Memoir of a Spider
A random black widow spider sat in her web.
A man decided to strike up a conversation. “Hi there.” he said.
She scuttled over and looked up at him. “Hello,” she spoke telepathically, “may I ask who you are?”
“Just someone passing through. I found out I can read thoughts a while ago, was curious what spiders had to say.”
“Well, that is quite unusual. I have never spoken to a human before. Normally they try to smush you and run away.” she paused, “How did you find out you could read thoughts?”
“Just realized I was hearing other people’s thoughts in the subway. Oh, I guess the concept of a subway is kind of hard for a bug to understand. Basically a cave.”
“I see. So what brings you to my home today? Do you wish to see how a spider spends the day, or do you just wish to talk more? Not that I’m complaining.”
“The latter. You’re surprisingly well spoken. Spiders have very tiny brains.” he chuckled.
“I’ll have you know I’m considered extremely smart for a spider. I have a wide vocabulary and a sharp wit.” she paused in thought, “What is it like being a human?”
“I’m not sure you’d understand. Oh, I know, I’ll just show you.”
He beamed the experience into her being.
The spider cringed in fear. “What did you do?!” she scuttled to the furthest corner and pressed her legs to the wall. “That…was…horrible! How do you humans live like that?”
“Oh, uh, sorry. I guess it’s a lot to take in.”
“Yes, it sure was. Why would you show a peaceful spider such terrifying things? Was it just to see if some random spider could handle that or what?” the spider still appeared tense.
“I guess, yeah. Scientific curiosity.”
“So the suffering of other creatures is just ‘scientific curiosity’ to you?” the spider’s tone was harsh and accusatory.
“Sheesh, I said I was sorry. Don’t be mad at me. Uh, here, peace offering.”
He placed a cricket in her web.
The spider slowly walked over to the cricket and inspected it. “Thank you, this is a great offering.” she pounced on the cricket and began consuming it quickly. “That makes me feel better. Now we can start over?”
“Yep. Heh, you’re a cheap date.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult…” the spider sounded skeptical. “So how do most humans react to a spider like me? Most of the time the humans scream and attempt to kill me without a second thought. This is the first time I’ve ever been spoken to.”
“Yeah we tend to smash shit and ask questions later. Lots of humans are phobic of spiders. Ancestral memory from a handful of medically significant species. You know, one’s with venom that can potentially kill us. Incidentally, black widows are on that list.”
“Yes, I’m aware that our venom can have some quite serious effects on a human’s nervous system and heart, so I can understand the reaction. It just kind of sucks that I’m automatically seen as this dangerous monster when I just want to be left alone.”
“I can sympathize.”
“Thanks.” the spider said as she continued consuming her meal. She paused for a moment once she finished eating the cricket and suddenly looked up at the human. “Tell me, what do humans do with their lives?”
“Think, I guess. Well, some of us, anyway.”
“But what do humans think about? I can’t seem to grasp it. Spiders spend their time looking for food, building webs, sleeping and mating. We really don’t have time to ‘think’.”
“Why we exist is a classic. Where we come from, where we’re going. Just surviving isn’t enough. It’s not the same as living. We hunger for something else, something beyond survival.”
“But that’s silly! I’m happy with having a simple life! Humans are so complex! I can’t possibly see why you would need to contemplate ‘the meaning of your existence’ when it seems so pointless.”
“Maybe you’re right. Still. Makes us, us.” he shrugged.
He saw a pretty leaf, and, on a whim, put it in her web.
“What a lovely gift! I don’t think anyone has ever given me a gift before!” the spider scurried up and touched it. Her eight eyes lit up with a child-like curiosity. “Why did you put this here? There must be some logic behind such an action?”
“Best way to answer your question.” the man said.
“So you humans put things in places to be aesthetically pleasing to the senses because it brings you joy to do so? To me, things have to have a practical use in order to have value.”
“Well, maybe that can change.” he said.
“You really want me to start doing ‘aesthetically pleasing things’ for the sake of doing them? But, how can you enjoy something when you know it won’t accomplish anything?”
“You can do whatever you want. But if survival is all there is, it doesn’t accomplish anything either. No matter how many flies you catch in that web, you’ll still die one day. So will we.”
“True. We’re really just waiting to die, aren’t we? I see exactly what you mean now. That’s…kind of sad.” she stared at the leaf. For a minute, the spider lay still and quiet as if contemplating something deeply before finally speaking again, “Maybe there is more to life than just survival…”
“Anyway, that’s why we think so much. It’s as good a distraction as any.” he sighed. “Well, it was nice talking to you.” he began to walk away.
