Halloween decorations filled the houses, Christmas decorations already blasphemed the malls, as Geena luxuriated in the energy of the new moon. Tonight, she expected, kids would be flooding the streets, their shrill cries only faintly muffled by plastic masks with small breathing holes and rubber bands twisted into their hair. The same thing seemed to happen every year. There was no reason to believe anything would be any different this time. Unless you happen to notice that even the trees in the city park, and in vacant lots were unusually covered with spider webs.
Most people probably figured that someone had gone overboard with their decorating for Halloween. Only the most devoted arachnologists would’ve been concerned, and they weren’t known for visiting rural Oklahoma towns, like Pink. In a week, the town would be filled with them, but today, only the beginnings of the problem were visible, and the excitement of the new holiday season was still fresh, and the people were mostly full of optimism.
She involuntarily flailed as, on walking out her front door, she ran into a stray strand of web, straight across her face. She wiped her face with her hand a few times, to make sure she got it all off, and then rubbed her hand on the lawn before heading off to the grocery store for the necessary supplies.
The large candy supplies were mostly gone, but she managed to find a couple bags of assorted Hershey candies that she’d be willing to eat, if there were much left over after trick-or-treating. There hadn’t been much left over the past couple years. Despite the remote location, the economy was picking up, and people were again starting exploring for various types of oil. Mostly shale around here, of course. And that brought with it the scientists and engineers, their support staff, as well as the darker side that always followed this mostly male cadre and catered to their baser instincts. That influx of cash usually eventually brought families, which had been evident last year.
She failed to notice that the pesticide aisle was also largely empty. Which the merchants would eventually discover, and find odd, since they hadn’t been purchased. Sure had disappeared, though.
As she drove home through the streets of Pink, Oklahoma, the radio was playing a public service warning about being sure to carry flashlights and wear clothes with reflective elements, to make yourself visible, if you’re taking kids out or going trick or treating. Then another one on how to recognize and avoid being bitten by brown recluse spider. Geena began to wonder when NPR had become the all-public-service-warning channel.
When she walked in her house, she again walked through a web, and did her best impression of a ninja trying to block unseen assailants. She looked for the bugger that had managed to rebuild the web so soon, but didn’t poke her head or hand into the small corner where she couldn’t see clearly, remembering the warning she’d heard just minutes earlier. She went to get the insect poison from under the sink, and found it to be empty. She started a new shopping list, with that as priority #1.
She put the candy in a bowl near the door, and slipped out of the pumps she’d worn, slipping into much more comfortable sneakers. She carefully inspected them before slipping her feet into them, suddenly acutely aware how easily insects could crawl inside. She wondered what she could do to discourage or prevent this. She also culled through her closet, looking for attire which would pass as a costume, while she handed out candy. She settled for an all-black outfit, with a light cape and witches’ hat. She turned the AC up a little, as it was unseasonably warm, and this outfit would be a little hot to wear all night, if the room were to remain at 82 degrees.
The news was reporting that the emergency rooms were uncharacteristically busy for the night of a new moon. Usually things for them only got crazy with the full moons, but it being Halloween, they’d hoped the rush would happen later, rather than sooner, if it had to happen at all. A surprising number in the triage area were spider bites, only a few from the brown recluse type, already causing necrosis in a few screaming patients.
Geena settled into a horror movie marathon, to watch between visits to the door for trick or treaters. It was soon interrupted by a local warning alert. People were being warned to stay inside due to unknown mysterious insect attacks. Parents were being asked to keep their kids inside particularly, as their small statures would make them much more vulnerable to spider and insect toxins.
Little did most people know that it was dusk to dawn that spiders were at their most active. And these particular spiders were being driven, and informed by a nearby coven of witches. They were upset, as there were many people from Pink who heckled and ridiculed them during their dancing demonstration at the recent county fair. To seek their revenge, they now actively instructed the arachnids to string webs, bite passersby, and generally inspire chaos. It didn’t matter if the spiders involved were trappers, hunters, or predators. They all were going into a feeding frenzy overdrive.
This made the more lethal spiders, the tarantulas, the black widows, and the brown recluses to work together to collectively attack prey they normally wouldn’t, or couldn’t take down alone. Together, however, they were inflicting a death toll in small animals, and humans which they normally couldn’t accomplish. And even the normal insect trapping spiders were at least making the attempt to infect anything that broke their webs, even if they had no chance of trapping and eating the prey themselves. Small prey like hamsters and mice suddenly became food worthy. And feast they did.
Soon the news reports became more fervent. An emergency alert was issued, and all residents were being told to stay in their homes. Many households, especially those with larger children became battlegrounds, with defiant children trying to march boldly out to collect their Halloween bounty, consequences be damned. Little did they know that damned was exactly what they would be. Tonight, the arachnids reigned supreme. Soon, the whole of the town was draped in what at first resembled early snowfall, but, upon closer inspection became clearly seen as interwoven spider webs.
