killer spiders by lex sinclair

7/29/2019 Killer Spiders by Lex Sinclair

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Lex Sinclair was born in Neath, South Wales in 1983. He is the

author of more than twenty short stories and eight novels,

including, "Abducted" and "I Wish".

His poems have appeared in the South Wales Evening Post. His

first novel "Neighbourhood Watch" was published by Neil Miller's

Publications.


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Lex Sinclair


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Copyright Lex Sinclair 2010

The right of Lex Sinclair to be identified as author of this work

has been asserted by them in accordance with section 77 and 78 of

the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the

publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to thispublication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims

for damages.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any

resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the BritishLibrary.

ISBN 978 1 84963 290 4

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2013)

Austin & Macauley Publishers Ltd.25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LB

Printed & Bound in Great Britain


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To my Sister, Jodi; my brother-in-law, Jonathan; to myniece, Olivia and to my nephew, Leo.


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Acknowledgements

One may write a novel by himself, but one cant publish a goodnovel without a great publishing team. So, firstly, Id like to thank

Annette Longman; Anne Williams; Hannah Bealey and everyone inthe editorial and production departments at Austin & Macauley forgiving life to this book. Also to Alice Braga (the actress) forinspiration; Stephen King for his book On Writing (which I found

extremely useful), and Aida Birch for not allowing me to give upwhen times got hard. And, of course, to you, the reader, for taking achance, without whom the story ceases to exist.


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I have seen the dark universe yawningWhere the dark planets roll without aimWhere they roll in their horror unheeded,Without knowledge or lustre or name.

Nemesis


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Foreword

Most questions I get askedas does any writerare Where doget your ideas? How do you get an idea onto a blank sheet ofpaper? And what makes you sit down for hours at a timewriting a novel? amongst many other questions which I -for oneusually answer with a shrug and an introverted smile due to thefact that I have no adequate answer. But as far as Killer Spiders

is concerned, I do have an answer to the first question. And ifyou're one of those avid, need-to-know readers then what I'mabout to tell you might interest you.

In the room I rent, behind the bed is a space in the bottomof the wallapproximately Illwhere an old fireplace had beensituated. On windy nights it gets quite cold because of thedraught seeping through the tiny apertures. However, on summernights when it is warm and humid the draught can often be quite

pleasant. But it is not only the draught that manages to reach theinterior, save the woodlice; spiders often find their way in as welland it was on one of these hot, humid summer nights that Iwas lying in bed (still awake after foolishly opting to watchParanormal Activity on DVD by myself. I'm apt to gettingdreams at the best of times, never mind after watching a scarymovie) when my arms started tickling. I didn't think nothing of ituntil the same tickling sensation could be felt on my face (whichdidn't feel at all like a draught) and when I flicked the bedsidelamp on I leapt back in fright, swatting away the Daddy-long-legs, who scarpered off the bed and out of sight.

My fear of spiders is nowhere near as had as that of DamienRogak's arachnophobia. Nevertheless for the following twoweeks more and more spiders found their way into my room andwere spinning webs no matter how much vacuuming I did. It

also got my mind working, suggesting what if it hadn't been aharmless spider and some deadly kind of spider (like a BlackWidow) that wasn't satisfied with feasting on flies and other bugsbut had a mind similar to humans and had a purpose to


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become the most dominant species in the country and eventuallythe whole world.

There are thousands of breeds spiders. My initial notionwasn't as outlandish as I first thought. If this deadly, crossbreedcontinued to spawn in a deserted and ideal location nobody wasaware of until they were legion, what would the chances of smalltown residents' survival be? Not very good at best, I realised.Fortunately, nothing like this has ever occurred; although when Ibegan researching the topic of spiders, I did come acrossreported incidents which do appear with a fictitious twist inthe novel you are about to read. Another question came to the

forefront of my conscious in neon colours, flashing incessantly atme, If something like widespread panic did occur in the U.K.or anywhere else for that matterwere we prepared? And couldwe save ourselves?

Two years on from writing one of my most frighteningnovels, Killer Spiders, the response to both those questions is aresounding no.


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PROLOGUE

Plymouth, July 15th2009.

Robert Wilkinson finished his cup of tea and glanced at thegrandfather clock on the wall above the flagstone fireplace,surprised that it was already five minutes to five in the evening.The brass pendulum swung back and forth rhythmically; hecould feel his heavy-lidded eyes closing, and had he permittedhimself to close them, he would most definitely fall asleep right

there in the comfortable recliner: comfortable for sitting in withhis feet up, but not for sleeping in, as Kate had warned him onnumerous occasions. And, as usual, she was right. It wasnt goodfor his back, especially in his old age.

Was sixty-four old? he wondered. With an indifferent shrugof his shoulders, Robert deduced that it must be, or at least thathe would be considered an old fart by anyone in their thirties oryounger.

He stood up, spending a lot of exertion on such a minortask. He had to correct himself from staggering, similar to adrunk bundling their way through the pubs entrance onto thecold streets at closing time, like he had done many years ago,when he could consume ample amounts of alcohol.

Outside the sun had lost the battle to the foreboding, black-grey clouds, hanging low and ominous over their home and thetown below, ready to burst open at any moment and causeflooding on the busy roads.

Robert had one more job to do before dusk settled in andturned into night, rain or no rain. Kate had been nagging him forweeks to carry her flower pots out into the garden so she couldfill them with soil, so she could start growing tomato plants outof them.