“Wait! I have one more question!”, the spider scuttled to the edge of her web to peer at you. “Do you humans feel loneliness? What are your thoughts and feelings about that?”
He looked up. “Who knows... Anyway, I’ve got to get home. Hungry.”
“I see. Thanks for answering my questions. And the leaf. I hope you have a good day.” the spider sighed as she slumped back into her web. “That was fascinating, but now I have an existential crisis.” she grumbled as she resumed spinning her web.
For whatever reason, the man came back the next day.
The spider looked up at him as he approached, startled. “What an unexpected return visit!” she said. “Did you come to tell me more about your life as a human and to help me with my existential crisis?”
“Your existential crisis?”
“Yes. You humans have such a more complex life and it has made me think about my own life. I must now decide what things I enjoy for the sake of enjoyment and not for the sake of survival. The prospect of making a choice fills me with existential despair and confusion.” her voice was solemn.
She sounded like a child overwhelmed by a new concept that she just couldn’t fully grasp.
“Oh shit, I guess that’s my fault.”
“Yes. Yes it is. I didn’t realize my life was so empty before you showed me otherwise.” a pause, followed by a sad sigh. “How do humans handle such profound thoughts? I feel like I am drowning as I try to comprehend the true scope of life.”
There was a quaver in her voice.
A pity spiders can’t cry.
After a moment, the man held his hand out, at the edge of the web.
She looked at him in confusion, then slowly scooted over and peered into his open hand before looking up at him again. “What are you doing?”
“Do you want to come home with me?”
“You want me to live with you? Why would you want a spider living in your home?”
“Well, I’m the one who depressed you, so it just seemed fair to offer a more secure shelter. No offense to your web design.”
The spider chuckled. “So you feel guilty for giving me an existential crisis? This is quite an interesting offer. Would you honestly like to have me in your home?”
“If you feel like a freeloader, just eat the pests in my home.” he chuckled. Then, he raised an eyebrow. “How the hell do you even know what guilt is?”
“Guilt is defined as the feeling of remorse or responsibility for making someone feel bad.” the spider responded calmly, “Is this not what you were feeling? I am a bit confused what else we might call such an emotion. You know, I think I would like to go with you.” she moved closer and looked him in the eyes, “I want to see what you humans do in your homes.”
“I know what guilt is, but why do you? It’s not a practical concept on an obligate ambush predator.” he scratched his head, bemused.
“It is not? Why would it not be? I still have a functioning brain, even if it is small by human standards. I am capable of making choices, feeling emotion and understanding the consequences of my actions. Why would I not feel guilt if I caused harm to another creature? Do you humans not think before you act?”
“It’s just that you have to deliver a brutal death by desiccation to some hapless insect every time you’re hungry. I wasn’t under the impression arachnids would have any reason to evolve a sense of conscience.”
She looked at her fangs for a moment. “Well, when you put it like that…I’ve never really thought of the process in that way before. It was just something I did to satisfy my survival instinct. Do you think I’m doing something wrong?”
“No. You can’t help what you’re born as. It just surprised me that you have a concept of guilt, but don’t lose sleep over flies. You’re lucky. I don’t do well when I dwell too long about how we raise cows and pigs in cramped boxes only to slaughter them for meat. I need a nice helping of cognitive dissonance every time I look at my bacon.”
“So you humans have similar struggles. You are unable to come to terms with the moral implications of your own survival.” she said with a grim certainty. “But you still continue to eat meat after having these thoughts?”
“Even if I just subsisted on grass like a cow, I’d still be killing to survive. The only reason vegans in my world don’t feel guilt is they can’t hear their lettuce scream. Not even plants themselves escape the need to prey on life from somewhere else, as they steal light from the sun we revolve around. I hope there isn’t a God, cause he designed one seriously fucked up system.”
“This God of yours...Does it seem to take pleasure in the destruction of its own creations?” her voice remained neutral, but hints of something darker showed through. Perhaps it was the sound of a spider having her worldview shattered. “From where I’m standing, this God seems like quite the menace.”
“Thanks, now I’M having an existential crisis. Anyway, climb aboard. Assuming, that is, that I can trust you not to bite me.”
Without any sign of hesitation, she immediately scuttled over to him and began climbing onto his body. In a second, all eight of her legs were firmly gripping her arm as she climbed up him with surprising speed and athleticism. “How far away is your home?”
