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The spider is enormous. It’s skittering, its shell shiny, glittering glass over a body made of dirt.
“Fuck off!” I scream, again, again, again. My hands are shaking, the lampstand bobbing like a fishing rod, the discarded lampshade rolling around under the coffee table. I’d grabbed the closest thing that could cause damage, but if I crack the ceramic off this horrible thing then my only weapon will shatter, and I’ll be left defenceless.
The spider makes a clicking sound, and slinks closer. Jesus fucking Christ.
I stumble backwards and bump into something with an edge. I pat around and find a table, square, with mismatched chairs. The one with the patchwork cushion on the seat is mine. I sit there for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day except Tuesdays, because –
“Is it Tuesday?” I ask aloud. I have a shift that starts after my last lecture, right? I’m closing the restaurant tonight, and I have an 8am seminar tomorrow morning about altered cell signalling in the development of disease states, so I’ve got to make sure my paper on microbiology genetics is finished before I leave campus –
The spider trills, the spider, the monster – no longer across the room but right in front of me. Shimmering glass moving like water over its legs, which are lifting, fingers spreading to two, three, touching my knee –
I recoil jerkily and my hip bangs off the side of the table. I yelp in pain and stagger, my legs disobeying, the dead weight of sandbags. I fall and feel a pop deep in my pelvis, and I expect to meet the ground wailing, but I don’t. I fall into the curve of a large iridescent rock, ammolite that segments and moves, creaking and grinding. It’s shining too, refracting ambient silver like the spider.
I glance up, bolts of agony down my back and legs, and I see a boulder the size of a car hovering over me.
“Help!” I cry out, as the boulder moves – it moves – legs unfolding into spikes, a deep rumble vibrating from its centre mass to mine, a noise I can feel in my teeth.
“Help!” My voice is reedy, breaking. “Someone, please!”
I scream as much as my throat will allow and writhe, and it hurts, but there’s more of them coming, spiders too big to exist. I can see them crowding the room. Black and blue and red and green, small and medium and large like the one holding me. They’re clicking and whistling and humming so loudly that it feels like a pounding inside my head, relentless, building. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to lurch away again, and in the chaos I drop a vase. I watch it smash, shards blurring the further they travel.
Why was I holding – the ceramic, the vase, it was connected to something. There’s a bulb, I can see the glass, but the glass isn’t broken. The ceramic is in pieces, clenched in my fist and spread on the floor like feathers, but the shimmering glass stayed whole. What was it, why did I –
Sharper trills, and light touches to my face. I’m gasping every breath as I focus my eyes on the dirty spider again, which is suddenly inches away. I’m screaming, and there’s pain and constriction around my arms and waist, where I’m flailing, and a searing pinch to my thigh, and then I’m tired. Stratt's behind this, she knows I’ve got to wake up early, I have class, the kids are going on a field trip and I volunteered to chaperone, except – I can’t be, I’m –
*
“You should get some rest. I’ll watch you sl –,”
“No.”
“…Rocky. He’s being monitored –,”
“No.”
*
When I wake up, I know what happened.
I lift my arm from the cot and see the cuts in my craggy palm, carefully cleaned and studded with butterfly stitches. My back and hips are numbed and pinned in a brace again, for the first time in weeks.
I lie there for a while, breathing steadily, listening to the ECG beep next to me. The machine almost sounds like it’s manmade, honestly. The tone of the beep is a little lower. Anyone else probably wouldn’t be able to distinguish between them: alien or human effort.
A hand settles over mine. I glance down and turn it up, so I can curl my fingers around the little claws.
“Hi, pal,” I rasp, and then I spend the next few minutes hacking to clear my throat, thick, wet coughs that sound like the engine of an ancient truck starting for the first time in a decade.
When I finally gather myself, Rocky has clambered up onto the infirmary cot. He pulls his carapace up to my chest and holds his weight up, crouching his arms so they bracket my sides. Adrian tells him not to do it, insisting that it’s bad for his joints and dangerous for me, but we both ignore them whenever possible. Rocky’s arms and body press to mine just enough for me to slide into the hug like a warm jacket.
“Sorry,” I whisper, as Rocky nuzzles my face and neck, a gesture he learned for my sake. I can’t hear him, but I can feel the sounds he’s making. It’s a gentle buzz under my skin.
I stroke his vents, or the xenonite on top of them, at least. I just lie there with him, for a little while. I can hear soft clattering the next room over, and a pattern of cautious steps that can only belong to Adrian. I must have made another mess. I hope Adrian doesn’t have to clean it all up by themselves. If they left me something to tidy after these – moments, it’d make me feel better. Maybe.
It’s like when I teach the kids. I hate that the assistants have to clear up on the classroom side of the xenonite divider once the day finishes. I should be able to help.
I startle, recalling my damned job. Shit. With all the commotion, I must have missed a class.
“Rocky,” I say urgently, and he lifts his carapace. “Rocky, are the kids okay? I have to get down to the school, I’ve got to grade homework, and – I don’t have a lesson plan ready for today – I didn’t think –,”
I shift in the bed, and Rocky stills me with one arm. He doesn’t say anything – he doesn’t speak much these days – but I know his sadness when I see it. I must have missed more than one class.
*
“Do… you need me to take over?”
“No.”
“If – you need –,”
“No.”
“Rocky. Will… will you be all right?”