“Jerry,” Kim yelled from the kitchen. “What,” I responded from the living room, feeling lucky she was bugging me during a commercial. When I married the woman she had given me the distinct impression she liked sports. I mean an exuberant ‘like,’ not quite fan-girl level but close. All through our dating and engagement we went to the games when the team was home and I thought we had a good time together. After we were married, however, things changed and the eye rolling started at the suggestion of going to a game, and the Saturday TV game interruptions started. The woman had a keen ability to interrupt at the exact moment the ball was in the air. Not only did she interrupt the game for things she could wait to ask, but she had also started parading in front of the TV in skimpy night gowns, chanting something about her cycle and fertility. It was all beyond me, I mean, I like sex as much as the next guy but couldn’t she just wait until we went to bed, or at least wait for half-time? “Jerry James,” she yelled again, slightly louder than before, and of course she used the middle name which was supposed to mean the level of crap I was in was quickly rising. “What,” I yelled louder. Two could play at that game. Was I a dog, couldn’t she approach me- not during the game- and talk to me eye-to-eye? This time the scream rocked the house, “Jerry James Johnson!” By her tone I knew it was something earth-shakenly horrible like, another dead rat found under the sink, or the garbage disposal was clogged with another paper coffee filter that I had told her not to try to grind. I cranked down the recliner arm and in one smooth motion, rocked out of the arm chair and into a slow jog. I had perfected that move over the last few years and was pretty proud of it. Upon entering the kitchen, I noticed a stainless steel stock pot sitting on the white tile in the middle of the kitchen floor. Kim’s head was tilted back and her mouth open. It reminded me of one of those water fountain statues that spurts water from its mouth, or some other orifice, except the water was not coming from her mouth but from the glass light cover mounted on the ceiling. A second look at the dome showed me that it had accumulated about an inch of water, some of which was dripping out passed the mounting nut. “Kim, turn the light off,” I said quickly. “Then how will I see to make dinner?” she asked. I gave her that ‘man-stare’ that was supposed to reflect the pure stupidity of her comment but she blocked my stare with the shield-of-crossed-arms, and countered with the scowl of you-wanna-poke-momma-bear? I tried to follow-up with the ol’ male standby, the throwing of open arms, widening of eyes, and the shrug that indicated, ‘what.’ Unfortunately, she read my body language and pre-emptively hammered me with her foot-tap-of-power. I shook my head, conceding and giving her the win. “Look,” I said, “its water and electricity, they don’t mix. If they do mix, it will throw a breaker, or could even start a fire. Plus, if you want me to look at it you’re turning it off ‘cause I’m not gonna fry myself.” She paused, then nodded and dropped her arms. She wasn’t a total air-head, I mean she had a masters in political science. On second thought … anyway, she flipped the switch near the door to the garage and the light goes out but still enough afternoon light coming in from the kitchen window so I got a chair and unscrewed the bolt holding the glass on, then carefully lowered it and handed it to her. “Looks like the water is coming from the attic,” Kim says, in this serious voice, like she just finished a 45 page research paper on it. “Yeah,” I replied, “not like the good old days when water just formed in the light fixtures from thin air.” I finished unscrewing the light bulb and handed it down to her. When shge didin’t take it I glanced down only to see her glaring at me, again with the crossed arms. I couldn’t see it from my position on the chair but I could I hear the slap of her shoe against the tile. Attempting the shrug again might have thrown me off balance so I just looked back at the ceiling. “It can’t be rain. We haven’t had any for a week.” The refrigerator compressor kicked on beside me and we looked at simultaneously, then said, “Ice maker” in unison. The water for our icemaker comes off the cold water line of the water heater via a weird valve contraption that punctures the copper pipe then seals it. The 25-feet of plastic tubing goes up into the attic, which in the small ranch style we live in is more like a crawl space, then down through the kitchen ceiling and into the freezer section of the refrigerator, plugging into the ice maker. “A rat,” Kim declared. It was her answer for most anything that happened in our house. Car keys get moved, vase falls from a shelf, food missing from the counter, it’s always a rat. Frankly, for a rat to be the culprit of some of the events, it would have to be pretty frick’n large, and smart. In this case, however, I thought she was probably right. “Damn,” I said. Kim looked at me, the edge of her mouth crooked up in this Cruella Deville smile she had successfully nurtured. “What, pff, rats, I have no problem ousting some rats, but it’s June and the attic is heating up.” The smile didn’t recede. She knew my kryptonite but I wasn’t going to let her see me sweat. “Plus all the itchy fiberglass