Robert didnt see the point, but wisely kept his mouth shut

against his better halfs wishes. Anyway, it was good that Katehad a hobby. Furthermore, she had been asking for nearly twowhole weeks now. It was just the older he got, it seemed that


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there were more and more chores to do, and more errands torun. Of course, there werent, it was just exhaustion.

The retired lorry driver picked up his empty cup from thesmall table where the remote control and a Richard Mathesonpaperback sat within arms reach of the recliner.

As soon as he carried the pots outside and placed them onthe paving stones where Kate wanted, evenly around the square-shaped area that was their garden out back, he would returnindoors, pour himself another cup of steaming tea and read foranother hour, all warm and snug as the rain pelted the windowsand rooftop.

He sauntered out of the living room into the kitchen area,placed his empty cup on the worktop next to the kettle, thenheaded directly towards the back door, using the keys in thekeyhole to unlock and open the door. Robert thought he wouldbe hit by immediate fresh air. Instead he could feel the humidityoutside, realising that it was cooler indoors. But that would allchange when the rain thundered down on the small community,he thought.

The summers were a lot warmer due to the climate changeand global warning, regardless of whether or not the sky was aclear blue, and the scorching sun burning brightly from themoment it had risen until it slinked beneath the horizon again atdusk.

On the outside doormat, caked in soil and streaks of mudwere Roberts well-worn stinky Adidas trainers. Not only didKate refuse to let him bring them indoors where they wouldnt

be soaked in the rain, but she also refused to even clean them,because they stank, and attracted flies, as she put it. Thecomment did nothing for Roberts assurance that he was a goodhusband who cleaned up after himself, unlike some men whotreated their wives more like cleaners and servants. Yes, theywere a bit smelly, but no wonder: theyd been outdoors for thelast two years in all weathers. They were bound to stink.

Robert had to smile, though, remembering vividly the one

and only time Kate had given them a whiff and practically leaptbackwards, dropping the trainer, contorting her features in amelodramatic expression of disgust, similar to how a morereasonable persons face would look if you brought a dead rat


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into their home. She made such a fuss. She darted out of thekitchen where she was preparing supper, and ran upstairs to drawherself a shower because she felt dirty merely inhaling a quickwhiff, meanwhile, he had nonchalantly carried them outside andrested them against the wall, unable to stop himself from brayinguncontrollable laughter at her reaction.

He picked up the right trainer and slid that onto his footafter removing his slippers, then grabbed the left one and pushedwith force to get his foot through the gap, as opposed toundoing the laces and making life easier.

Robert didnt even manage to get his foot in all the way

when something so sharp and vicious bit into his big toe throughhis socks, sending a wild, fierce stinging, more powerful than anelectric shock right the way through him. He recoiledinstantaneously, too stunned to react for a moment, falling overonto the concrete, mindless to the back of his exposed headhitting the unforgiving surface, biting down on his lips,convulsively, his teeth breaking the wet flesh. He tried to scream,but then the neurotoxins in the unseen creatures poison

slammed into his brain like a sledgehammer. A warm, coppery-tasting liquid rushed into his mouth, drowning his teeth in aminute sea of blood, as he shuddered involuntarily on theground, jaw locking, legs bending, knees reaching his abdomenand then spasmodically jerking to their full length again.

In the fit of searing, paralysing agony, the last thing Robertsaw before his body relieved him from any more suffering was acreature sporting large, razor-sharp fangs, dripping black blood,

with hairy, overreaching legs and body with a predominantlyrusty-red, black and purple hue.

It seemed to stare at its vanquished foe unblinkingly.Robert twitched violently one last time, then became

motionless.


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PART ONE


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Chapter One

The News Headlines:

Britain faces mysterious, venomous spider invasions ashordes of alien bugs now thrive in our warmer climate!

Daily Mail 14thSeptember 2005.

Before the invasion of the new species of killer spiders, it wasjust a story in a national newspaper which had been printed outon page seven a brief account, no more than three hundredwords, ignored and forgotten about due to the top stories on thefront page and middle pages. After all, they were just spiders.Everyone knew what they were, and had seen them countless oftimes before. There was nothing unusual about them.

But unbeknownst to the British public, the new, deadlyspecies were hitchhiking in plants and food from America, NewZealand and Australia, transported into the country. This hadhappened inadvertently on previous occasions, but the insectswould often die in the freezing temperatures during the winter.However, now that the climate had drastically changed and thewinters were a lot milder, the imported wildlife adapted to theirnew surroundings, able to cope with their new environment byhiding during the winter, spawning more of their kind into amass number, ever-increasing in their hidden lairs, and survivingas the global warming took its effect.

Entomologists noticed this, and so did a few keenresearchers of the most deadly spider known to mankind theBlack Widow. In spite of this revelation, it seemed to gounnoticed by the press and public, who were more interested

with governmental issues and the conflict in Afghanistan andIraq. And, even in retrospect, no one could point the blame atanyone in particular for not paying heed to the cause of the


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pandemonium soon to unleash itself on the nations fear of theKiller Spiders.

But it wasnt a Black Widow attacking the residents of theUnited Kingdom. It was a new kind of arachnid a cross-breed,perhaps.

Sporadic reports of sightings of this deadly species ofspider were reported, yet still the press disregarded the stories forat the time, anywayfar more engrossing, juicy stories.

Taunton, May 31st 2006.

