House of Spiders

She continued to inch her way along, her hands guiding the way through the dark, when she found the other opening.

"Oh please, PLEASE let this be a way out!"

Grasping the sides, she quickly pulled herself out of the hole. The whispers of sensations crossed her skin as she immediately became entangled in more spider webs. It was then Deborah realized she wasn't outside, but that the hole had merely opened up into a small burrow with thick, milky white webbing draped all around her, some it so dense that it blocked her view completely. She noticed something else too -- wrapped and hung like cocoons were the dried out carcasses of mice, cats and even a dog. Terror gripped her heart, cutting off her breath as a scream whimpered from her throat.

Looking up and to the left, she saw another hole, and the evening light filtering in from the outside. Deborah whimpered a sigh of relief. Behind her, hundreds of spiders were now milling around inside the hole she had just crawled out of, creating an illusion that the walls were actually moving! Strangely, none of the spiders had ventured in after her yet. She wasn't going to stick around and wait for them.

Sobbing, Deborah managed to tear through the sticky strands and crawl to the escape hole. Her robe was nearly torn to shreds with just enough cloth left intact to cover her body. Her golden blonde hair was almost covered in blood from when she banged her head on the floor rafter, but she barely even noticed her condition.

Through the hole she saw green grass lining the outer edges and the moon shining down like a beacon. She also heard the faint sounds of a cricket chirping in the distance. It was like music to her ears! Just a few more feet and she would be outside and free of this house!

"Oh, THANK GOD," she whispered.

Then brushed against her shoulder; something heavy and course, like the bristles of a broom. A dark shadow rose and loomed over her, and when she spun around, she saw those haunting beady eyes . . .

Ever since she was a little girl, Deborah Weaver had always been afraid of spiders. Deathly afraid. Everyone told her they were harmless, but she was too scared to believe them. Now, as eight long legs enshrouded her and pulled her into their dark embrace, she took small consolation in the fact that her instincts had always been right.

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The following day, a truck bearing the name, THRIFTY PEST CONTROL, pulled up in front of the house. The driver rang the doorbell three times, and with a look of frustration on his face, checked his clipboard when there was no answer. Sure enough, the date and time for their appointment were both correct. He assumed the owner must be late and decided to wait in his truck.

But just as he stepped off the porch, he heard a strange noise that sounded like someone whimpering from the side of the house. He called out, then turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. A woman, wearing only a pair of panties and the tattered remains of a silk robe, was crouched next to a large tree as if she were hiding from something. Her head was bleeding, her body scratched and bruised all over, and nearby, a crawlspace window had been broken from inside the house.

The police were immediately notified. They found the woman's driver's license -- her name, Deborah Weaver -- but they could get no explanation from her as to what happened, other than mindless babble about 'giant spiders' trying to kill her. A search of the house was conducted and they found nearly nothing out of the ordinary -- just the broken crawlspace window and a blown circuit box. They had her examined, and found no evidence of rape, or drug use, so a police psychologist was called in to make an evaluation.

The following week, a board of inquiry concluded that the woman was suffering from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder -- a severe and debilitating anxiety afflicting about one adult in 40. Most-likely originating from a childhood incident, it gradually increased throughout her life and finally peaked when the pressures of work, school and family became too much for her.

The impact of OCD on a person's quality of life could be strikingly high, including the way that person thinks, feels and behaves. In Ms. Weaver's case, she was experiencing hallucinations so extreme that she actually 'believed' she was being chased by spiders, and acted out these delusions, going as far as to break a window in her crawl space, and thus sustaining her injuries.

It was also ruled that, for her own well-being, Ms. Weaver should be committed to a mental institution indefinitely where she could be safely treated for her disorder.

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After Deborah's parents came to pick up her things, Bill Ryerson immediately made plans to put the house back up for rent. But first, to insure that no more tenants might go berserk, he called the exterminator back and told him to spray the place.

Later that afternoon, a man from THRIFTY PEST CONTROL called Ryerson from the house and left a message on his machine. He found no trace of spiders, no webs, nothing, but sprayed the place anyway.

Then there was something odd in what he said next.

During his sweep, he noticed a spot in the crawlspace where the wall had given away. This was briefly mentioned in the police report, only now, a fresh sinkhole had formed. It almost looked like a tunnel. He ended the message saying that he would get a flashlight from his truck and go into the crawlspace for a closer look, then report back on what he found.

That was over an hour ago and the guy still hadn't called in.

Ryerson mumbled his own displeasure, "First one of my tenants goes nuts, and now that damn house has foundation problems. I never should have bought the place."

He waited another hour, then finally grabbed his coat from the closet. Before leaving, he told his wife to put dinner in the fridge,

"This is going to take a while . . ."

End