed the door she said with a mean edge to her voice, "You know a black widow bite can kill a child, and they're all over this old house, they can squeeze through any crack. Hope you make it through the night." The door slammed behind her.
She'd heard it before. Curling into a ball, she ignored the rumblings of her stomach. Thoughts about the monster trapped in the drawer started growing. What if she hadn't gotten the lid screwed on tight? What if her sister found it and opened it? She listened intently to the sounds in the house. It was quiet in the front room except for the distant voice of the TV. She could tell it was her mom's favorite program, which meant she might be able to.....
With heart pounding she twisted the door knob slowly, opening the door very carefully so the hinges wouldn't sound the alarm by squeaking. Quickly she went to the dresser to retrieve the jar, checking the lid and still not daring to touch the bottom. She darted back to the closet, closing the door softly behind her.
Sitting the jar in the far corner, she hugged her knees. Would the monster cry out and bring others to the rescue? Her imagination went wild. She could sense, feel in the darkness hundreds of them moving down the walls, creeping towards her. Her skin tingled, prickled, and itched. Again and again, she rubbed and scratched, moved and shook out her hair. Feeling their ghostly touch again and again, the tears flooded down as she worked at quieting the sobs that threatened to bring more punishment.
Somewhere in the night she fell into an exhausted sleep, sitting with arms wrapped around her knees, the thin blanket draped over her to protect from the spidery touches.
**********
Her mom didn't even bother coming out of the bedroom, which meant another morning of no breakfast after a night of no dinner. Her stomach churned trying to turn itself inside out with pain. But it also gave her a clear break for smuggling the jar with its hideous captive out of the house.
She recognized the look of pure terror on the teacher's face when she presented the bug specimen.
"This is a very, very dangerous spider for a little one. How on earth did you find this, let alone capture it?" She noticed the teacher's worried gaze looking her over for any sign of bump or swelling. "This spider didn't bite you did it?"
She shook her head 'no' and bit her bottom lip. Had she done something wrong? Would they tell her mom? It had seemed like a good idea yesterday.
"Why would you bring this spider, honey? Didn't your parents tell you it was dangerous?" the teacher persisted.
She looked down in misery. "I just wanted to know about them, they are all over our back wall, and I......" her voice trailed off.'
Hesitating for a moment, the teacher put the jar at the far end of her desk, keeping it at a safe distance. "Ok well this is really a spider you all need to know about. Class, don't ever, ever try to pick up or play with these spiders. You need to learn about the poisonous ones too."
The teacher told the class they built haphazard cave-like webs. Searched out and sometimes killed their mates. They would rather run from humans unless they were cornered or trapped. They were poisonous but posed only the biggest threat to the elderly or children. Even then it was just muscle spasms and nausea. Rarely did a bite result in death, but it had happened.
The black widow was most dangerous when protecting her young, taking on anything that threatened her babies, defending them to the death. She cared diligently for them, catching prey and wrapping them so her young could feed when they were born.
She wasn't at ease but suddenly she viewed the little spider on the desk differently. When she got home her sister was moaning in the closet, her mom snoring on the couch, and the constant voice of the TV the only welcome. She watched her mom sleeping, trying to remember a time when she'd ever been loving, comforting, or protective.
She'd survived on fear for so long she had no room for any other feelings. Bitterness swelled now as she remembered kicks, cursing, and hunger. Bitterness turned to anger clawing at her heart for all the nights of terror. Tears welled as the searing pain of being unloved and unsafe grew. She couldn't shake the thought that a little spider was a better mom than her own.
Wandering outside to the brick patio and the tree with the bench she noticed the trash overflowed and several jars lay on the ground. An idea started growing. Right now it was fall and the spiders would be the most aggressive because babies would soon be hatching. Pain drove her forward. She searched in the dilapidated garage for gloves of any type, finding one large, greasy, work glove. Gathering up jars she started off into the forbidden land.
With a stick she gouged into the soft cotton. Her prey came out of the hole, fighting, her front legs raised up trying to duck back to the egg sack to protect her young. She was fascinated by the ferociousness of the little spider. Then it attacked and clung to the stick and she pulled it out. She stuck it in the jar knocking against the side until the angry spider dropped to the bottom, crouching in fighting mode again.
Her skin tingled and crawled; she ignored it, moving on determinedly to the next cottony patch to repeat the process. She had collected several spiders when she heard her mom hollering. Lining all the jars up under the weathered tree bench, she didn't want to bring the spiders into the house yet.
**********
Next day she arrived home to one of her mom's darker moods. After being screamed at and kicked, she was allowed soup and leftover applesauce her mom had canned. She stirred the applesauce half-heartedly seeing bits of things she didn't want to know about. It smelled sour and even as hungry as she always was; it got dumped into the sink.
Right before bedtime her sister again fell into her mom's ill grace. Her mom pulled her sibling into the closet clawing and screaming and then kicked her until she lay moaning, no fight left.
Watching from the safety of the bed, she dared not interfere. She'd learned a long time ago fighting back only made it worse. Her sister's large, horror-filled blue eyes were the last thing she saw before the closet door banged shut and the lights were turned off. Her mom stomped out, slamming the bedroom door as usual.
Her sister was whispering desperately now, "Go away, go away, no, no...." She could relate to the terror and remembered the ghostly tapping of spidery legs. Anger flared, it had to stop, and she had to protect her baby sister. Head pounding with rage, she felt like the fighting spiders in the jars outside.
She crawled out of bed and crept to the patch of moonlight on the floor. It cast enough light that it was silvered daylight outside and she could see the jars under the weathered bench.
There were no sounds in the house; her mom had gone to bed. Quietly she slipped out through the back door. Her heart was beating so loud she was sure it would give her away. As she gathered up the jars they made ghostly clinks in her arms.
In the darkness of her mom's bedroom, she could hear rasping breaths coming from under the mound of blanket. Fear shot through her. What if mom woke up and found her creeping around the room?
She froze; the glass jars smooth in her hands, a thought sending a jolt through her. She was more fearful of the monster in the bed than those in the jars. Anger tore through her soul again, she imagined herself rearing back, fighting. Tears rolled quietly down her cheeks, her heart jack hammered in her chest, and with trembling hands she shook the jar and let loose one angry spider after another.
**********
The rain fall drummed in a comforting rhythm on the roof while the arms of the social worker felt warm and safe around her shoulders. Her sisters' blue eyes, framed by messy curls, watched with wide-eyed wonder as the policeman directed the traffic through the little house. Hushed voices talked about things like heart attacks, allergic reactions, muscle spasms, and possible food poisoning.
The rotund social worker left them to scrounge a few sparse belongings together. When she came back she looked at them with pity.
"Well that's everything I think. Anything else you girls want?" Her sister ran to the bedroom to get her Barbie.
Everyone was looking at them with such sympathy, but she felt nothing. The social worker reached down to tug at her arm. "Sweetheart, what do you have there?"
Her eyes widen when she saw the contents of the jar. "Honey, why don't you leave that here?"
She clutched the glass jar closer and shook her head. Taking a deep ragged breath she said brokenly, "No, this is my friend."
In dark so deep there was no distinction to shape or shadow she could feel it. A tickle on the arm created panic as she brushed and scratched. Her skin goose-bumped, shivered and the crawly feeling started again. Taking a deep breath she tried to escape back into the oblivion of sleep. Not going to happen. A touch on the foot caused her to sit up. She wrapped her arms protectively around her legs, rocking back and forth. Struggling to see shadows in the deep pitch, the faint light from under the door was not enough to see the hideous thing stalking her.