Clive Brooks used the long nail of his index finger to dig thecrust out of the corners of his weary eyes. He was sitting on thesofa in the living room looking at the Radio Times magazine hedtaken out of the rack, unable to sleep for the second consecutivenight. He loathed these frequent bouts of insomnia. Just lyingnext to Jackie, who was deep in her sleep, staring up at theceiling, wide awake, wondering why the hell he wasnt in the

slightest bit tired. To say it was annoying would be anunderstatement. No, it pissed him off, thats what it did.

When he was enduring one of his insomnia bouts, it usuallymeant he walked around during the daytime like a zombie in oneof George A. Romeros films, staggering around, unsteady on hisfeet, arms out in front of him, preparing himself for when hekeeled over and walloped himself good and proper, so he couldhave a nice multi-coloured bruise to add to his misery.

It wasnt quite that bad, he supposed. Nevertheless, at timeslike this, sitting in the living room, listening to the crows cawingoutside on the neighbours rooftops, announcing the first dimlight of a new day, Clive often thought that perhaps he ought toget his GP to prescribe more of those potent sleeping pills. Butafter last time, it didnt seem like such a good idea. Sure, he fellasleep, but when he closed his eyes he thought he could see whatlooked like forked lightning in his retinas. Then when he awoke,

he felt numb from head to toe, lethargic, not wanting to doanything except lie in bed, aware that if he closed his eyes againhe would sleep for another few hours, knocking his body clockout of its normal sleeping pattern.


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Still not the tiniest bit tired, Clive got up from the sofa,opened the Venetian blinds and gazed outside at the misty greysky. If it wasnt for the sticky heat he could have sworn it waswinter time outside.

Turning away from the window, Clive closed the TVmagazine, sighed heavily when he saw that it was five minutes tosix oclock, then ambled out of the room and ascended thestaircase as quietly as he could so as not to wake Jackie, who roseearly due to the fact that she fell into a deep dreamless slumberthe second her head touched the pillow.

He locked the bathroom door behind him, wanting some

time by himself while he made his toilet to contemplate whetheror not he ought to make an appointment at the doctors surgery,finally surrendering to medication once and for all.

Clive lifted the lid, pulled his pyjama bottoms down aroundhis ankles, took a seat and buried his head between his legs,clenching and unclenching his fist in fury for his unresponsivebody not doing what he commanded of it, for its own good.

The bathroom was a spacious room, which accommodated

both a large shower stall and a bathtub. In the corners of theroom there were small gaps in the floorboards for the pipes fromthe toilet. The kitchen was directly beneath the bathroom, andwhenever Jackie was in the bath or shower or even having adump, if Clive was in the kitchen he could hear what she wasdoing as clearly as if he were in the room with her.

In the furthest corner of the bathroom from the toilet,cloaked in the dimness, a long, black angular leg protruded

through the aperture, followed by another spindly leg, thenanother, until the rusty-red, black and purple monstrous spiderwith dagger-pointed mandibles and glassy, bulbous eyes emerged,silently, sneakily, watching its innocent prey at the other end ofthe bathroom, groaning inwardly, cradling his thumping head.

The predator waited with uncommon patience for the righttime to come out of the shadows and studiously approach themuch larger unsuspecting living being occupying the toilet.

The eight-legged venomous arthropod had an inexplicablecarnivorous appetite for human flesh unlike the other kinds of itsspecies which preferred plants and insects. It also had an


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instinctive voracious consciousness that constantly hunted outpossible prey.

The cunning, sagacious creature had targeted Clive as itsnext victim simply by casting its many eyes on him as he satpondering different techniques that might help to get him tosleep frequently.

Seeing its opportunity to scurry from where Clive wasunaware, the arthropod hastily scarpered towards the radiatorbeneath the window sill, using the porcelain bathtub as cover toget to the far wall, then across the skirting board behind thetoilet.

It was too large to climb the walls like a garden spider or adaddy-long-legs, but what it lacked in agility it made up for insize and venom. It closed and opened its mandibles, drippingwith saliva, creeping closer and closer to its intended target,anticipating the moment it sunk its pincers into meaty humanflesh, relishing the oozing blood leaking on the glossyfloorboards in a congealing pool.

The giant spider was within a couple of feet now, moving

stealthily, silently on its long, hairy legs, opening its jaw ready tosnap shut at the back of Clives leg just above the ankle, whenthe intended victim used wadded tissue from the roll on thedispenser to clean himself and then stood up.

Clive reached out to push downward on the lever to flushaway the excrement when he leapt back, terrified at the eight-legged, eight-eyed predator staring up at him, motionless, mereinches from where hed unknowingly been sitting with his back

to it seconds earlier. The thought sent frost to settle in themarrow of his bones, freezing him on the spot. His arm wasoutstretched in front of him, hovering, unsure of whether itshould flush the toilet or return to its side the same as the leftarm.

The happily married insomniac couldnt move, even thougha voice inside his head was screaming at him to, Get the fuck outtathere, right now, before it was too late.

And when he finally snapped out of his trance and took astep backwards, his legs felt like concrete boulders that had beensettling in the foundations. In his terror, he thought hed beenstanding stock-still, gaping at the grotesque creature for an hour,


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when in reality it could have only been twenty seconds at themost.

Slowly, studiously, Clive took tentative steps backwards,never once taking his bulging eyes from the unmoving thingwhich was watching him intently.

