Dead Weight 

It was perfect. The threads were milky white. The angles were crisp and defiant. The concentric circles evenly spaced, creating a hypnotic effect. The iridescent strings called him near, but when he ran his leg along the lowest thread, the magnificent web shuddered and wafted into a deflated, cream-colored pile.

The trance broke, and feelings of confusion and violation rippled through his small body. Who put this here? This is my windowsill, and I most certainly did not weave that. I’d remember weaving the most beautiful web ever constructed. He furrowed his eyes together in a last moment of perplexity, and then resided to his usual business. 

He spurt threads out of his backside directly onto the sill, creating a small ball of sticky webbing. With it, he meticulously moved across the windowsill, using the ball of webbing to pick up crumbs, dirt, and dust. When finished, he admired his spot-cleaning and scampered down the sill, down the wall, down the dishwasher, and onto the floor. 

He meandered over to the web he’d set the evening before behind the trash barrel. Hidden by the dirty white bin, in the corner where the wall and side of the cabinets met, was a lovely web. But as he neared it, he felt a twinge of annoyance knowing his handiwork couldn’t compare to whoever crafted the web he’d woken up to this morning. 

Whether or not his weaving was perfect, it did the job. It captured two flies: one’s legs frantically wriggled every which way, but the other was frozen. Satisfied enough with his catch, he snacked on the still fly for a bit. After, he crawled on top of the still-squirming fly and shot a web at its black back. With his two middle legs, he began spinning the fly around, twirling it in his threads until it was wrapped like a mummy — motionless, dead. 

He’d save this one for later. As the thought finished, his quadruple peripherals caught something moving under the kitchen table. Its legs whispered across the floor and its little body hovered just above the ground. Another spider. Another spider? Another spider! He’d never seen another spider. He sort of always knew there must be others, but in his house? In his kitchen? Leaving webs on his windowsill? He didn’t like it. So he retreated toward his catching corner and slid to the left to conceal himself behind the trash barrel. He had a million thoughts swinging around, but not a single one would sit still enough for him to think it properly.

After what felt like hours, but was certainly only a minute or two, he crawled past his catching corner and up the side of the counter. He passed the flour and the sugar and the coffee and the spices and the toaster. He crawled over the stacked dishes beside the sink and up to his cozy sill. He settled into the tiny corner of the window where he liked to sleep, and slowly dozed off while wishing he’d never see another spider as long as he lived. 

When he awoke about an hour later, an iridescent haze blurred his vision. As his surroundings came into focus, so did the web that encased him in the corner. In a panic, he popped up, detaching the newly spun web from the sides of the sill. He quickly crumpled the web up in his legs and set it to the side, spinning one way, to see who the mysterious weaver was, and then the other way —

“Hey!” she hung upside down from a half-spun web she’d started at the top of the window. Bewildered, he took a few frantic steps back and stared. “You broke free. Way to go, not that it was hard.” 

She clearly tried to trap him. She clearly planned to eat him. He’d never thought about cannibalistic spiders, but here was one in front of his eyes, in his house. How do I get away? His eight eyes flicked downward to the left at the sink. Maybe I could escape down the drain? But his home, his sill. He took another few steps back. 

“Okay…” she made a disgusted look at him and rolled all her eyes. He was completely frozen. He couldn’t have formed a word in response if he’d wanted to. 

“Well, see you later, I guess…” she murmured while propelling herself all the way down from the top of the window into the sink, where she crawled up the side and down to the kitchen floor, and disappeared along the cabinets. 

Oh no. Will I see her later? Is she going to try and catch me again? Is she hunting me? He didn’t know what to make of that, but he once again made a little wish for it to be his last encounter with a spider. They seem difficult to deal with.

Just then, lights flooded the kitchen through his window, then clicked off into darkness. The front door flung open and Tallher threw an armload of bags onto the living room floor. It’s Tallher! His butt felt tingly and he sprinted to the edge of the sill and then launched himself on top of the fridge so he could see her. She was moist and redder than usual as she struggled with the bags. He watched her, all his eyes gleaming with adoration. 

And he perched himself there, admiring her as she shoved a variety of colorful items into the fridge, only to take about half of the same ingredients back out and place them on the counter. She chopped, sliced, buttered, sautéed, stirred, and served something; he couldn’t care less what it was. Looking at her finished work, she sighed and glided over to the sink. Bubbles frothed, water steamed, and in no time, all the dishes she’d stacked in the sink were dripping wet, squeaky clean, and sitting on a towel.  

