Not Just For...Twisted Women

And here's a short story with a nature theme if you have just come over from The Crete Nature Blog

Mary and the Spider Man

The faintest flicker of movement caught Mary's eye as she turned the page. She lowered her library book and scanned the corner of the room where the television sat blankly on its unit.

There it was, advancing slowly towards her across the carpet: a brown mass of legs creeping inexorably towards her. Instinctively she drew her legs up onto the settee. It was at times like this that she wished that Robert was still alive. She wished that he was still alive all the time of course but spiders he'd been particularly good at. She'd only have to scream the word and off would come his left slipper and with unerring accuracy it would sail across the room and the offending creature would be left stone dead. Robert had been a true marksman with a size nine slipper, it was a shame that it hadn't been an Olympic event.

The spider was now mid way between the television set and the settee. Mary took aim and threw a copy of Traditional Herbal Remedies at it. And missed by a mile. The book lay strewn by the television unit and the spider hadn't even blinked one of its many eyes.

As it approached to within a foot of the settee she flapped at it wildly with a cushion which had the effect of sending it scurrying to the opposite corner of the room. Keeping a wary eye on that corner Mary gingerly crossed the room and collected the book. As she lifted it from the floor a small leaflet fell out. She used it to bookmark the page she'd been reading and, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, decided to make herself a hot drink and go to bed.

After she'd undressed and got herself into bed, the mug gently steaming by her side, Mary opened the book again. The leaflet fell out upon the duvet. She was about to put it to one side for later use when something prompted her to study it more closely.

"Morrisford Nature Reserve Events Calendar" she read, and a bit further down, "Join our wardens for a look at some of our favourite wild flowers, their traditional uses and how they got their names." She looked at the dates and discovered that the next walk was tomorrow evening.

The following morning, as she was pottering about in the garden, she was still debating the idea. She hadn't been out in the evening since Robert had... the word still wouldn't form in her mind. But that had been three years ago now. Three years in which she seemed to have drifted aimlessly, existing rather than living. She made her mind up: it was time to start living again. She stuck her fork in the earth determinedly, went into the house and called to book herself a place on the walk.

The initial nervousness that she'd felt as she nosed her car into a parking place among the fir trees was soon dispelled when she met her fellow walkers. There were only eleven of them in the party and that included the two rangers, both youngish girls, and everybody said 'Good evening'. Some of them were obviously regulars who knew each other and Mary felt a cosy feeling of being a part of something as they set off towards the lake.

The rangers chatted knowledgeably about flowers such as comfrey which used to be known as knit bone in the middle ages and who's leaves could be infused to feed tomatoes; yarrow which could be used to staunch blood flow and selfheal which was good for sore throats.

"Carol, take a look at this a moment," a portly, middle aged gentleman in faded blue shorts called to one of the rangers. His I'm-on-first-name-terms-with-the-rangers attitude had been mildly irritating Mary for most of the evening.

Carol dutifully back-tracked to see what blue-shorts had found and the rest of the party formed a loose circle around the scene of the action which, apparently, was a dead log. Mary craned her neck to see what everybody was looking at.

"Have you ever seen a spider doing that before?" asked blue-shorts.

Despite her dislike of spiders Mary found herself leaning closer to see what the creature was doing which appeared to be nothing more than eating some unfortunate little bug. Mary rather supposed that that was what spiders did all the time and couldn't see what all the fuss was about.

"You should have seen the way he went for that woodlouse," blue-shorts enthused, "it was like a tiger after a kid. What sort of spider is it?"

Carol peered at the creature intently, "It's not one I recognise," she admitted, "but there again I'm not an expert."

"Um, perhaps I may be permitted to take a look?" a tall, bearded man whom, Mary noticed, had kept to the periphery of the group stepped forward.

She shuddered as he bent down and picked the thing up on a piece of bark and let it crawl onto his hand.

"It's um, a Dysdera crocata ," he seemed almost apologetic at being more knowledgeable than the rangers, "it er, specialises in eating woodlice, you know," he put the creature back delicately onto the log, "pierces them top and bottom with its fangs."

"Type of harvestman is it?" asked blue-shorts, not wanting to be upstaged.

"Er, no, quite different," stammered the beard, "in fact the harvestman, although commonly taken for a spider, isn't a spider at all it's..." he paused, "but I'm sure people don't want to hear me babbling about spiders all evening."

"No, you're quite right," agreed blue-shorts, "it's supposed to be a wild flower walk after all. Lets move on," and so saying he strode on up the path trailing walkers and rangers alike in his wake.

Mary fell in beside the beard at the tail end of the group, "You certainly took the wind out of his sails," she said, appreciatively.

"Well, I, um, didn't want to, you know, um.."

"That's all right. I'm glad you did. He was beginning to get on my nerves. Are you an expert on spiders?"

"I wouldn't like to say, um, expert, you know? but I do profess to a certain amount of knowledge."

"I can't stand them, myself," Mary admitted which somewhat effectively, if unintentionally, put an end to the conversation.

Over the weeks that followed Mary became a 'regular' on these evening strolls and, more often than not, she would find herself walking alongside the beard who's name, she discovered, was Timothy. Together they went on bat walks, bird walks, deer walks and, of course, wild flower walks. Timothy seemed to be knowledgeable on just about everything and underneath that shy exterior she discovered a caring man with a mischievous sense of humour and, above all, an overwhelming enthusiasm about life - in all its forms, but especially...spiders.

The weeks flowed into months and Timothy became a more or less permanent fixture in her world. He didn't exactly replace Robert - nobody could- but he'd opened a new chapter in her book of life and re-awakened her. She'd even come to appreciate, if not quite share, his passion for spiders. His proposal when it had come had been typical Timothy: "I was wondering if we might, um, you know, we seem to get on very well together and, that is, I wondered if, maybe, you would consider..."

"Yes Timothy, I will marry you!"

And now, here she was, sat upon the settee trying to sort out the guest list. She reached over for her address book when the faintest flicker of movement caught her eye. She put down the address book and scanned the corner of the room where the television was still sitting blankly on its unit. There it was, advancing slowly towards her across the carpet: a brown mass of legs creeping inexorably towards her. She got up from the settee and knelt down in front of it.

"Ah," she said, subconsciously imitating her future husband, " Tegenaria gigantea . I know you're supposed to be a house spider but I don't really want you spinning your webs behind my television set thank you very much."

She picked the spider up in her cupped hands and, very gently, put him out of the window.

*********************************************************************************

And there's another free story at bit.ly/twistedwomen  where you can download the whole lot for your Kindle for less than a cup of coffee.