It wasnt until Clive had edged past the sink and wasglancing over his shoulder at the locked door that the spider tookits first step. His thudding heart now sprinted with the frightrushing through his anatomy, flooding his consciousness withbone-rattling dread. An army of workers inside his skull werechipping away at his sanity to the layers beneath that left

sufferers of traumatic experiences catatonic for the rest of theirlives in some cracker factory with bars on the windows,surrounded by an enclosing pine forest and a single-lane road.

Blindly, he grasped the metallic knob and his clammy palmslipped right off it, causing him to stagger for a spilt second. Inhaste, Clive unfastened the lock, snapping his head back andforth between the door and the skulking creature, which wasclosing in on him with every passing second.

His mouth was dry of saliva and sticky. He could feel hiscoarse tongue curling and uncurling, smacking his parted lips formoisture so he didnt end up swallowing the damn thing andchoking to death, the same way his young daughter had diedwhile swimming in a lake in south west Wales a few years ago.He recalled that moment when his face had prickled, flushing ascarlet-hue and the world lost its colour, went out of focus, as heprised open Annies mouth. He could see the small lizard sliding

down the tunnel of her throat before had the chance to reach inwith trembling fingers and stop it from disappearing and endinghis precious eight-year-olds life, merely because shed swallowedwater and started coughing and choking violently.

Clive yanked the door open on the second attempt,glimpsed at the gaining creature over his shoulder. He saw howclose it was and dived through the half-open doorway, slammingthe timber door shut just as the spider hurried on its many

spindly legs, crushing it between door and frame, splattering itsguts up the cream-coloured walls and onto the carpet outside,where Clive lay panting and laughing sombrely at the deadarthropod. One of the long, hairy legs broke off and fell


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soundlessly, spilling a line of black blood that sunk into the greencarpet.

His heart jolted when a shrill scream threatened to deafenhim permanently. It was only then that he saw his wife Jackiestanding on the threshold of the bedroom, staring at the crushedarachnid which was jammed halfway between the top andbottom of the bathroom door, flaccid, dead. At least she hoped itwas dead.

Clive tried to say her name but couldnt find his voice for afew moments and in the meantime he had to put up with thepiercing shrills that seemed to go on forever. He could see as well

as hear his thundering heart thumping against his chest walls,pulsating through his thin white vest, and it was that sight whichmade Clive sit up and grip his wife forcefully to reassure himselfthat the nightmare hed just been through was at last overthathe was safe; that they were safe. She pushed him away, swingingher arms, trying to fend him off initially, until he broke throughher defence and embraced her, their chests rising and falling farmore quickly than they ought to have been.

When the adrenaline coursing through his system ceased toflow like a flooded river in the midst of a storm, exhaustionseeped into his muscles. This lethargy made him move himselfand Jackie away from where they were positioned to theircomfortable bed and soft mattress, which welcomed him the waya passionate lover would after a long time apart. It was then andonly then that Clive felt sleepy.

Couple escape giant venomous spider attack at home!

The Sun, June 1st2006.

South West London, June 2nd 2006.

William McCarthy was leaning against the British Telecom

work van in his navy-blue overalls and scuffed Nike trainers,puffing on a Marlboro and taking sips of his cherry flavouredDiet Coke. Both of which had stained the edges of his teeth arusty brown. It didnt help that he often forgot to brush his teeth


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first thing in the morning and last thing at night like everyoneelse. His coal-black hair was turning various shades of ash-grey atthe temples and sideburns ever since hed been smoking a packof twenty a day, too.

But those were the least of his worries now, after what hedjust seen. The cigarette toppled out of his quivering hands andfell to the pavement by his feet. He stamped it out, glad that hewas out of the grounds where he and Terry Scott had just beento carry out maintenance work, where they had discoveredhordes of giant venomous spiders on the underground cables.

William had dropped his torch and had fled in blind panic

through the labyrinth of tunnels back to where theyd removedthe manhole covering. He had climbed the slippery ladder andexhaled deeply when he saw daylight and breathed fresh air,thankful to be out of the ground and as far away from thoseungodly creatures as he could.

They were huge! his mind screamed at him for the umpteenthtime since hed clambered outside. He relived the moment overand over again, against his will, knowing that this was something

he wouldnt forget as the years passed and old age eventuallykicked in. No, he would be telling young boysand anyone elsewho would listen this spine-tingling yarn for years to come,shuddering when he brought to mind the colony of arthropods,describing them in explicit detail to his avid listeners.

Terry had made a phone call to their superiors andexplained the situation. They were told to sit tight while theydecided how best to deal with these extraordinary set of

circumstances that had, without warning, fallen into their laps.As soon as his colleague and friend Terry had got out,

William had placed the manhole covering over the circular holeagain, just in case those hideous things managed to get out andattack them. He knew if he explained this to anyone, Terryincluded, they would think he had lost the plot and was beingparanoid. Hed normally agree with them totally, but neverthelesshe was willing to do whatever put his mind at ease, and if that

meant overreacting but being sure, then thats what he would do.He thought a cigarette would have helped to calm his frayednerves, but of course it hadnt done any such thing, except make


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him cough... as did the fizzy drink, only because he guzzled itmuch too quickly and spurted some over the side of the van.