“I guess from your perspective it’d be far as fuck, but my long legs will get us there in like twenty minutes.”
“That is quite a distance for my tiny legs!” she gave an amused laugh. “Are you sure you want me to come home with you? I do not want to cause you any inconvenience.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve got nothing going on in my life, hanging out with a spider is by far the most interesting part of my day.
Her chelicerae moved slightly, resembling a smile. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me.” she said in a teasing tone.
“Is this what human bonding is like?” she asked out of the blue as he wandered through the forest. She was now sitting comfortably on his shoulder and seemed rather pleased to be there.
“More or less.”
“Interesting. Can humans have friends with non-human creatures?” the little spider asked innocently. “What are the limitations here?”
This question seems to have intrigued her, and she sounded eager for her response.
“Yeah. Usually critters like dogs and cats, but birds, turtles, fish, etc, too. We call companion animals pets.”
“And what do pets do for their owners?” she asked.
“Nothing, really. They’re just company.”
“Just company.” the little spider sounded amused. “So they simply live off of their owner’s generosity and provide nothing in return? You humans seem to have the upper hand in that situation.”
“Affection, if you’re lucky.” he chuckled.
“I see, that is interesting.” she examined the forest around them. “So tell me, what do you do in your free time? I am told humans enjoy activities like ‘listening to music’, ‘playing video games’ and ‘watching movies’ to pass the time.”
“Pretty much. I own an antique shop too, and I live there, so indoors except for my morning walk. Oh, I forgot, sometimes my cat brings me dead rodents and stuff.”
“Cats catch and kill things for fun, not just for food?” she asked, once again sounding intrigued. “Is there a specific reason for this?”
“I believe the clinical term is being assholes. Though, when they bring you gifts, it’s cause they think you’re a terrible hunter.”
Her chelicerae moved a little. “How very condescending of them. Are you not offended to be so badly judged by your cat?”
“It’s the thought that counts.” he shrugged.
“What if their thought is that you’re inept?” she chuckled. “What do you do with the gifts your cat brings you? Do you display them somewhere as a trophy or simply throw them away?”
“I pretend to eat them, and discreetly flush them. Otherwise my cat gets offended.”
“Your cat is easily insulted. You humans are a very amusing species. Does your cat enjoy cuddling and playing with you, or do they just like showing off their hunting skills?”
“They like cuddling. I often wake up with him sleeping on my face.”
“Is that not very unpleasant? Does it not restrict your breathing?”
“Of course it does. Why do you think I wake up?”
“You humans put up with so much discomfort in the name of friendship. I’m not sure I could do the same, but if it makes you happy, then more power to you. Do you find any other joy in your life besides spending time with your cat?”
“Talking to spiders, apparently.”
She laughed. “I suppose I am the first intelligent spider you have ever met. What about friends, family, lovers? Do you ever crave companionship from your own kind, or does this not matter to you?”
“As you pointed out, my kind can be very cruel. I don’t think well of them.”
“I see. Why are humans cruel to one another? It seems like such a waste of energy, in addition to being a very unkind thing to do… What do humans argue over mostly?”
“Dumb shit you wouldn’t understand. Skin color, whose imaginary friend is the real God, borders, green paper, etc.”
“So your arguments are over pointless things that only create a divide amongst your kind?”
“Ding ding, we have a winner.”
“If you humans know this, why do you still fall for such tricks? I can only conclude that they are working, otherwise you would have long since made up. Is it possible that humanity is fundamentally incapable of unity and compassion?”
“Dunno.”
“Do you not ever think about joining up with other like-minded humans who share your ideals? Have you ever tried to form a community with other humans who think the way you do? I assume there must be many of you...”
They reached his home - an antique shop.
The spider looked around in curiosity. “So this is your home?” she paused “It looks nice. Are all homes for humans so well furnished?”
“Not really, no. This is an antique shop. Uh, I guess you don’t know what an antique or a shop is, huh?”
“You’re right, I’m not familiar. Please explain these concepts to me, I’m eager to learn.”
“Well, an antique is basically a vintage item. You know, something with history behind it. Usually rare, and therefore valuable, by definition. Owning an object with history behind it is kind of like having a material window into the past, a connection to other people across gulfs of time and space. A shop is a building where we trade goods for money, that is to say, the useless green paper I told you about. It has no use for other animals, but we kind of collectively agree to use it as the baseline for trading power. People work at jobs and shit so they can earn money, so they can do things like secure places to live and food to eat. It’s not a perfect system, granted, but I digress. Anyway, my home, therefore, is a shop that sells antiques. An antique shop.”