The webs even went down into the chimneys of those homes who had them, allowing access for all the arachnids to swarm and feast on all the inhabitants. Those who made the mistake of opening the door to trick or treaters suffered much the same fate. An individual spider bite may not be fatal. The attack of hundreds caused even the most hardy adult to become ill, and later succumb.
The hospitals were no better off. Their open door ambulance policy was letting in thousands of spiders which were weakening and killing off all patients they could attack. Even the staff were starting to succumb to their multitude of wounds. Finally, the mayor and governor declared a state of emergency, but, by then, it was too late.
Everyone outside was being bitten by the beasts, some less lethal, some more so. The cumulative result was the same. As the bodies in street multiplied, the crowds dissipated. Sadly, it made no difference. The spiders feasted on the unfortunates. Those who scattered to seek poisons found their cans empty, and ineffectual. And almost all of those who found the rare almost empty poison cans eventually also became victims.
Some of the smaller children had already been wrapped in webbing and hung from the branches of the larger trees. Oddly, some of these spiders even seemed to have a couple legs with a pincer at the end, acting almost like hands. Having turned off the horror show on television, Geena was watching the events outside. She considered if it would be better to hunker down, or flee. Given the swarming masses outside, she chose the former.
She soon found that her house had been designed to breathe, which, while great for everyday living, allowing for exchange of fresh air for the stuffy air, it made it difficult to seal any opening or vent large enough for a spider to enter. Some of her guests had complained that the place felt drafty. Personally, she’d historically kind of liked the feel of a slight air flow.
Starting with the fireplace, closing the flu and stuffing the seam with cloth to make a tighter seal seemed a logical first step to Geena. The air vents were next, and a bigger problem. Duct tape and plastic sheeting over the main house intake was the first step, and the same with all the vents. For the outer doors and windows, she simply duct taped all the seams. She briefly wondered how much air she had trapped inside, as she called 911. Unsurprisingly, the circuits were all busy.
She chuckled inwardly, as an unbidden thought sprang into her head. Groups of spiders were known as a clutter. Clutter is normally something which is easily disposed of, or cleaned up. She smiled ruefully now, noting that today, this clutter was alive, and fighting back. It wasn’t going to be pretty, whatever happened, she mused.
She wondered what she’d do if they found a way in. She found her one can of poison was almost empty, as so many had already done before her. The witches, their familiars and servants had seen to that through various acts of sabotage, theft, and purchase of all local supply. Geena knew spiders were susceptible to fire, but the idea of setting fires inside her own home was highly counter-intuitive. She briefly wondered what had happened to all the birds, reptiles, and other natural predators of the spiders. Surely, they couldn’t have reached this population density had their predators been present. She envisioned a raven, wrapped in webbing, croaking “Nevermore.” She was in the middle of this reverie when the lights cut out.
Geena raced around the house with a flashlight, looking for small nooks where invaders could get in. She knew that she couldn’t find them all. She began to brainstorm a way out. Carefully, she fitted a propane tank with a long hose and controllable nozzle. She put on her flameproof oven mitts she’d bought because she couldn’t be entirely trusted in a kitchen, and she’d proven their usefulness on a number of occasions. She opened the valve on the propane tank and tested her invention with a lighter. It worked! She had a makeshift flamethrower, with about a five foot range. She closed the valve, and prepared a small bag of essentials, and put the propane tank on top of her backpack.
Cautiously, she made her way to the door leading to the garage. Removing the seal she’d put on that door, she again opened the valve on the propane tank, while wishing she’d had another spare, but she wasn’t about to go out and retrieve the partially used one from her barbecue. She lit the end and swept the room with her flashlight. A dozen or so spiders started to charge, only to be met with a sudden fiery death. Well, that settled it. A couple small fires started on the floor, there was nothing to do but get out. She raced to her motorcycle, donned her helmet and goggles, and started the engine. Next, she took a deep breath, and opened the garage door. The flood of arachnids skittered, stopped, then charged. She cleared a path with her flamethrower, and gunned the motorcycle.
She raced through the streets of Pink, relying on speed to keep the spiders from swarming and overwhelming her. It was impossible to simultaneously drive the motorcycle and use the flamethrower, so she lay even heavier upon the throttle. The imagery around her was horrifying. Skittering arachnids, and paralyzed or worse bodies of various ages in the streets. Many of even the larger people were being dismembered by teams of spiders, their body parts then wrapped in webbing and hung from the trees, often still dripping blood. Finally, she got outside the town limits, and the spiders became scarcer, then seemingly, she was clear. She slowed to a stop, to catch her breath. She had survived. Or so she thought.