The front door went sailing open again. This time, the wind from the door’s motion blew in his direction and he was sent sailing, just for a moment, onto the stacked pages of a grimy cookbook that sat atop the fridge. He quickly collected himself and returned to his perch to see who caused the gust, who he knew caused the gust. It was Tallhe! His butt tingled again as Tallhe made huffing and puffing noises as he walked toward Tallher and smushed his face against hers. Why do they do that? 

Together, Tallhe and Tallher grabbed their bowls of something and sat on the couch. He watched them for a bit, loving how they bared their teeth at one another and made riotous noises in unison. 

Eventually, thirst overtook his contentment, and he crawled down to his sink for a drink. Unfortunately, Tallher had wiped the sink dry. He knew she did this sometimes after making her somethings. No big deal, I’ll go to the big bowl. 

The big bowl was, what he guessed, their emergency reserve of water. It sat on the floor, and Tallhe and Tallher were always sure to fill it up, even if it wasn’t yet half empty. He went there when the sink was dry. The only problem was so did Animal.

Nevertheless, his thirst hounded him, so he traversed the kitchen floor until he reached the mint green bowl with dribbles of water encircling it. He went up the side and carefully lowered his mouth down to the water’s surface, holding onto the rim with his legs. 

“Hey!” 

His body tensed. Looking up, he saw her, again. Her slender legs tip-toed along the rim on the other side of the bowl. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m never coming to the big bowl again. He made a pact with himself to sooner die of thirst than return here. Before she could say anything else to him, a gargantuan shadow enveloped the two spiders and the big bowl. It was Animal. The sloppy beast bent its neck down and with its absurdly long, pink appendage, created tidal waves in the bowl. 

Swells of water ran over the bowl from every side and fat droplets sprang up all around them. He lost his grip on the rim and slipped into the water, being flipped over twice by waves that came with no pause in between. The third wave washed him over the edge and he skated a few inches across the floor, drenched and fatigued. The droplets continued to splatter, so with what energy he had left, he dragged himself beneath the small table beside the big bowl. A second to breathe. 

“That was rough,” the unfamiliar spider piped. 

He wearily lifted his head to look at her. “Yup.”

“Hey!” Why was she always yelling that at him? “You talk! I thought maybe you just weren’t friendly.”

“I guess, I’m not friendly. But I can talk.” he grumbled, still recovering from his dip in the bowl, still confused as to why she was here talking to him. “Who are you?”

“Cirie.”

“Okay, but why are you here?”

“What do you mean? The same thing you’re doing here, I guess. Roaming. Exploring. Not spending my whole life in the basement,” she said wistfully, looking up at the window. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

“So… where did you come from?” he tried to clarify. 

“The. Base. Ment,” she snapped in three sharp syllables and flipped her head three times in the direction of the stairs in the kitchen. He knew they led down because Tallher and Tallhe went down there often, even though Animal never did. He’d never thought much about what was down there. Why would he care? So, he asked her what was down there to care about.

“You mean, you’re not from the basement?” She asked, and he shook his head self-consciously. “You just live up here? All alone?” She pressed him. He hesitated, considering Tallher and Tallhe, wondering how she could think he was alone when they were around, but then nodded slowly. “That’s… weird. I mean, it’s cool. What’s your name again?” she asked. 

My name. My name? A name? He had a name, obviously. Everyone has a name. He frantically thought of what his name was, because of course, he had one. 

“Jun. I’m Jun,” he tried to say confidently, but it came out like someone practicing a new language. 

“Jun. Juuun. jjjjUN,” she sang to herself, letting the name seep into her mind. “I like it. I’m Cirie. If you’re not from the basement…” she tried to work it out in her head, “... do you know any other spiders?” 

If spiders could blush he would have. He felt embarrassed, something he hadn’t experienced before. “I don’t need to know other spiders.” He retorted. Noticing this was a sore spot, Cirie softened her tone. 

“That’s true. You don’t need other spiders.” An expression he couldn’t decipher flashed across her face. “Honestly, they’re just dead weight. That’s why I left the basement. They were all snores down there. But me, I’m on a mission,” she moved toward the edge of the table they were under. Animal had gone back to her bed. She laid her head down on her paws and watched the two spiders move around like a spectator lazily following a Wimbledon match. “I’m going to find a new house,” Cirie declared, pausing for Jun’s reaction. 

His face contorted, “Why would you want to do that?” he asked. Her face turned into an exaggerated frown.

“Why would you not want to do that?” She answered, a smirk sliding up her face. Jun could actually think of many reasons why he didn’t want to do that. Who would clean his sill while he was gone? What if this new house didn’t have a sill? How would he tell Tallher and Tallhe where he was going? Or when he’d be back? He didn’t answer her question. He didn’t think she wanted an answer, or, at least not his answer. 