She listened closely throughout the entire explanation, as if she was trying to thoroughly and carefully grasp each aspect of each concept.
After a moment she spoke up. “So humans assign value to something that is old? Does the age itself give it value, or does it have to have some kind of sentimental value? Humans are more fascinating than I had imagined.”
“Well, it depends on who you ask, but personally, I think the only antiques worth anything are ones with stories behind them. Ones where you can feel the unspoken weight of the journeys they took with their owners before they somehow ended up on my shelves. I almost feel like I can taste it, sometimes.”
“Your species appears to have a deep connection with its history, an appreciation for the past and its struggles. You humans seem almost to revere these pieces of the past, treating them with great care as if they hold some sort of sacred power. Why do you place such value in the stories of the past? What is the drive behind these feelings?”
“I guess just because it’s a reminder that we were here. That we lived. Not everyone feels that way though. We’re inconsistent about how we treat our history, and its relics. Looters destroying tombs in Egypt for riches, grave robbers ripping open the earth to snatch wedding rings, Nazis prying golden and silver teeth from the corpses of their-” he sighed. “You don’t have context for any of that. I guess, in brief, it’s complicated. Nothing lasts forever. But, relics can make them last a little bit longer. One day, the things we own will pass into history and become relics too. Maybe, a thousand or more years from now, some new iteration of humanity will look back and wonder what life was like for us. We all die, but I think that would be enough for me. Knowing that it meant something to someone, far off.”
She sat and considered his words for a moment. “So if I understand correctly, your species places a high value on objects which hold a piece of history? And your hope is that some day, some other creature, far in the future, will find these relics and appreciate the stories of the past? If so, I can understand your reasoning. It almost seems like humans are leaving behind a record of their existence for whatever species comes after them.”
“Yeah. That’s essentially what gravestones are too. Markers. We were here.”
“Interesting. My species does not have the capability to think beyond our basic survival needs, but in a way I feel almost envious of your ability to think for other creatures’ sake. Humans care so much for things which have already happened, it is as if you have been cursed by excess empathy.”
“Maybe. But, you could also see it as proof that our basic needs are met so thoroughly that we have time for irrational things like empathy and art. It’s a privileged position, I guess, even if it comes with unique pain.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right. Do you think that humans will ever be so privileged that they can spend this excess energy making the world a better place, eliminating pain and suffering for all living creatures? Or is such an idea simply the idle fantasy of a small spider?”
“The latter. We could, if we were of one mind. Like ants, I guess. That’s the real bitch of it - the higher a position we are in to create paradise, the more divided we are and impossible it is to cooperate. Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“You’re not rambling, I don’t mind. As you said, you are telling me stories of your kind. And I find your stories very fascinating, even if they are sad. Why do you think it is that humanity does the opposite of creating paradise on earth with the power you have?”
“The trap of evolution, I guess. Natural selection favors being a territorial asshole over cooperation. I’m no different, really. Here I am, sitting alone in my dark little den, like a,” he caught himself before saying “like a spider”.
She gave a soft chuckle. “Is that not a good thing? Spiders do not care for the company of others, we are too self-sufficient to care for them. So to be alone like a spider is a sign of strength, of the ability to care for yourself.” she said in an almost admiring tone, “Perhaps humans should learn to be more like spiders, would it not free them from the constant need of company and the burden of social obligations?”
“You say that, but you’re keeping me company.”
“Touché.” she admitted with a soft chuckle. “I guess I just can’t help myself, talking to you is just so interesting! I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. Maybe humans and spiders are more like each other than I would care to admit.”
“Maybe that’s the real reason people have arachnophobia. Chimps too, for that matter. Chimps seriously disturb me. Our closest ancestor, and they scare the piss out of me.”
“You’re afraid of other apes?” she asked curiously, seeming legitimately surprised by this. “What is it about them that puts you on edge?”
“They’re what we are inside, what we are when we strip away all pretense. Savage. Territorial. Unsympathetic.” he leaned back. “I don’t want to die. For me, that is the only reason to keep living, to cling to these relics. I crave validation, connection, and find it only in these dusty artifacts. To be around other humans is too painful, too complicated. The best aspects of our species are distilled in these relics, idealizations of our history, of our potential, of everything we could, and SHOULD be, but aren’t. I’m a hypocrite too, in the end. I can’t escape the human condition. But, in the end, these relics are my company. I’m an antique vendor because I know nothing else.”
