Object x, p.10
Object X, page 10
She arrived at its eyes. All twelve—assembled in two intimidating rows of six—glowed a deep red. It was more than just a natural instinct to hunt. She saw an anger in its eyes. A desire to kill. But she saw more. Hidden in those large red globes, deep and secluded beneath their ghastly surface, was an intelligence alien to the arachnids of this world.
She panicked as she stared at its face. Little hairs and long fangs. So many eyes and a lack of a visible mouth. It was here to take her life. It was here to make Tommy an orphan. It was here to ruin everything.
But she wasn't ready to die.
She threw herself onto her side—her hand completely numb and seemingly stapled to the floor as the spider's outer-fang remained impaled through her flesh—just as a burst of black mist propelled from its two smaller inner-fangs and narrowly missed her face. She listened to the kitchen peninsula behind her bubble. Their decision to expand their kitchen counters a few years ago and create an L-shape design was unquestionably their costliest addition since purchasing this place, but the stylish and beneficial upgrade didn't serve her any favors at the moment. Whatever had shot from its fangs ate through the wood without much resistance, chilling her already petrified body when she realized that could've been her face instead. It was now or never. Hesitate, and she wouldn't live to see the sunrise.
She cocked her right foot back while on her side and kicked at the spider's face and eyes with all her might. She understood the risks. She exposed her barefoot to sharp fangs and acid-like fluids, but she didn't have any other reasonable options. The intense burns on her breast and collarbone reinforced how badly she needed to get away from this thing, because one direct spray would render her permanently deformed and crippled.
It screeched.
The spider let out a loud and piercing shrill after her foot firmly connected with two of its red eyes, sending it stumbling backward as its outer-fang ripped her hand further when it finally released her from its grasp. She raised her hand—observing the once dime-sized hole that had been stretched to that of a nickel—and rotated it to confirm that she hadn't lost her mind. Light entered her hand in the hole set cozy between blackened veins and wet blood, and escaped through her palm on the other side. She turned her head to find that very light shining on a twelve-inch section of disintegrating kitchen counter wall to her rear.
She didn't have time to dwell on the past. She had to look ahead and focus on what mattered. Part of her skin was burned and her hand left disfigured, but nothing compared to what awaited her if she didn't find a way to fight back. This thing wouldn't stop until she put an end to its presumably short and miserable life. Wendy was ready to take back control of her house.
Sam turned off his flashlight just as she made it to her feet. She didn't look behind her. Why bother? There was nothing for her back there. Her husband had changed, and those twelve red eyes would be gone now that darkness enveloped the room. She was on her own as she grabbed onto the kitchen countertop for support, immediately noting the difference in what she felt. Her right hand absorbed the cool marble. Her fingers slid along the smooth and solid surface, appreciating each and every exquisite detail of the expensive stone. She experienced a taste of normalcy in her rapidly-evolving world.
Her left hand, unlike her right, didn't feel any of those details.
Everything from her fingertips to her wrist had been left paralyzed from the fang that'd penetrated her flesh. She didn't know if it was temporary or permanent. She also didn't know how to treat her wound. She only understood that her left hand now acted as a useless club, unable to contribute to the speed and precision that she so badly needed in a dire situation like the one she found herself in.
Wendy hurried around the counter, running on instincts and memory. That sixteen-legged demon would return. She needed to be swift. She had to be certain. A simple mistake that she wouldn't have thought twice about just a few hours ago, would now be responsible for her downfall.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
She opened the cabinet under the sink to grab the last flashlight available. It was big and bulky, but cast a larger light than either of the ones from earlier. She wasn't picky, though. A box of matches would suffice at the moment. She just needed light! She needed something to help her see!
The flashlight didn't power on.
She shook the black flashlight that'd always reminded her of a box, attempting to bring it to life by force. Sam always called it a lantern flashlight due to its size and shape. The batteries were old. The insides were dusty. Anything and everything could be responsible for why she remained blind and helpless, but she would change her misfortune. She clicked the power button.
Yet again, it didn't cast any light.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
She smacked the flashlight against the countertop with a sense of urgency distant from her typically reserved demeanor. It just needed a wake-up call. It was old and rarely used. Now, after a firm crack to remind the piece of plastic in her hand that it worked for her and not the other way around, she tried once more to power it on.
Nothing.
She braced herself. The mystery regarding the spider zipping across her kitchen floor may have been gone, but the revelations of its immense horrors made her wish that she'd never unveiled its capabilities before succumbing to her untimely demise. She didn't anticipate a quick death. It would be painful, leaving her time to reflect on the love of her life sleeping safely in his bed upstairs, unknowingly trapped in a world of pure evil and betrayal. Tommy no longer had a mother to look out for him or a father to rely on. He was too sweet and innocent to experience the misery that awaited him. Her perfect son didn't deserve any of this.
“Mommy?”
The flashlight in her hand suddenly turned on.
Her worst nightmare became reality when the light revealed the spider standing just two feet in front of her. Something was different this time, though. Its red eyes lacked the unmistakable intensity previously directed at her. It didn't seem as vicious. Rather, its intellect appeared to take center stage as it turned its attention elsewhere.