❊

While he had no desire to leave his house and sill and Talls, he found Cirie’s company increasingly enjoyable. She wove her glorious, skillful webs and chatted about the adventures she yearned for while he cleaned up his sill each morning and set his traps each night. She would always lay out her plan for making it to the next house while he twisted his leftover flies into mummies. But every morning when he woke up, she was there, weaving another impossibly perfect web that glistened in the sunlight. 

Weeks went by, and the air turned warmer. Tallher and Tallhe had been different lately. The kitchen was full of cardboard boxes and things constantly being moved. Things that hadn’t been moved since Jun had lived on the sill. He didn’t understand what was happening, and his uneasiness was only amplified by the unsettled feelings he picked up from Animal. 

Slowly, the boxes started disappearing. Jun thought maybe things were going back to normal. His gut told him differently. But Cirie saw this strangeness as her chance to explore. She shared her plan to crawl into one of the cardboard boxes and wait until they took it wherever they took everything.

“What!? What if they’re tossing these in water or fire or something?” Jun was incredulous, but also couldn’t think of something satisfactory they might be doing with the boxes. How could she be so insane? He began to think of living on the sill without Tallher and Tallhe coming home every day or Cirie filling the silence with her grand dreams or Animal pattering through the house. He didn’t like it. 

“I think it’ll all work out,” she said casually, and then skittered up the window to craft one of her illustrious webs. 

For the next day or two, Jun watched the boxes leave the house, one by one. He looked out the window and saw Tallher and Tallhe placing boxes in the metal contraptions they took to and fro. Maybe Cirie could go with them. Maybe I can go with them, too! His butt got all tingly and all his hairs stood erect. Despite not having wings, he practically flew from the sill down to the big bowl to tell Cirie the good news.

His excitement elated her, “I’m so glad you’re coming with! I was thinking about stowing away in that little one right there,” she lifted a slim leg and pointed toward one of the smaller cardboard boxes on the floor near Jun’s catching corner. Jun took note of the box and then nodded at Cirie. They agreed to meet back there when the sun came up. And they did. 

Cirie sauntered into the box and Jun, who had spent all night cleaning his sill and clearing his catching corner, looked around his kitchen thoughtfully, and then hopped in the box beside Cirie. His butt was buzzing now, practically thumping. 

It wasn’t long before Tallhe scooped up the box and brought it outside. Jun, Cirie, and the miscellaneous contents of the box all shifted around as he walked, and then the movement came to an abrupt stop as the box thumped down. We must be in the car! New home, here we come! 

Jun was antsy and jittery but tried to be patient, waiting for the car to move and then Tallher and Tallhe to bring them inside their new home, where he could hopefully find a nice, comfy sill to settle on. But nothing happened. For a long time. Eventually, Cirie had had enough and decided to peek outside the box. When she came back down, she looked angry. “We’re just sitting out front,” she huffed. 

Confused, Jun climbed up to take a peek, and he realized they were just sitting out front. He climbed back down, puzzled, and Cirie began brainstorming what they should do now. “Should we go back to the house? No. I don’t want to.” she said. All Jun could think was how badly he’d love to go back to his sill and pretend this never happened. He’d been excited, but now, he felt overwhelmed by the whole situation and longed for the indoors.

“I know! Let’s go to the house beside our house and —” as Cirie was eagerly briefing Jun on their new mission as she thought of it, a beastly sound came from outside the box. It was a screech, then a grumble, then a rumble, then a roar, then a squeak, and then it all happened over again. Before they could question it, the box was heaved upward, and Jun, Cirie, and the random contents were thrown to one side. They tumbled down and hit the cardboard wall before they knew what was happening. 

As they tried to find their footing, the box was flung and landed with a crunchy squish. With the box lying sideways now, they could see out to the street easily. Jun looked to the left and saw the house, his window practically at eye level. Why are we up so high? He climbed to the edge of the box and was met with an assortment of items — smelly, broken, dirty, slimy items. They were surrounded by metal walls on three sides and the floor was covered in garbage. His brain went a million miles a minute trying to figure out where they were and why, and then it clicked. The big green machine that lifts up the bins! It happens all the time; he sees it happen right outside his window. The problem is that the big machine seems to always take things and leave, and he didn’t want to leave in that loud machine.

“Cirie! We have to move!” He yelled to her as she looked around in bewilderment. Without hesitation, mouth agape, she was on his hind legs, following him closely. He scrunched his body down, tightened up the muscles in his legs, and sprung himself from the box onto the ledge of the green machine, and Cirie bounded right behind him. The moment they landed, the machine let out a massive rumble and lurched forward, taking them with it. In a panic, Jun threw himself off the metal ledge toward the pavement, Cirie not far behind. 