Suddenly, she became aware of an itchy feeling on the back of her neck, as a large hairy tarantula crawled out from under her helmet. A hot sting told her she’d just been bitten, just when she’d been about to relax. She shrieked, and brushed it off her and stomped it into the ground with the heel of her sneaker. “Great,” she thought, “Hope I can make it to the hospital in Norman before that toxin gets the better of me.”
Back on the motorcycle, with the engine screaming under her, she raced, her head starting to register what she hoped were delusions. She saw transparent ghosts, and other terrifying images that defied description, even though she possessed an expansive and expressive vocabulary. She briefly checked for her cell phone, and was horrified to realize that she’d left it behind in her rush to get out. No calling for help, then. She was going to have to make it on her own.
She raced past Lake Thunderbird, then, finally, she saw a glow up ahead that she hoped was the city, and not just another illusion. The roads were rough, and pocked with mostly repaired potholes. That was reassuring. She believed she wouldn’t hallucinate potholes, and they were notoriously rampant in Norman. She found her way to the emergency room of the Norman Regional Health Center before passing out, from exhaustion or poison, she wasn’t quite sure.
The hospital personnel quickly rushed over, opened her purse and checked her insurance card. When they found she was on a PPO, they immediately transferred her to one the beds in the ER, and tried to ascertain what was wrong with her. They found the spider bite, and administered a general antibiotic, while sending blood work to the lab to better ascertain which anti-venom would help most.
Eventually Geena moaned and stirred. She dimly registered bright fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic. That plus the hard bed and the white uniforms told her she had made it. At the time, she hadn’t been sure it hadn’t been another illusion, but no, here came a nurse telling her to take it easy. She’d given the medical staff a good scare, but she was going to be okay now.
Geena asked about the rest of Pink, if there was any news. The nurse looked confused, apparently, nobody else had escaped to report anything. That discovery would come later.
The town, covered now in a blanket of webs, was overrun with feasting spiders. There was no other motion anywhere in the town. The witches, sensing this through some of their arachnid slaves, wound up their spell. As they did, the spiders started to gradually disperse, with some intense battles over territory and food sources now forming. Over the span of a few hours, most had deserted the town for their home territories.
Geena became a minor celebrity for the next few days, giving many interviews as the sole survivor of the carnage, both on television news broadcasts, and the occasional police or scientific inquiry. Honestly, she had no idea why it happened, and the coven weren’t stepping up and claiming responsibility.
Over the next few months, many teams of scientists slashed through and burned the webbing covering the town, trying to ascertain the cause of the debacle, and thereby develop a strategy to keep it from happening again, or countering it if it did. Honestly, most of them were as baffled as the general public, though they managed to spin improbable theories about environmental and electromagnetic factors that could have caused such behavior. Being respectable scientists, witchcraft never even crossed their minds.
Of the previous inhabitants of the town, very little was recovered, though most of their belongings were now strewn across the town, easy pickings for the ghouls who followed the scientists, pilfering and looting, once they believed it was safe for humans to venture through Pink again. Nobody ever stayed, though. The shock and horror of the events of Halloween night deterred even the most hardy of souls from wanting to rebuild the town.
Geena packed up, and headed northwest to Oklahoma City, where she had friends who were willing to put her up while she put her life back in order. Sure, they were involved in the Society for Creative Anachronisms, and would dress up in Renaissance costumes and stage battles occasionally. Geena didn’t mind their eccentricities, they were, rather something that had always drawn them together. She even took up archery, at their suggestion, and became quite the deadly shot. The custom made spider targets were her favorites.
A likely story. Some people deathly afraid of spiders might like these kinds of stories. I found the story rather uninteresting, although it was quite correct. If the witches were the cause, they should have been fleshed out more and given a bigger role. Geena's solo escape, when no one else did, like those driving through in cars, seems highly unlikely.
A couple little technical things. In the beginning you use the word, "she," many times when writing about Geena. That got better as you progressed through the story. The fireplace has a flue. And putting a fire in it would keep spiders out and probably draw all of the oxygen out of the house with no fresh air coming in.
Tasked by his Goddess to find, relocate, and then quicken, the last three Heart Tree gem-seeds, Vanx the bard, and his motley crew of adventurers, set out to do just that.
Halloween decorations filled the houses, Christmas decorations already blasphemed the malls, as Geena luxuriated in the energy of the new moon. Tonight, she expected, kids would be flooding the streets, their shrill cries only faintly muffled by plastic masks with small breathing holes and rubber bands twisted into their hair. The same thing seemed to happen every year. There was no reason to believe anything would be any different this time. Unless you happen to notice that even the trees in the city park, and in vacant lots were unusually covered with spider webs.