insulation and …” “And the spiders,” she said. “I, no … I’ll just …” My words stumbling about like a drunk, uh … like a drunk … well, like a drunk. “Maybe I’ll grab a case of those insect bombs,” I said quickly, “like we set off that time when Spotty had fleas.” Her teeth showed. “Whatever you need baby. Don’t want dem lil spiders sneaking up on you.” “Hey, I can …” “Crawling up your pant leg, getting a little nibble …” I shivered. The woman could be so cruel, so before she could go further I hopped down off the chair and went to the utility room where we kept the washer and dryer, and where the hot water heater stood in the corner. I shut the ice machine valve then returned to the stock pot and after a couple minutes the water slowed then finally stopped. “Problem solved,” I said, hands on hips. “Uh, no. Now you need to get into the attic and see what if any damage has been done. We don’t need to have the ceiling fall in one day, or start sprouting black mold.” “Okay, okay, I know but it’s starting to get dark and some animals and … other things are nocturnal, so probably ought to wait until tomorrow, later morning or early afternoon.” I said, knowing she was not going to let it go. “You mean ‘things’,” she threw up air quotes like a Crip member throws up gang sign, “like spiders?” “Yeah, among other things,” I said, tight lipped. Kim looked at the kitchen clock. “Jerry, its 3 PM. You have like three hours before the vampire zombie spiders are active.” I was considering whether my buck-wheat pillow would be sufficient to smother her in her sleep, or if I should use the down-filled, which was heavier. “Jerry, did you hear me?” she said, a nagging quality asserting itself. “You’ve got three hours, easy. Get going, you get done in an hour and I’ll cook up some of my mom’s Chinese cabbage you like so well. In truth, the cabbage wasn’t bad, though I might argue the “that I like so well” part was a slight exaggeration. After grunting, what I hoped sounded like affirmation for her cooking, I headed to the garage to pick up a flashlight, some tools, and a ladder. I found a roll of duct tape, pulled up my socks and rolled a length around my ankles a couple times, sealing the bottoms of my pants to my socks. I found my favorite hoody sweatshirt on a nail and, after checking for critters, pulled it over my head, then pulled the hood up and tightened it with the drawstrings. Minutes later at my toolbox, I put down my rubber mallet for the third time and realized I had been doing little more than stalling for 15 minutes, and that I had no need for tools on this trip anyway. Since the attic access was in the center of the garage, I carried the ladder over to the rectangular ceiling panel, opened the ladder and locked the hinges. I stood at the bottom rung looking up at the panel while trying to comfort myself with the understanding I was really only looking for damage so an hour would probably be more than enough time. Up two steps, I placed my hands on the panel and lifted one side two inches. It tilted up and nothing more than darkness spilled out so I lifted it a few inches higher. When a long chitinous arm didn’t pop out and remove my head, I lifted the panel straight up, took another step up the ladder, and slid the panel to the side leaving a 24-inch by 18-inch hole in the ceiling. Flashlight on, I stuck my head through the hole slowly and looked around. Since our home was very small, the beam of the large 3-D cell aluminum flashlight reflected on the wall at the far end of the attic, though there seemed to be shadows in the far corners that the light simply could not penetrate. Turning to look behind me I saw the space over the attic. I noted it was still without insulation reminding me once again of my plans to put some plywood flooring in that area in and use it for long term storage. The builder, or the first guy to have to explore the dangers of the attic, had placed a 3-foot square of thick plywood as a landing spot to enter the attic. I stepped up the ladder and maneuvered myself through the hatch, and knelt on the plywood being careful not to bump my head on the roof where a myriad of roofing nails poked through a quarter inch or so. A 1-inch by 12-inch board ran down the entire length of the attic, I assumed to give the poor homeowner explorer a way to move around the attic without putting his foot through the ceiling. I made my way down the board about teen feet when I heard a voice from below. “Jerry, what are you doing up there. You’ve been gone for an hour.” “Kim, I just got up here.” I yelled through the ceiling. “Did you find the water line? Was it chewed through?” said the muffled voice. “Kim, I said I just got up here,” I yelled back louder. I shuffled down the board two more feet, skinning my knuckles and feeling the first beads of sweat form on my forehead. I foot further and I figured I was near the light fixture though all that was visible was bats of insulations. I moved the flashlight to the right and saw a small rise where the fixture might be. Moving my light a little more I saw the gleam of plastic tubing, confirming I was on to something. I reached out to pull up the insulation and my fingers felt the resistance only spider web can give. Gloves, crap, I had forgotten gloves. “Jerry, did you find it?” Kim yelled from below. “Kim, for the love of all that is holy, Shut