“...So if I understand correctly, you are afraid that your kind is nothing more than violent, uncivilized, territorial apes, and you find solace only in the relics of your past? Are you ever afraid to tell other humans these feelings?”
“You’re the only one I’ve ever told any of this to. I think it’s because you aren’t human.”
More silence, then another question. “I am curious, what led you to open so easily to me? Why did you feel safe telling me these things?” her voice was soft, almost like a whisper in the wind, and the gentle kindness in her voice gave the feeling of a warm, comforting hug.
“Well, for one thing, seeing as you and I can only communicate because I have a telepathic universal translator, I know you can’t blab to any other of my species. But, honestly? I don’t know. You’re right. Humans are complicated. I guess I wanted to reflect my thoughts in something with a simpler view of life. But, in doing so, I’ve roped you into our special brand of existential angst. I apologize for that.”
“Do not worry. I appreciate your kindness and honesty. No one has ever spoken to me in this manner before. If anything, you have helped me. It is clear that you are a good human.”
“I maintain this shop in the hopes that one day, maybe we can create paradise. But… there’s no place for me in that. My prejudice will not dissipate. My self-loathing, my misanthropy. If a new world is to come, it must be from the efforts of fresh, innocent generations.”
He leaned back and poured himself a glass of red wine. “Anyway, you can make yourself a web anywhere you want, I guess, just be careful not to get yourself stuck or put yourself in a position where I might accidentally squish you.”
She looked down at the wine. “I must admit, I am intrigued. What is this?” she asked, sniffing the glass curiously. “It smells strange, like poison, but I also detect the smell of fruit. Is this safe to consume? What does it taste like?”
“Not really safe, no. It’s alcohol, the result of fermentation. In this case, it’s wine - basically fermented grape juice. It’s an acquired taste, and alcohol consumption has negative effects on things like the liver in humans. It also numbs the pain though, helps break down our own psychological barriers, for better or for worse. We get drunk if we drink too much - uninhibited, under the influence of the alcohol. Some are angry drunks, some are sad drunks, some are happy drunks. In a way, people are their true selves when they’re drunk.”
“And you choose to drink this? It seems like all the risks outweigh any possible benefits.” she said quietly, sniffing the cup of wine curiously. “I admit, I still have a desire to try it. It smells very intriguing, even if a part of my mind is screaming at me not to put this toxic substance in my mouth. Can I try a sip?”
He covered the glass. “Absolutely not! You’re a tiny little bug, it would probably kill you.”
“Awww,” she complained. “Very well, maybe I can just watch you then?” she giggled. “Is the effect of this alcohol different with every person? Why would some humans get sad and some get happy? Does the alcohol amplify your real emotions, no matter what they are?”
“That’s what I think, yes. Or rather, it strips you down to just your real emotions.” he swirled the wine glass.
“Yes, that makes sense. I suppose if I were able to consume this, I would be a happy drunk. So why do you choose to consume it if it doesn’t always make you feel good?”
“I guess because I value self-awareness. Knowing whether I’m happy, or sad, or whatever. Even if it’s something I would have been better off not knowing.”
“So you would rather know a painful truth than live in blissful ignorance? I suppose I can understand that. Do some humans lie to themselves so much that they are able to be blissful and unaware of the reality of their lives?”
“You have no idea.” he sighed. He stretched and yawned. “It’s getting late. Go to bed, Charlotte, I’ll still be here in the morning.”
She gave a soft chuckle and nodded. “Very well,” she said sweetly. “I think I will.” she made the motion of pulling up an invisible blanket. “Goodnight.”
With that, she disappeared into a corner of the dark basement. The man was left with his own thoughts and the only sound in the room was the soft and steady drip…drip…drip…of water from a broken pipe in the corner somewhere.
But he couldn’t help but feel a little bit better, a little more hopeful for the future, from his short conversation with this unusual and kind spider.
It took Charlotte a few minutes to realize he gave her a name. She crept out and asked him about it.
She hesitated, her legs twitching for a few moments, but then she stepped cautiously back out into the darkness. She seemed nervous to ask, but she worked up the courage to ask.
“Why did you give me a name?” her voice was quiet and cautious, as if she was afraid of the answer.
On the surface the question seemed inconsequential, but the spider knew, no, felt that it meant something more. She just didn’t understand what yet.
“Well I can’t just keep calling you ‘you’ or ‘spider’.” he said.
