Phobia
Two sun-bronzed eight-years-old ragamuffins, dirt magnets, bark-stained, scabby-kneed, free and wonderfully contented. Cars a rarity, the streets of our estate a playground. Endless summer days, hot and sunny. Breakfasts rushed so we could be out. Outside. Free. Every minute precious. Rushing in, gulping meals and back out, out until the hunger gnawed at our stomachs and forced us to refuel.
Sometimes a little gang of us, around a dozen, sometimes a few and sometimes just me and Chris. We’d set up a cardboard box as a wicket and play cricket, or we’d hold mini Olympics with milk bottle tops as medals, or race carts imagining them as Roman chariots. Always on the go. Playing all day until it got too dark to see. Sometimes Chris and I would roller skate, walk around on stilts, bob on pogos, climb trees, build dens or play tennis for hour after golden hour. On occasion my sister and a few others would play block or rounders with us. The older boys taught us to ride bikes, fire homemade catapults, spit cherry stones, scrump peaches and flick our football cards at walls for swapsies. We’d play kingy with them and thrill as they hurled tennis balls at us with all their might. Life was full. Exciting. Idyllic. Bruises were part of the deal.
This particular day we were playing hide and seek in David’s garden. That’s when it happened.
Giggling and trying to be quiet we hid but were useless. The older boys always pounced and teased us unmercifully. We were their playthings. But that was OK. We looked up to them. Sought to emulate them. Our day would come. Being with the older boys was exciting.
Outside the back door of David’s was a white enamel bucket with a dark blue rim. The picture is imprinted in my head. Somebody noticed that there was an enormous dark brown hairy house spider trapped in the pail, so big its legs actually touched all the sides at once as it sinisterly squatted as still as a deadly tarantula.
We all had to peep, daring each other to come near and peer into that bucket. The older boys baited us, teasing us. Jostling. Pushing. Nobody had ever seen a spider so big. Shudders raced through me, my heart thundered but I had to look. Eyes wide and mouths open, we peered at it. So huge. So hairy. And those long legs. Terrifying yet intriguing. We couldn’t drag ourselves away and kept sneaking back for another look.
When one of the boys poked it with a stick we shrieked but were frozen like statues. Intrigued. Paralysed. The massive beast burst into action, scurrying around as lively as a scared rabbit, its legs scrabbling, trying to gain purchase on the smooth enamelled walls. All of us consumed by the horror, the thought of it gaining traction and shooting over the rim, darting towards us like a nightmare unleashed. Mesmerised, held partly by magnetic fascination and part primitive terror, we were trapped in its thrall. We had to watch as the boy teased it into frenzy.
Our shrieks and screams and naked dread seemed to encourage the older boys. They were excited by our reaction, our terror. To our complete disbelief one of the bigger boys darted his hand into the bucket and grabbed that huge spider. That was it. The spell was broken. In blind panic we ran. My mind was shrieking in my head. I seemed to know what was going to happen.
Chris was streaking ahead of me as we hurtled up the side of the bungalow and out into the street, screaming, panicking. Desperate to escape. We fanned out as the bigger boy pounded after us holding that huge spider out in front of him. Delighting in his power. Drunk on our terror. We were no match. He charged around chasing us down, gleefully threatening, thrusting the spider towards us, leering and chortling at the top of his voice as we frantically screamed and raced around in circles, searching for escape. He easily outpaced us, waving the spider towards our faces, buoyed up by our hysteria; the naked terror of our wide-eyed expressions, our desperate wails.
Chris was always faster than me. He careered ahead darting away. I could hear the boy behind. Catching up catching up, almost upon me. His guffaws and ecstatic yells resounded in my ears. The excitement in his voice a spur to my terror. I knew what was going to happen. I knew. Frantic, I ran and weaved. Shrieked and bobbed. No matter how frantic, I was no match. I could not escape. He’d selected me. Grabbing my shoulder he spun me round gleefully thrusting the spider towards my face. I saw Chris turn and come to a halt his face a picture of repulsion and disbelief. Then the boy thrust his hand down my shirt. I don’t remember any more. My mind froze.
Disbelief. Utter disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Mind a whirlpool: relief, horror, excitement, relief, disbelief, horror, relief, guilt, horror. Face aghast. Silent. Imagination in hyperdrive. Disbelief. Face aghast. Breath frozen. Heart thumping. Horror. Relief. Guilt. Disbelief. Curiosity.
I saw the hand with that huge spider dive into Jeff’s polo shirt. I saw it come back out minus the spider. Time stood still. Even the boy seemed in shock at what he had done and backed slowly away, shaken by Jeff’s distraught reaction. He knew he’d gone too far. Jeff stood as still as a statue, rigid, in the middle of the grey concrete road, his arms out in a crucifix, staring up at the sky, mouth a cavern, mad-eyed, great guttural, primal, blood curdling shrieks tearing out of his throat. Sounds so blood-curdling they sounded unhuman.
We all slinked further away forming a wide circle, lurking, watching silently. Awestruck and helpless. Transfixed. Shocked. Unable to take our eyes off Jeff. Unable to act. Awaiting the outcome. Eyes straining. Watching for the spider to emerge.
Eventually a neighbour came out to see what the fuss was about. Someone explained to her in a hushed voice. I saw her face transform to one of great concern. She began peeling Jeff’s clothes off until he was stark naked. Searching. First his polo shirt, then shorts and finally his underpants. It was not easy. Jeff as rigid as marble, his limbs not bending. All the while the shrieking continuing in a throat-ripping background cacophony. We were all waiting in silence, rapt, waiting. It never appeared. Someone brought a blanket out and draped it round Jeff. The shrieking subsided into blubbering. His mother arrived and he was escorted home.
But where was that spider? Nowhere to be seen. It had spirited itself away into my nightmares.
(I’ve tried using fragments instead of sentences. Repeating words. Scrapping verbs and pronouns. Varying length of sentences and deploying strings of words to create pace, express emotion and convey immediacy. Not sure if it works. The POV proved difficult.)