Up!” I heard something that sounded like cursing then she yelled back, “Well, it’s no Chinese cabbage for you, Mister. You can just order a pizza!” “Well, the evening won’t be a total loss,” I whispered. I used the flashlight to move the insulation and immediately saw the thin plastic line had indeed been chewed threw. The good part was that the plastic line was cheap and I could tape the new piece onto the old piece and pull it through from below. No need to scale the ladder again. “Kim, its chewed through. We’ll need a new one,” I yelled into the ceiling. “What’s chewed through?” Kim asked from below. “The …” I shook my head, “never mind, I’ll tell you when I get down.” That woman was dippy as crap but, I smiled, she was mine. I moved the insulation back over the light fixture, noting the water damage was minimal and would probably dry with little to no lasting damage. I turned back toward the garage and saw the light coming up from the access hole. It was a beacon of hope in my place of horror and despair. I started to inch my way down the board when I was suddenly surrounded by cold air. It was not a breeze, I knew how that felt. In our last house I had an A/C vent disconnect in the attic and spewed cold air into the space until I had gone up and fixed it. This didn’t have that feel to it. I was just cold. Maybe adrenalin, or nerves? I thought. I was about to crawl toward the hole when I saw it. At first it was a shadow, just a dark place over my shoulder that I could only see with my peripheral vision, but then darkness flowed into the shadow, filling it, making it corporeal, making it real. I froze, even as the verb became reality indicated by the pain in my frigid fingers hurt, and by my shaky breath passing in front of the flashlight beam in clouds. I tried to move forward but the stiffness of my arms turned the motion into a jerk and I lost hold of the light. It rolled off the plank and fell onto the insulation, tipping up in such a way as to light the roof above and cast small pointed shadows across the roofing nails. A single finger, or perhaps a claw would be a better description, slid onto my shoulder from behind. It was dark and leathery ending in what was best described as a talon. A voice sounded in my head. It was deep and raspy, but somehow I knew held both age and intelligence. “Hello, Mr. Johnson.” I should have peed before I climbed that ladder, because it would have saved me the embarrassment of wet underwear and a growing spot on the front of my pants. “Now, now, Mr. Johnson, urinating on yourself is unseemly,” it said. I couldn’t respond. I mean, I couldn’t get anything to come out of my mouth. I tried to scream but it was like my brain had seized. “Yes, I am horrible to behold am I not? Oh, but I have just realized, you cannot see me. Here, let me adjust your position.” Suddenly I left the 12-inch plank with a jerk and slammed face first against the roof. The air in my lungs left me, even as I felt the tips of the roofing nails puncture my skin on my face and forehead. A second later, the warm trickle of blood crept into my eyes. The thing chuckled, “Oops, how can you see when your facing away.” I was sucked a foot from the ceiling turned face out and slammed back against the nails. The idea that a nail might have penetrated my skull caused me to feel nauseous and I almost blacked out. Below, as I blinked away some of the blood, I could see something stretched out on its back and looking up at me. It reminded me of a man wearing a Victorian era cape, but after the black cloth fluttered a few times, I realized it was a part of the thing, like wings, like giant bat wings that folded around him like a garment. Its face was long, like a cross between a man and a snub-nosed goat. There were even little horns protruding an inch from his forehead. Its skin was like that of its finger, dark and leather-like, and his smile, his smile was the worst of it all. It was incredibly wide, two wide for a man’s and surrounded with thick round lips. It was if a someone had cartooned a catfish with a smile, but the mouth was full of needle-sharp teeth. “Now, Mr. Johnson, you and I will talk for a bit, then I will eviscerate you and feed. Don’t hate me, unless you can hate the fox for killing and eating the rabbit. My life is a hard one in that I must live in these dark places, waiting for my meals to come to me. And not just anyone, oh no, Mr. Johnson, you are very special. The right kind of thinking and imagination. Spiders isn’t it, your weakness?” I shuddered and tried to move against the pressure forcing me against the roof as spiders of different sizes pushed out from under the insulation and crawled across its body below me. One of its wings flopped aside and it stretched a black boney hand toward me, the fingers malformed and claw-like. The old chipped finger nail tapped the end of my nose and at once I saw spiders scurry up his arm and onto his hand. A large wolf spider reached the end of his finger and raised its front legs as if awaiting a hug. “Oh, Mr. Johnson, it is a harmless spider, and to my knowledge you are not allergic so it cannot harm you but I feel your fear. It flows into me and fills me. It is …” It paused and considered its next word. “Delicious,” it said. “For the last two years I have had only nibbles. Only when you dreamed, or sometimes when you