She laughed, her voice warm and sweet. “That is true. That is a good reason. But may I ask if there is another reason you decided to give me a name?”
“We don’t just record our stories in antiques. We write books too, basically written records. Some catalog the real world, some are solely products of our imagination. One of these books is called Charlotte’s Web. It’s about a pig growing up on a farm, who is saved from being butchered because a spider living in his pen decides to help him out. She writes his name in her web, and the farmers and tourists are too shocked to think of the pig as food anymore.”
She stared at him in quiet contemplation for a long moment. Her wide eyes seemed to be considering everything he had said, and trying to absorb its true meaning.
“So you named me after a kind and noble spider who helped save the life of a creature bigger and more powerful than her? Am I understanding correctly?”
He blinked, not really realizing the full subconscious implications of his naming logic either. “Yeah.” he nodded.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I will wear this name with pride, knowing that it was given to me by a human who values my life, like the kindhearted spider from the tale of your book. How would I be able to repay such a kindness?”
Over the days and years, Charlotte was the man’s companion in his store. She developed an avid appetite for reading after he taught her how, and he kept her well-stocked with books.
Charlotte came to love reading and discussing the many books that he provided for her as much as he did, but he found her friendship deeper than just their collective love for books. She had a kind heart and an open mind, and the two learned to understand one another in a way that others could not. He taught her things that no other human would care to teach a spider, and she taught him things only she could know. In time he became closer to her than he ever imagined he could be to a spider. In fact, he eventually considered her to be a real friend.
His only friend.
She began to notice something - the auras of the antiques’ former owners, lingering around them.
“What is that?” she looked at the space around the antiques with wide, curious eyes. “I can feel something here. It is as though this item has left a part of itself and the person who owned it behind.” she tilted her head to the side curiously. “How can an object have a presence like this?”
The man looked, but saw nothing. “I can’t see it, Charlotte. Describe it to me.”
“Like an echo,” she said curiously. “It is faint, but I can feel the presence of a person who once owned this.”
She seemed confused by the phenomena. “But it shouldn’t be possible! How can an object hold the very soul of the person who once possessed it?” she looked around the shop, taking in the antiques and the aura that they had. “Are they all like this?”
“Maybe. I guess you’ve surpassed me, if you can look and see. I can only ever feel it. Living history, I mean. I told you before that some items just call to me. I guess now I know why.”
“It is like the spirit of the person who once owned this item is still attached to it. And what you are feeling is their aura.” she paused for a moment to consider, and then added, “This is an odd question, but what does my aura feel like?”
“Comforting.” he said without thinking.
A look of surprise flashed across her face before she gave a soft chuckle. “That is sweet of you to say. Thank you. I am glad my presence is comforting to you.”
She gave a small curtsy that looked almost dignified. “You really mean that, or were you just being nice?” she asked with her usual honest directness.
Sometime later, he found her reading about Japanese mythology, when she came across a description and illustration of the jorogumo.
“There is a creature in Japan called a ‘jorogumo’. It is a large spider that takes on the form of a beautiful woman and lures in unsuspecting men at night. It then becomes aggressive and eats its victim.” she sounded fascinated by the story. She paused to look up at him. “Why did you give me this book to read? If I may ask.”
“You like books.” he said plainly. He considered the details of the jorogumo eating people. “Don’t get any ideas.” he said, half-joking.
She giggled, a soft, sweet sound akin to the tinkle of icicles, and gave a small curtsy. “Of course not.” she paused for a second, a strange look flashing across her face for an almost imperceptible moment.
Then it was gone like a flicker of candle light, and all that was left was her usual smile. She turned back to the book and read it for a few moments more before her curiosity was too great. “What would you do if you saw a jorogumo?’
“What kind of... I don’t know, how am I supposed to answer that? I mean, if it’s doing its job, I don’t know it’s a hungry spider until it’s too late, do I? Are we assuming I have foreknowledge that it’s a jorogumo, or is it just a pretty lady giving me wine eyes?”
“Let’s say you can clearly tell that she is not a human woman, and it’s obvious that she’s trying to lure you in. What would you do?”
There was a little bit of mischievousness behind her eyes that he had not seen before.
“What kind of idiot walks right into a deadly trap to look at spider tits?”