He recalled the yellow circular light casting over a bunch ofthe soldier spiders, which were scuttling around and climbing allover each other, snaking in and out of the coiling cables. Scruffywebs and silken threads that were the spiders trip wire had beenproduced on the solid puddle ground and damp enclosing brickwalls and around the interconnecting cables. Yet there was also amassive intricately spiral web, unlike any other, each strandglistening from the damp, which was illuminated in the torchlight. The corners stretched from the horizontal mucus-covered

pipes overhead all the way down to the ground at a height ofmore than seven feet and a diameter of five feet. It was weigheddown in the centre and lower portions by the captives prey,mostly rats and mice.

Nesting at the centre of this gargantuan wire-strong webwas the biggest spider William or Terry or anyone else had everlaid eyes upon. The eight ruby-red glassy eyes were like miniaturesnooker balls or beads on an expensive necklace. The rusty-red,

purple and black sac was full and bulbous, and the creature wascovered in strands of hair, like that on Williams forearms. Theoutstretched legs had a span of up to 12-14cm.

Spread out evenly and purposely in the human-size webwere whitish pulsating cocooned egg sacs that resembledbaseballs. Whatever lay inside the eggs was pulsatingrhythmically, as though the occupant had already learned how toinhale and exhale explosively within its confines. And the harder

it breathed, the larger the egg would expand, until it poppedopen, leaking yellow mucus which dripped off the wiry web.

This, William knew without having to be told, was noordinary colony. This was something far more harrowing. Thespiders moved hurriedly on their eight legs, paying him and Terryno heed whatsoever, save for the queen sitting on her thronedead centre in the humungous web, staring at them unblinkingly.This was the sole reason why the hairs on their arms stuck up.

That was the moment William dropped the torch from unfeelingfingers, cloaking them in pitch darkness, and ran as fast as hecould, the same as Clive Brooks had done, escaping the intruderin his bathroom a year earlier; the same as the rats, fleeing their


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home after seeing others of their kind bitten and then sucked dryof all their blood until there was nothing left but a shrivelledform. His head was back, his arms and legs pumping like pistons,not daring to look back even once. He was solely focused ongetting the hell out of there while he still had the chance.

Terry came over to where he was using the side of the vanto keep a vertical base, pallid and nauseous. He rested a firmhand on the younger mans shoulder. Are you all right?

William nodded sheepishly. I guess, he said.You got out of there faster than Linford Christie! You left

me all by myself!

Only now that he was no longer underground with thosehorrible things did William realise his mistake, which could havebeen fatal to his friend and colleague. Sorry, he muttered. Ishouldnt have done that. I guess fear took over and I did theonly thing I thought best.

By leaving me in the dark? Terry asked. If I hadnt had myown torch on me or Id run out of batteries, I couldve andprobably wouldve died down there, thanks to you, Bill. If you

ever do something as foolish as that again, Im reporting you, andyoull either be transferred or most likely lose your job altogether.Do you want that? Huh?

William shook his head, looking at the ground, ashamed.Look, man, I know you were scared out of your wits So

was I, in case you stopped to notice. But what you did was stupidand reckless. If I hadnt seen those huge spiders, I couldvewalked right into that human-size web and got myself bitten,

which mightve been fatal. Next time, for Gods sake, keep yourcomposure and back up slowly, would you?

YeahAnd again, Im sorry for doing that. I didnt meanto leave you down there by yourself. I just wanted...

I know, Bill. Just think of the consequences before you doanything rash, though, okay?

As a peace offering, William offered Terry a sip of his DietCoke, which he took without hesitation and gulped greedily.

Then he wiped his lips dry, belched and handed William thenearly empty bottle back. Thanks.

So, whats happening now? William asked.


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I just phoned the boss, who has informed the big boys atthe top, and theyve told us to sit tight while they contact somespecialists. I think he said they were called Project-Ark, orsomething, who will investigate the matter before deciding whatthe best course of action to take.

Are they going to fumigate them? Theyve gotta fumigatethem! William appeared hopeful at this possibility.

Terry shook his head and held his arms out away from hisbody, shrugged, and said, not concealing his growing irritation, Idunno. All I know is theyre sending some world renownedentomologist along with this preservation team, who will mostly

likely handle those spiders and take them to a lab to performexperiments and God knows what on them to determine whatkind they are. Or some shit like that, anyway.

Ill tell you something, I may be no entomol-or whateveryou said, or spider fuckin expert, but I do know one thing, andthat is those werent any spiders Ive ever seen before in my life.

Nor me, Bill. Nor me, Terry admitted, turning his gazetowards the murky skies.

South Wales, 4th June 2006.

5:24p.m.

Damien Rogak had a long day. Being a litter picker for thecouncil wasnt what he had in mind for his career; hardly job

satisfaction, anyway. Nevertheless, unlike many other men andwomen his age, at least he had a job to go to in the morningsevery day, Monday to Friday, and he received a small but steadyregular income. He had to continuously remind himself to begrateful for that much, if nothing else. But picking up rubbishand disposing it into a plastic bag up and down the canal whichran through the town centre, the public parks and the derelictstreets, tower blocks soaring above, their tops disappearing into

the fog around the council estates where most kids deliberatelycut school to hang around the flats, vandalising brick walls withpaint spray, smashing car windscreens with stones, thenscampering away before anyone saw them and could prove


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without doubt that they were the perpetrator, was demoralisingsometimes.

As the moron kids got older their bad habits got worse,especially if there was no one to show them that what they weredoing was scandalous. Their rebellious desires were no longersatisfied by simply letting air out of a cars tyres and writingasinine comments in public toilets and phone boxes, such as,John Saunders sucks cock and takes it up the arse, same as his mother!Instead they turned to carrying switchblades in their jeanspockets, binge drinking and abusing their still-developing bodieswith cocaine and other illegal A-class drugs and substances.