watched those violent sporting games, or movies then to my delight you climbed that ladder and, well, here we are. It is like going from an appetizer to a full blown steak dinner.” From below I heard Kim. “Jerry, I went ahead and ordered the pizza. Are you coming down or what?” It must have seen the shift in my eyes, or maybe it could read my thoughts or my emotions, regardless it lowered its hand and the spiders melted back into the yellow insulation. “Yes, Kim. Now what do I do with her? Perhaps I just need to keep you up here until she comes looking. I must say though, she will not be as satisfying as you. Her fears are not so visceral. She fears abandonment, that you will leave her. She fears not be able to procreate. Mr. Johnson, Jerry, may I call you Jerry?” He nodded as if I had given him permission. “Jerry, these emotions are not filling. They are common, like a drink of water might be for you. Yes, it will keep me stay alive for a while but … well, Jerry, let me remind you once again that you are special.” He paused again, apparently thinking. The initial shock had worn off and now I began to feel each and every nail embedded in my body, and the warmth I now felt beneath my clothes was not urine but blood. From my position I could hear Kim moving things around in the kitchen, doing dishes and cleaning up. I suddenly realized that once the pizza got here, and I didn’t respond to her call, she would indeed climb the ladder, most probably to her death. My emotions changed and I began to leave fear behind, replacing it with anger. I never did like bullies. It’s face shifted. Did it sense the change in me? “Oh, Mr. Johnson, I’m afraid our time together is done. I have taken all I can from you so I must spill your entrails upon this floor, as I believe I stated when we began. It will be my …” It laughed, a sound I will never forget, like gravel heaped into a tree limb grinder. “It will be my dessert, I think you would say.” He reached up with his hand but his fingernail was not the piece of old notched calcium I had seen before, now the flashlight glinted off a sharp blade. The hand stretched up and stuck me just below the sternum. Thankful it was sharp, I could barely feel it penetrating my skin. Then his finger slid down the length of my abdomen and I felt my body opening, releasing its contents, and finally, thankfully, I lost consciousness.
“Pizza’s here,” Kim yelled from below as my eyes opened. I had been unconscious for seconds, or minutes. The flashlight still reflected light off the roof, though there was not much blood. Actually, as my eye focused, there was no blood on the nails. My hands jumped to my chest and I felt for the bloody gash down my abdomen but there was nothing, not even a rip in the sweatshirt. It was the same when I felt my face and head, no blood or cuts, nothing. I grabbed the flash light and raised my body up enough to look down the plank into the darkness at the end of the attic. Nothing, even the dark shadowy edges that sucked at the light were gone. I rolled over and crawled back toward the light from the access hole. Halfway there my light revealed one of the biggest spiders I had ever seen. It wasn’t a wolf spider, bigger, approaching Tarantula size. I raised my hand and swatted it aside so hard I heard it pop against the roof several feet away. Hell, once an evil nightmare eating shadow creature has eviscerated you, whats a spider going to do. Upon reaching the plywood I grabbed the hatch panel and slipped through the hole somehow staying on the ladder and dropping the panel into place. Stepping foot on the concrete floor, I bathed in the room full of beautiful fluorescent light, then dropped to one knee as relief and the adrenaline crash hit me. Tears filled my eyes and I began a sob that I had to recall a second later when Kim whipped the door open. “Jerry,” she yelled loudly, as if expecting me to still be in the attic. “I’m here, baby,” I said, standing shakily. She must have felt something was wrong. She stepped into the garage and walked up to stand beside me. “You okay, find any damage?” “Yeah, everything is good. I’m good, knocked my head hard up there.” I pulled her close to me and kissed her. “Thanks for ordering the pizza,” I said, feeling an awkward void that needed filled. “Yeah. You sure you’re okay?” she said. looking at me with her wifely x-ray vision. I smiled and looked her in the eye. “I am, and you don’t need to be afraid I’m gonna leave you.” Her eyes widened and her face contorted for the briefest moment, confirming the thing in the attics assessment of her fear. Her eyes began to fill, she smiled and quickly looked away. “Okay, well I’m glad that’s finally settled,” she said sarcastically. She threw an arm around me. “What say we go into the house where you can climb out of those sweaty clothes. And where you will find a comfortable chair, hot pizza and a lousy football game. Auburn’s down by four.” I turned and let her pull me into the kitchen. “Have you ever thought about where we’re gonna put the nursery?” I asked. She gave me ‘the look’ as we entered the kitchen and turned off the garage lights. “Don’t you play with me, Jerry James Johnson,” she said as she shut the garage door.
The End
Submitted February 22, 2016 at 07:36AM by afaircloth http://ift.tt/24lBmei nosleep
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