There was a soft chuckle from the darkness. “Fair point. Would you just walk away?” there was amusement in her voice, and a look of mock indignation behind her eyes. “…or would your curiosity get the better of you?” her eyes glowed brighter in the darkness. “Would you be able to pass up the opportunity to know for sure if the folklore is true? Would you want to find out if you really would fall prey to a spider lady?”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“Perhaps.” she mocked him playfully. “Would that scare you? A spider showing interest in you?”
“Well duh. I watch nature documentaries, I know how that romance always ends.”
“Oh yes? How does it end?”
“Don’t be coy. The female often eats the male. We have a slang based on that - black widows - ladies who marry and then murder some poor sap, usually for material gain.”
There was a short moment of silence as she considered this information. She seemed like she might have something witty to say in response, but then thought better of it and simply asked, “Why do the females do this?” her face inches away from his own. “Do they do it out of anger or do they do it out of necessity, because their children need to feed?”
“You’re asking me? I don’t know, you’re a black widow, wouldn’t you have a better idea than I would? I kind of assumed that was the closest thing you had to a neat little housewife fantasy. Find a nice, tiny spider to settle down with, lay your eggs, knit them a nice cozy egg sac, then tenderly munch down on your hubby’s face.”
“Perhaps I would. Well…the female eats the male because she can. This gives her more nutrients to pass on to her young. It’s a survival situation, not a murder. The male knows this can happen and he is the one who must convince the female that he is worthy and strong enough to father her offspring, and survive long enough to raise them for a little time before being eaten. It is the way of nature.”
“Simp.”
“I suppose you could say that. Are men in your human society any different? Does the human male not have to prove his worth in order to be rewarded with a mate? Do human women not tend to choose partners that can protect them, provide for them and their children, and serve as good genetic stock? These are all factors that human women take into consideration, no?”
“I typically don’t have to worry about getting eaten when I go on a date, though. If I went on a date.” he suddenly looked depressed. “This conversation wasn’t an argument, but I still lost.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then her eyes brightened, she leaned forward again, her voice was soft. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity - and perhaps a little flirtatiousness. “What if I don’t want to eat you? What if I want you to live?”
He blinked. “Uh, Charlotte, you’re really nice and I treasure our friendship, but, uh, I don’t think it would work out... We could NOT have a bigger species divide.”
“That’s true. Maybe it’s best to keep this strictly professional.”
But then she looked at him, really truly looked at him with those big eyes of hers and said, “But what if I still want to try?” Charlotte’s eyes continue to glow brightly in the darkness. “Are you having an internal reaction to my question?” she asked with an amused look and a mocking chuckle.
She appeared to be enjoying his internal turmoil.
“You tiny troll.”
She couldn’t help herself. She giggled.
It was such a sweet sound, like the tinkling of icicles or a musical bell.
“So I’m small and I like to tease you, that makes me a tiny troll.” she said with a teasing smile.
Her eyes twinkled in the darkness. “That almost sounds like a pet name you would give someone you like.” she said.
Checkmate.
He sighed, not engaging anymore.
I’ve officially been outsmarted by a fucking arachnid.
Charlotte laughed again, and seemed a little smug.
“So? What’s your answer?” she said, and he could hear the excitement in her voice.
“Well, I might be small, but I did come up with a good argument for why you and I should date. So what’s it going to be?” she tilted her head to the side, a playful and teasing look on her face, and her eyes are sparkling again.
“Let it go, Charlotte.” I say. “You’re just going to hurt yourself. It’s not possible.”
Charlotte essentially pouted.
She spent a lot of time looking in the mirror, playing patty cake with her own reflection. She looked at fashion magazines and learned about different styles and periods of dress. She took a liking to corsets.
Charlotte could sense his hesitation and reluctance.
And it made her sad.
Sadness begot guilt, as she realized that she had put the man in an unfair situation.
Still, she couldn’t take back what she said, and she didn’t want to lose him as a friend.
So she came up with an...unconventional solution.
“What if I were bigger?” she said cautiously, but with a look of hope.
She stared at him, looking a little bit uncertain of her own suggestion, but still hoping that it could be a possible solution.
“You’re taking the jorogumo lore too seriously.” he scratched his head.
Charlotte giggled at the jab. “Perhaps I am,” she said with a small grin. “I meant what I said though, what if I were bigger?”
Her eyes were bright and sparkling when she looked at him.
The tiny black widow held her breath for a moment, awaiting his answer.
She was patient, even as days, weeks, months, and years passed.
Charlotte took a liking to the color purple, and practiced spinning purple silk as she read her fashion magazines.