They landed safely on the black pavement of the street, right in front of their house. Jun’s butt was pounding and he felt violently exposed out in the street.  He turned to look at the house. Both the metal boxes were gone. There was no sign of Tallher or Tallhe or Animal. 

“I think we should go back inside the house. I — I —,” he couldn’t finish the sentence. “We should go inside,” and he started toward his home.

❊

The path back to the house was a long one, and they took their time. They enjoyed the sunshine and even though they were wary of the birds hopping about on the lawn, they basked in the freedom of the outdoors. 

“This is magical,” Cirie whispered at one point as they walked by a dead bumblebee on the ground. Jun chuckled at her wide-eyed look, and though he didn’t say a word, he thought it was magical too. Maybe she was right. Maybe there were reasons to leave the house. To go to new places. 

When they finally made it inside, slipping through the tiny crack at the bottom corner of the front door, Jun felt like he had returned from war. His body sore and head hazy from the sun. Side by side, they clamored up the kitchen cabinets, down into the sink, back up the sides, and onto the safety of the familiar sill. 

As they hunkered down into a corner to rest, Cirie sighed, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe there is no reason to leave this kitchen,” and her breathing steadied as she drifted to sleep. He moved a little closer to her, and put his head down to rest.

Suddenly, Jun was woken up by the back of the front door banging against the wall. Tallhe? Tallher! They came back! But instead, two unknown women in bright pink shirts walked in, carrying an arsenal of supplies. For what? Jun didn’t know. Without uttering a word to one another, the two seemed to enact what Jun assumed was their pre-determined plan of action — divide and conquer. 

One went to the living room with a large device that had a string she attached to the wall. He’d seen Tallhe use something similar, a machine that whirred and moved across the floor,  but this one was much bigger. The other woman came into the kitchen and set a basket with bottles on the counter. He had no idea what was happening, but he wasn’t too worried at the moment. He felt like, as long as he had his sill and Cirie, it’d all be fine. 

From the living room, Jun heard a catastrophic noise, a whirring, a purring, a stomach-turning roar. He couldn’t think; the sound swallowed his brain. All of a sudden, the pink-shirt lady was in front of his sill, inches away, a bottle in hand. Tiny droplets hit his back. He was on fire, then freezing, burning again, scalding, combusting. He writhed in pain as the chemicals melted through his exoskeleton. The searing burn and overwhelming roar from the living room stunted him, but the pink-shirt lady bore down on the sill with a white cloth, and he realized they had to move now.

He turned to Cirie, in her corner, to tell her to run. But she was motionless, drenched in the agonizing liquid. All her eyes stretched open wide and stuck. Her legs still curled under her from her slumber. Her head tilted slightly toward where Jun had laid. Frantic, he shouted her name over and over and crawled behind her to try and push her forward. But when his legs touched her they lit up with fierce pain, as the liquid dripped off her. He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay on his sill and stay with Cirie and wait for Tallher and Tallhe and Animal to come back. But he knew he couldn’t, as the pink shirt lady slammed her clothed hand down on the other side of the sill and began to push a small wave of the burning liquid toward him. 

He leaped into the sink and hid in the drain until she was gone. And then he stayed longer. And longer still. He knew that when he crawled out, she wouldn’t be there. His ledge would reek of the substance that killed his only friend. He thought of how Tallher had gently wiped his sill and despised this pink-shirt lady for her atrocities. He thought of how Tallhe sweetly scooped him away from the waterfall. He thought of Animal sniffing him with her wet nose or sleepily watching him crawl around. They were all gone. Where could he go now? Twinges of pain ran through him. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted Tallher and Tallhe and Animal. He wanted Cirie. 

Part of him wanted to stay there, in the drain, and just wait until death came from hunger or thirst or liquid sprayed by pink-shirted ladies. The other part of him wanted to be more proactive and go back to the sill to roll around in the putrid substance until he died. But a third part of him won. 

He glacially emerged from the drain. He stood facing the sink wall for several moments, avoiding the sight of what he knew was certain but hoped he’d imagined, before turning around to look a the corner of the windowsill. Empty. He let out a painful, grieved sigh. The sobs rolled out of him like thunder, long and heavy and hard. His whole body drooped and his legs felt weak. The vile liquid left his back sore and his heart broken.

Still sobbing and burning with pain, he crawled to the floor and across the kitchen.

He reached the stairs he’d seen Tallher and Tallhe go down countless times, and seen Animal sit at the top of and stare down for hours. He didn’t want to be alone anymore, and he started his descent toward the basement. The. Base. Ment.