And that was what she credited for her current state of inimitable panic.
Tommy called out from the shadows once more. “Mommy, the power's out.”
All of her other worries fell to the wayside. Sam's whereabouts, her own injuries, and whatever happened outside in her once safe neighborhood: none of it concerned her. Tommy. She only cared about Tommy. She had little doubt that the past few minutes of mayhem had awakened her son from his slumber, but nothing could've prepared her for this. Moments ago, she'd accepted death for both herself and Tommy. She understood that she couldn't keep Tommy safe if she couldn't even protect herself, but that was back when she was at death's door. It was different now. She no longer stared into the eyes of evil. No mother should ever experience the death of their own child, and she refused to allow the innocent six-year-old boy in her kitchen to meet his maker before she did.
She shined the flashlight over the counter. There, a single stride inside the kitchen with the long hallway to his back, stood Tommy. Batman pajamas. Messy brown hair. Heavy eyes. He was too good for what this world had become. He was too pure for the sin that would enter his life mere moments from now.
She didn't have time to see if Sam was still somewhere in the kitchen. Every second was equally as precious as the boy squinting from the manner in which her flashlight blinded his eyes. Tommy had no idea what evaded his line of sight on the other side of the five-foot-long peninsula cabinet expansion, but her arachnophobic son was about to find out real fast if she didn't do something. It was up to her and only her. She needed to act.
Her intention to remain calm didn't last long after she moved the light from Tommy to the spider. It'd turned, heading in her son's direction. “Tommy, go to your room right now!”
“But I heard yelling,” Tommy said. “Are you okay?”
“TOMMY, GO TO YOUR ROOM RIGHT NOW!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
She didn't hear Tommy move in the darkness. No, she only identified one sound which she truthfully didn't need her ears for thanks to a combination of her eyes and the flashlight in her one good hand, but she knew that Tommy heard it. His worst nightmare approached. Little feet on the tough tile floor. One, after another, after another.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Her maternal instincts overtook her. She switched hands, sliding her numb fingers under the handle to wedge them against the body of the large and clumsy flashlight, and pulled out a drawer from the peninsula cabinet to her right. She'd done this a million times. She didn't need her eyes as she struggled to maintain a spotlight on the black spider racing away from her—about to turn the bend and introduce itself to the confused little boy who didn't understand why his mother had just yelled at him to go back upstairs. She knew what she searched for. It wasn't a mystery.
She wrapped her working hand around the durable rubber handle as she retrieved a chef's knife from the open drawer. All eight inches of sharp stainless steel usually glistened in the light, but such a luxury wasn't afforded to her tonight. Her days of preparing dinner for her family were over. The world had changed. Children from all walks of life would be robbed of their innocence overnight, exposed to horrors typically reserved for hardened adults. Pain. Suffering. Death. It awaited all.
Wendy reflected on the surprising joys of raising a sometimes stubborn son. She encouraged Tommy to think for himself and question authority. She didn't want him to simply follow orders regardless of what he was told, but she also made an assertive effort to prevent him from becoming a disrespectful or ill-mannered kid. She liked to think that she'd done a pretty fine job of molding him into the amazing little boy that he'd turned into as well.
However, at this very moment, she wished for nothing more than a son who did exactly what he was told.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
She looked back at the light to find empty tile floor. She immediately raised her hand, struggling to point her flashlight over the counter to find Tommy. Her handicap made even the simplest task difficult. The flashlight resembled a brick in her hand—heavy and unstable—further delaying her efforts in the most time-sensitive moment of her life.
Her son didn't shield his eyes with his hand or even squint after she finally shined her light on him. His attention was elsewhere. She watched him listen. He heard the same sounds that she did, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what caused them. She didn't want him to see. It was her job to protect him. Sometimes, she desired nothing more than to place him in a bubble and isolate him from the real world, but she wasn't even sure what qualified as real anymore.
She wouldn't convince him with her words. Tommy was cursed with youthful curiosity. It was enough of a miracle for him to have kept his distance from the black object in their backyard like she'd made him promise, but he wouldn't simply turn around and head back upstairs given the situation. The electricity was out, he'd heard a commotion, and now his mother shouted at him while holding a flashlight: why would he retreat? He would want to know that she was in fact okay first, but she didn't have time to explain to him how much life had changed in only a few short minutes.
So, Wendy did the only thing that guaranteed a response.
She showed him.
She hustled forward, her flashlight bouncing up and down as she ran. She focused intently on maintaining a hold on her only source of light while her other balmy palm squeezed tightly on the rubber handle of her chef's knife. It would be just to her right after she arrived at the end of the peninsula. Its long and creepy legs. Its numerous red eyes. Its desire to kill. She never wanted to see it again, but she moved with the sole intention of doing just that.
The black spider wasn't exactly where she expected it to be after she cleared the peninsula and cast her light upon it. Low to the ground and frozen in place, it appeared to be stalking Tommy from ten or so feet away. Was her flashlight responsible for its sudden stillness? Or was it something else? She found herself motionless as well, confused as to why not a single one of its sixteen legs carried it forward.