Charlotte could wait. She always was patient, even as she secretly hoped for something that was probably impossible. He continued to share his space with her, and she continued to be there by his side, even though there may have never been anything more than friendship between them.
And she always had one burning question on her mind.
“Would you date me if I were bigger?” she asked again in her soft voice, but there was a pleading look in her eyes.
Decades passed, and Charlotte never aged a day, even as the ravages of time took her friend and host. Charlotte became larger over time, and it seemed there was truth to the jorogumo myth after all.
She was the size of a cat now, and felt as though she was on the verge of some final transformation.
It came too late though.
The man was old and gray, laying in his deathbed, having a hard time breathing.
Charlotte had not left his side the entire time. Her voice was soft and gentle as it was everyday, but it now carried with it the sound of sorrow, of mourning. She sat at his side, holding his hand in her glossy spider legs.
“I am sorry, my friend,” she said sadly, her eyes shiny with tears. “I know it is probably too late to tell you this now, but...I love you...” her voice trailed off as she looked down at him.
Her body was shaking, and she seemed to be fighting back sobs.
The man smiled. “Don’t be sorry, Charlotte... You were my friend... If I hadn’t decided to take you home that day... my life would have been empty... This shop... will be yours, soon...” he coughed.
Her eight eyes were glowing bright with her sorrow, but she smiled at his words. “Thank you, my friend...” she leaned down and kissed his forehead gently. “...I will take good care of the shop...”
A small sob escaped her as she spoke, and her voice broke for a moment before she continued. “... I will be here to greet you...when you cross over...”
As he neared death, his eyes widened. In his final moments, he saw a vision of the future... no, not the future, but a future…
“I see...” he said. “So that’s the basis of reality...”
He smiled softly.
Charlotte watched him as he stared ahead.
“What do you see?” she asked softly.
“It’s...” he smiled. “It’s so intricate and connected, it just looks abstract and chaotic up close... Charlotte, it’s... it’s just like a web...” he said, eyes shining.
Charlotte’s body relaxed as she looked at him. She could tell something had given him peace.
“How beautiful”, she whispered, and there were so many emotions in those two words.
She seems like she was at once sad at losing him, but also glad that he could see some beauty as he reached his end. “The webs of reality. Everything connected.” she said with such a softness in her voice, as if she herself could almost see it.
“Charlotte, don’t be sad.” he smiled. “I won’t be gone. Like the auras on these antiques, I’ll live on in your memory. Do you remember when I was snarking about how black widows eat their mates, and you talked about how it’s to provide nutrients for the next generation?”
She was quiet and still for a moment as she remembered that day. “Yes,” she said eventually. “I remember it well....” her voice was almost like whispering a memory.
“I don’t know how or why, but here on the end of my days, I can see the future. In another world, there’s going to be a boy who will grow up in a town called Riverview. He’s your Wilbur.” he said.
Charlotte’s eyes lit up.
“Tell me about him,” she said eagerly, and it seemed like there was nothing she would rather hear than this now, nothing she could possibly be more interested in. “What will he look like?” she asked. “What will his favorite colors be? His favorite foods? What will his personality be like?”
Her voice was so full of excitement that it was almost infectious.
“I don’t have enough breath left. I brought up the cannibalism thing for a reason. When I die, you need to eat my corpse. You’ll inherit my seer abilities. They’ll guide you.”
Charlotte was silent for a moment as this request came out of nowhere and seemed to hit her like a ton of bricks.
“Eat you?” she asked with a look of shock and horror, her eyes wide. “Is this truly a requirement for the abilities to work?”
“It’s ok, Charlotte. I, lo...”
He fell dead.
Charlotte’s body went limp at the loss of him.
She had a brief moment of silent mourning before she collected herself.
“I will do whatever it takes,” she said softly.
The black widow took one last look at his face, and then she leaned close to him. She lowered her face to his, and then, before she closed his eyes, she gave him one last kiss on the cheek.
Charlotte ate the lonely antique shop owner’s body and inherited his legacy. With that boost, she gained the magical power to truly become a jorogumo.
Her new human form was that of a beautiful woman with a white bob cut, wearing a pearl choker and a black and purple corset.
She inherited the antique shop.
Madame Charlotte woke up, her head buried in her books. Her glass of red wine was half-finished by her side.
“Hmm? Oh. I must have drifted off again.” she closed her eyes, a bittersweet smile on her face.
She looked toward the door to the shop, waiting for her Wilbur to appear.
Waiting to carry out the will of her friend.
Waiting.
“One day.”