Often when Damien was around these parts during the day,boys, girls, men and even women, some of whom were mothersand wives themselves, would call out to him, Oi, wanker! andtoss a chocolate bar wrapper over their veranda. Or sometimesthey would call him a twat or a poof to break the monotony.

Damien was used to their name-calling. His manager back atthe depot said it was normalthat all the litter pickers got it, butnot so much the rubbish men. As a result they would leave the

bins without tipping the rubbish into the back of the truck.Also, the rubbish men hardly ever saw anyone as they werecollecting bins at the break of dawn, whereas Damien and theother manual litter pickers would be doing solitary work aroundtheir usual route during the day when everyone was awake.

Anyway, all the security camerasthe ones that hadnt beendestroyed by the out-of-work moronsthat were placed high upon posts, monitoring everything from every possible angle in

case of any foul play, made Damien feel a little safer. And inmost cases, the idiots appeared to be either too drunk or toostoned to do any physical harm, yet it was better to have camerasaround and not need them than not have them and need them,he thought.

Even though the job was soul-destroying and monotonous,Damien knew it wasnt all that bad. After all, when the workingday was done, he had a life he cherished and a woman he loved

and would always love since ogling her for the first time incollege. From that moment on, Damien hadnt been able to stopstaring at Heathernor did he want to either. She was a thing ofbeauty in all its purity. He really believed that, too. There would


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be times when hed catch himself listening to her talking aboutsomething that under normal circumstances would bore the arseoff him, absorbing every single word, every feature and gestureshe made, soothed by her amazing heart-warming eyes whichseemed to search into his soul and bring out the good in him anddelete any trace of bad.

When a mans got love in his heart, there is no need for heaven, becauseas far as hes concerned, hes already there, he thought to himself, sittingbehind his second-hand Ford Escort. The endless queue oftraffic was moving at snails paceslower even.

It had started spitting with rain, dappling his windscreen and

windows with specks. Before long the black bulging cloudswould break and rain would pelt the boxes road users calledvehicles with marbles, threatening to splinter the windscreen,drowning him while he remained trapped in his seat.

As the red light finally changed to green and the trafficahead started moving forwards, Damien kept thinking about howmuch money hed spent on this box. Last week he had taken itinto Days service station for a MOT and full service. It had failed

the MOT and evidently required repairs, taking the grand total ofthe bill up to four hundred and eighty five pound. This didntinclude the advisories. It had blown to smithereens his plan ofbuying Heather an engagement ring. He knew how much shewanted one, regardless of the fact that they both believed thatthey were too young to get married , and not to mention theexpense. He had it all figured out, so he thought, until last weekthat was. He was going to take her out for a lavish dinner in

some fancy Indian restaurant and nonchalantly slide the velvetbox across the table to where she was sitting and take immensepleasure in seeing her beautiful eyes light up like a sapphire,sparkling in contrast to the vast blackness of the universe.

To make things worse, he even had to cancel at the Wok 2yup and the day he had booked off work. He kept thinking it wasbad omen, a sign that it was a mistake. But every time he ran thatnotion through his consciousness he contorted his face, shook

his head and disregarded it instantly as utter foolishness. Heloved Heather. There werent many things he was sure of in hislife, and never would be, he assumed , but this was something heknew unequivocally.


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You didnt need an English degree like Heather to know ifyou were in love or not. It was either a definitive yes or a no,simple as that. God had made that complicated thing easy soeven a moron, or as the derelicts called him, a wanker couldwork it out.

After a good twenty five minutes on the main road,bumper-to-bumper, Damien flicked the indicator signal andmade a left turn, then drove steadily up the steep incline to hishouse to get out of his overalls and have a nice hot shower. Hewanted needed to soak his head; soak it good and proper.And, with a bit of luck, it would rinse away his concerns, leaving

him without any nagging thoughts, so that he could enjoy theevening before turning in for the night.He brought the car to a halt on the bricked driveway behind

his dads Renault and killed the engine. From the passenger seat,Damien grabbed the handles of his backpack and lifted it with anaudible groan. His steel toecaps were too big for him to wearwhile driving, so he put them in his bag, although right now heregretted this decision because they seemed to weigh a ton. He

shut the door, locked it, then ambled around the front of the caronto the paving stones to the grand porch between the fourcolumns, unzipped the front compartment of his backpack, dugout his keys and let himself in.

His parents house was a sturdy, colonial building. Histrainers echoed on the hardwood flooring, always announcing hisarrivalnot that he had any plans to sneak off upstairs, but hemight if Heather had been with himto whoever was occupying

either the study to his left or the living room to his right.Every downstairs room had large entrances, not doorways,

there were no doors downstairs, enabling one to move throughthe house quickly. For instance, if Damien was in the living roomwatching TV, he could hear his parents talking in the kitchenlucidly in their normal voices in spite of the fact that he wasntlistening to them and was concentrating instead on whatever hewas trying to watch.

Even as a young boy, the French crystal chandelier hangingfrom the ceiling in the foyer, the epitome of a grand entrance,should have made him feel pompous, even though he consideredhimself to be nothing of the sort on the contrary. He hated


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catching the school bus home when he was younger, all hisfriends seeing him getting off at the plush suburbs, where theaffluent town residents lived comfortably on their lawyers anddoctors wages.