She slowly raised her wobbly hand—the circle of light dragging along the kitchen floor as if it dogged hidden landmines along the way—until she reached Tommy. He shook in the same manner as her paralyzed hand, overwhelmed with freight from the sight before him now concealed by darkness. Her flashlight accomplished more than a million words ever could. Her son stared at a nightmare for those brief few moments, and now she prayed that he reacted the way she expected.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
She inhaled, mild air flooding her lungs as her diaphragm contracted and her chest cavity enlarged, before letting it out all in one furious roar. “RUN!!!”
She could listen to the sound of Tommy's frantic footsteps on a loop for the rest of her life. He bolted down the hallway in the direction of the living room, clearly on a mission to return to the friendly confines of his upstairs bedroom. She didn't have a moment to waste. Tommy's efforts would be for naught if she didn't do her part, because her little boy could only do so much on his own.
Wendy trailed behind, her flashlight illuminating everything and nothing simultaneously. It bounced with reckless abandon in her injured hand as she maneuvered with her knife pointed down at the floor like a little kid running with scissors. Her naked feet absorbed the hallway hardwood floor as she caught a glimpse of Tommy's back in the light. Somewhere between herself and her amazing son—concealed by the darkness and completely mute thanks to four heavy human footsteps—was a monster.
She turned the corner and entered the living room. Tommy just needed to dash across the room, enter one remaining hallway, and run upstairs to his bedroom. They were so close; yet, so far away. Her problems wouldn't vanish even if Tommy managed to get up to his room and lock the door. She still needed to deal with this thing. This creature. This beast hunting her precious son as if he were a newborn gazelle on the Serengeti.
The pounding sound of footsteps filled the room. She differentiated her own tread from Tommy's. It wasn't due to pitch or distance either. Rather, she identified the genuine fright in her son's steps. He ran with an urgency exclusive to a horrified little boy, but still distant to that of a panicked mother.
Tommy cleared the living room in record time and reached the stairs. She'd listened to this tradition on a daily basis from the time that her son first started running. He never walked up the stairs. Sometimes he ran, other times he attempted to jump two steps at a time, and once in a while he seemed to outright float up to his room. He was a six-year-old boy full of unlimited energy. It was just how he was wired. However, she didn't hear anything of the sort as she slammed on the brakes just in front of the stairs for reasons she couldn't quite explain, and she didn't have the aid of her eyes with her flashlight pointed down at the floor.
She struggled to lift her hand to shine her light on Tommy. When she finally did, he stood still on the second step, looking back at her, terrified. Suddenly, she felt exactly what he did. She understood why he stood there frozen without needing to part her lips to ask. She also didn't need to shine her flashlight on the floor between them to know that it would be empty. Tommy felt this thing stalking him, and she'd never been more connected to her son than she was at this very instance. They shared the same heartbeat.
Ever so slowly, she raised her paralyzed hand to illuminate the wall to her left. An inch at a time. Seconds which felt like hours. The white wall was in need of a fresh coat of paint, but there was always something else to do on the weekends. A busy mom had more important things to worry about than covering little scuff marks. Now, those signs of imperfection fell even further down her list of priorities than ever before.
Higher and higher Wendy moved the light bursting from her crippled grasp. She scaled the remainder of the wall, soon finding her light pointing at the ceiling as her search continued. She felt it. It was here with them, evading their eyes in the same darkness which had spawned such a hideous specimen. It was at home in the shadows. It thrived in the dead of night.
And then she saw it.
Her light froze on the black spider directly above Tommy—all sixteen of its legs clamped on the white ceiling. It hung like a bat. It appeared larger in the darkness. Its many red eyes seemed tenfold, its fangs longer and more intimidating. It was as if Tommy's heat attracted it. It didn't want her anymore. It only wanted her son.
She'd carried Tommy inside her for nine months before dedicating almost the following seven years to her precious little boy. Now, as inconceivable as it seemed, a fraction of a second threatened to take it all away from her. She understood what this thing was capable of. Its outer-fangs seemed to possess a kind of paralyzing agent, while its inner-fangs excreted a type of acidic mist that ate away at whatever it touched. It was an abomination from another world. Something evil and unjust. It didn't belong on the same staircase as an innocent child who still asked his mother to check under his bed for monsters before tucking him in at night, but now she finally realized that monsters were indeed real. It wasn't her job to merely look under Tommy's bed with a knowing smirk reserved for a mother who was certain that she wouldn't ever find anything anymore. Now, it was her duty to protect him from those very same monsters that she'd once dismissed as childish fears.
She dropped the flashlight in her dead left hand—the jarring sound of plastic crashing down upon the wooden steps—and reached out and barely managed to slip two numb fingers inside Tommy's Batman-themed pajama shirt collar. She pulled with every ounce of energy remaining in her system. Too much was on the line to worry about bumps and bruises. Honestly, she would gladly live with Tommy breaking a bone from how aggressively she yanked him past her and sent him flying back into the hallway, because an injury wouldn't compare to what would happen if she decided to not react instead.
