Jennifer watched in disbelief as the mangled remains of the spider she ’d crushed five minutes earlier lazily floated to the surface yet again. She hated spiders. Big ones, hairy ones, yellow ones, black ones, it didn’t matter which species or where she encountered them, they terrified her without exception. A cold chill crept down her back as she flashed back to distant, unpleasant memories which she struggled with regularity to suppress.
The wolf spider glared at her with its multiple eyes, where it sat menacingly on her chest, inside the tent. She still remembered its tiny face, completely void of emotion, as if pondering how to digest prey so much larger than itself. She thought of the time she nearly swallowed the dull yellowish house spider that had secretly scurried onto her plate and lodged itself between the potatoes and the corn. The fear she had then remained undiluted by time. The revulsion towards spiders of all kinds festered and grew in her like a cancer.
And yet she felt foolish, even childish, about her phobia. Here she was, a grown woman of thirty-six scared shitless by an animal no bigger than a penny, and probably weighing less than one, too. Being single didn’t help. Not having a man around the house to take care of small but unpleasant duties such as crushing spiders did have its drawbacks. So over time, she was forced to handle things by herself regardless of how much she disliked them. She looked down into the toilet bowl.
It still floated about, oblivious to the distress it was causing. She reassured herself that it was undoubtedly dead, crumpled into a tiny, lifeless ball but the fact did little to ease her mind. Why wasn’t it going down? Why did it merely move back and forth in its cold, watery grave? She wondered if maybe there was something wrong with the toilet itself. Of course not! It was brand new, only two days old. One-hundred and seventy five dollars new. The plumber who installed it was a rather odd one though. He couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds and his teeth, the four he did have, were several shades of brown. His nose put Pinocchio to shame and his eyes reminded her vaguely of an iguana’s, bulging and always moving. But his price was good compared to the other prices she got, and he was in and out of her front door in less than an hour.
She decided to flush one more time to see if the arachnid would finally swirl down to oblivion. The wasting of the water would undoubtedly bother her to a small extent but what else was she to do? She didn’t want to call the plumber back for such a trivial matter, nor did she wish to embarrass herself by calling her father or brother, or anyone else for that matter.
She watched again as the water smoothly flowed down into the small void of the toilet, leaving in its wake the waterlogged remains of the spider.
“This is ridiculous!“ she shouted to the empty room. “What is going on here?”
The spider slowly floated back and forth in its watery grave. Its legs were curling up under its small body, giving it a resemblance to a tiny umbrella. Turning around, Jennifer flipped off the bathroom light and walked briskly into the kitchen. She was just going to ignore it. It wasn’t in her nature to turn her back on problems but this was an exception. Besides, what more could she possibly do? The thought of fishing the creepy little thing out definitely was not an option, and flushing the toilet again obviously would not work. But there was one small fact that she hadn’t taken into consideration; eventually she would have to use the toilet. This unpleasant scenario played itself out in her mind several different ways, each as bad as the one before. She finally conceded that she would have to dispose of the spider one way or another. Strainer in hand, she slowly forced herself to go into the bathroom to confront her fears.
It was still there, somewhat bloated now by the water, which made it look even bigger than before. She steadied her hand as best she could and took a deep breath. The spider eventually settled into the mesh, glistening grotesquely in the light. Jennifer pinched her nose and slowly turned. The trash can in the kitchen seemed a mile away. Carefully, she took one step, then another, and yet another, holding her breath as drops of water sprinkled on the hardwood floor. She felt a great rush of relief when she finally tossed the beige, plastic strainer into the trash can. It wasn’t like her to throw out a perfectly good strainer, but she could not bear to touch it again after it had the spider in it.
A feeling of triumph came over her. She had done it! She had managed to face her fears and defeat them! And now she could relax for the remainder of the day confident in her strength. She washed her hands thoroughly, hoping to remove any residual traces of the spider. Then she poured herself a glass of orange juice and began to walk into the family room to watch some television.
The shards of glass sliced into her feet and ankles as the acidic juice burned the cuts. Now she understood. Now she knew why the spider would not flush down the toilet. Now she comprehended everything, although she wished she didn’t. It would have been easier that way. Somehow less painful, less impossible.
The thing sloshed noisily down the hallway smashing various sized tentacles into the walls. It completely blocked her path to the front door and somehow she knew that it was aware of it. She stood frozen in terror as it lumbered towards her rapidly. It was very, very hungry and was not about to let prey her size get away.
She looked past the thing into the bathroom on its left. Inside the room she was able to confirm what she already knew: a large, empty space greeted her eyes, marked only by a four inch wide hole, rimmed with a plastic flange. The thing shot out a tendril with lightning speed. It began to mechanically draw her to it as if she were hooked on a fishing line.
She knew what it would do with her; apparently it did not like the taste of spiders.