His dad, Adam, was a psychologist, and his mother, Sheila,was a chiropractor for the professional rugby team that playedevery other week at the twenty-thousand-seat stadium on theother side of the river at the shopping precinct.

It wasnt that he was ashamed of his affluent lifestyle.Damien had just wanted to meet people who didnt knowanything about his wealth and like him for who he was, not

where he lived, or how much money his folks earned.Fortunately, hed met Heather in college, and she had likedhim long before shed asked to see where he lived. That was sixmonths into their relationship. Shed only enquired becauseDamien had seemed to only want to come to her residence andnot his. She said it didnt matter if he was poor, which he laughedat raucously. Then he showed her his home and she understoodwhat he found so amusing. But even thereafter, Heather hadnt

changed towards him in any way. She always insisted on payingfor her own ticket when he took her to the cinema, or to at leastby them a Coke each, and never asked for extravagant gifts forher birthday, Christmas or Valentines Day as the years passedand their love for one another blossomed.

Adam had generously offered to pay for the repairs on hiscar, but Damien was very stubborn and adamant that he wantedto do all that he could to get by in the world without having to

turn to his folks wealth to help him out whenever there was anobstacle put in front of him. Neither did he do this to get respector admiration from his girlfriend. He did it because he realisedthere would come a time when he would no longer be able torely on his parents, and the sooner he started learning to dothings for himself on his own merit, the easier it would be in thefuture.

Sheila walked down the long, wide hallway, her cooking

apron tied around her slender figure, and smiled at her son whowas standing in the foyer looking tired from work. How wasyour day, hon?


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Same old thing, he said, sighing. Then he added, Imgonna have a shower. What times food gonna be?

Not for another hour. Your dads going to be late. Ill be inthe kitchen, kay?

Yeah, he said, and then ascended the staircase, using thebanister for assistance.

*

After hed had his shower and changed into a pair of khakitrousers and a plaid long-sleeved shirt, Damien returned to his

bedroom, sat down on his easy chair in front of the monitor andswitched the computer on.While he was waiting for the machine to load up, he used

the landline next on his desktop to give Heather a call. Not a daywent by when he didnt talk to his girlfriend.

It especially helped to hear her tender, calm dulcet tonesafter work. It helped him to relax, took the tension out of hismuscles and irritation from the forefront of his consciousness. It

didnt matter to Heather what he did for a living, whether he waspicking up litter, scrubbing toilets or driving sports cars all day,she loved him no matter what. That as any man in love wouldagree was a wonderful, indescribable feeling to have.Something to be cherished wholeheartedly.

Hello? the sweet voice asked.Heather, hon, its me, Damien said.Oh, hi! I was wondering when youd call. Is everything all

right?Well, apart from the usual, I guess so.Hows the car?It works, he grunted. Mind you, after all the expenses it

ought to. Although Im booking it in to have the advisories donein a month. My dad said it would be wise to have everythingdone now instead of leaving it another year, only to be told thatits irreparable. I know hes right but what with the car tax and

insurance coming up soon, I seem to be bleeding money until Idont even have enough to pay for petrol.

Heather knew not to mention asking his parents for ahandout. Damien would sell the car before he surrendered to


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doing such a thing. She respected the fact that he wanted to dothings for himself, but sometimes she wished hed swallow hismale pride and admit that he, like every other youngster his age,was struggling to meet the insurmountable demands that camewith adulthood.

Well, look on the bright side, she said, trying to soundoptimistic, When all the advisories have been done and the taxand insurance has been paid, your car will be as good as new.Not only that, it wont cost you twice as much if you leave itanother year I know thats easy for me to say, cause Ive onlygot a fartingmoped, but what your dad said is right.

Yeah, I know, he said, laughing at the wordfarting. Its justthe harder I try, the more the world seems to go against me. Imjust moaning really. More importantlyhow are you?

I cant complain, she said. Ive just been marking exampapers most of the day and now Im gonna put myfeet up, watcha load of crap on telly and chill out. Howbout you?

Just waiting for food, thenOh, I forgot to tell you sorry, I didnt mean to interrupt.

Its okay, he said.Remember you were telling me how there always seems tobe spiders crawling out of the old fireplace in your room? sheprompted.

Yeah.Well, according to Gemma, engineers discovered a rare

breed of deadly spiders underground. But when entomologistswent to investigate, most of them had disappeared from their

original hiding place. Anyway, theyre supposed to be poisonous!Damien told Heather numerous of times that he was scared

to death of spiders, even the little ones that hung motionlessfrom the ceiling or in their webs around the house.

He could watch almost any horror film ever made, and notonce was he even remotely afraid or unnerved. Sharks, beetles,rabid dogs, anything else in the world he could be afraid of andcautious around, but spiders made his insides crawl and caused

him to tremble uncontrollably.The worst he had seen was a daddy-long-leg spiders

shadow magnified grotesquely on his bedroom wall by the lightof his reading lamp. Damiens breath had caught sharply in his


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constricted throat that night as he flung back the quilt, bolted forthe door, bursting into his parents room, white as a sheet,pointing in the direction his room, incapable of coherent speech.

Of course it looked much worse than it actually was.Nevertheless, the humongous, distinct shadow, growing largeand more amorphous with each slow, deliberate step, sentneedles of ice through his entire body, as the spider flooded theback wall where his own shadow had been swallowed.

His dad had rebuked him for giving him and his mother ahelluva shock. Adams trepidation rapidly turned to anger, andin his anger he removed his slipper Damien thought his dad

was uncharacteristically going to strike him with it andslammed it down on the spider, crushing it on the mattress withone swooping blow, flattening it to the sheets.

There! Happy now? he barked, his face a scarlet hue, and ablue vein pulsing maddeningly.

Sorry, Damien had mumbled.Give me and your mother a start like that again and well

have a heart attack! How would you like if I came charging in

here at midnight, standing over your bed, making horriblechoking noises, huh?Damien gulped, feeling awful for startling his parents the

way he had.Ill look it up now on the web, he said, bringing himself

back to the present.He typed: Breaking news..! Poisonous spiders into the Google

search box at the top of the screen where the pulsing cursor was,

then waited for the green search bar to fill up and a new sitecame into view.

Rare species reported by engineers underground! theheadline read.

I found it! Damien said down the phone. Your friend wasright. He read out the headline to Heather. Then he read the

smaller script explaining in more detail about the venomousspiders.


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4th June 2006.

A work site in Lewisham was on red alert today after the remnants ofa colony of mystery spiders was reported to be living underground by BTengineers when they were carrying out maintenance work.

A BT spokesman said:Our engineers were not attacked, but we haveceased work at the site until we know exactly what they are.

A spider-web more than six feet tall and four feet wide had beenconstructed through one narrow passage, preventing workers to go any further.There had not been any of the creatures there initially.

Only a few spiders have been gathered safely by members of the Project-

ARK conservation team which aims to preserve endangered species. Theyhave informed the authorities that any attempts to fumigate the spiders couldbe illegal if they are found to be an endangered species and would spread them

further afield, making matters worse, Owen Nesbit claimed.The team of entomologists and scientists from Project-ARK will spend

the next few days studying the behaviour of the spiders by using electroniccameras and other modern technology.

The discovery of the large hairy rusty red, black and purple spiders,

with leg spans of up to 14cm, is being described by experts as extremelyexciting.World renowned entomologist Owen Nesbit, a highly-regarded member

of Project-ARK conservation team with a mission to save endangered species,said they can, and most likely will, attack and will not be repelled byconventional means. The species is most certainly venomous and themandibles are strong enough to penetrate the human skin.

He believes the humongous creatures are a new breed and must, at

all costs, be preserved.

Damien recited the story over the phone, becomingincreasingly unnerved with what he was reading and not likingthe thought of there being poisonous spiders bigger than hishand roaming the country freely, multiplying in the hundredsthousands!

Damien? Damien?He snapped his unsettling thoughts off and brought his

mind back to Heather again. What? Sorry I just zoned outthere for a moment.


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Are you all right?Yeah. Fine. That sounds pretty creepy about that new kind

of spider species, though, doesnt it?I guess.Youguess?Well, itsnot as if were ever gonna see them. Theyve all

been taken to some science laboratory to be experimented on dayand night.

Damien frowned. No Didnt you listen to the report?They said that by the time they sent a qualified team down thereto gather them, most of the spiders were gone. Its as if they

knew that people were coming to cart them off and left theirhideout for someplace else.I doubt they did it deliberately, Dame. They were probably

scared just as much as those BT guys and took off for one oftheir other lairs in the underground tunnels. After all, thosetunnels go on for miles underground, dont they?

Damiens skin rippled from the nape of his neck to thesmall of his back. He jolted in his seat as though he had sat down

on a joy buzzer. He hadnt thought that the spiders would havemore than one lair. Contemplating what his girlfriend said ignitedan array thoughts and notions in a shower of firework sparks inhis overactive imagination. Yet he realised that this wasnt merelyimagination, the thoughts of there being a labyrinth of tunnelsfor miles and miles with innumerable niches and dead ends ideal places for constructing man-sized spider-webs wherecolonies of very dangerous spiders could reproduce again and

again and again, until they became a legion.There could be thousands! his mind screamed at him. Thousands

of venomous spiders living underground spawning as Im sitting here in mybedroom visualising it happening.

Are you sure youre feeling all right? Youre acting awfullystrange. Heathers soft, tender voice doused the graphic imagesin his minds eye, washing them away, but only temporarily.

Yeah. Im just a little tired, thats all. He paused, not

knowing what else to say. Listen, Ill call you tomorrow afterwork, if you want?

Okay.


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Heather usually slept over his house one night over theweekend. That was the best thing about still sleeping in a bunkbed, he thought with a wry smile. His parents would be listeningout for them in the night, making sure there were no constantcreaking noises, or soft moans and groans emanating from hisbedroom during the night, which was fair enough. But they alsocut him some slack. After all, he was twenty-three and could havegreedily taken a big handout from them, bought a place of hisown and had Heather sleeping in his bed every night. The respectDamien gave his parents was reciprocated, which was rare in thisday and age.

He said his goodbyes to Heather, placed the receiver backon the handset and leaned back in his easy chair, stretching hisarms and legs, yawning loudly. Then he used the cursor to hit theX in the top corner of the screen.

Heather had been right in what shed said: it wasnt as if hewas ever going to see these deadly creatures and if he did itwould be at a zoo behind a soundproof pane of sturdy glass.

He shut the computer down, flicked the mains switch and

ambled downstairs when his mother called him for dinner,forgetting his worries and taking Heathers adviceHeather, however, in time, would be proven wrong.

killer spiders by lex sinclair

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