Apexology: Horror

by Anthology

  Tubes wormed in and out of his body.

  "Oh God." Grete's heart rolled in her chest.

  Under the thin sheet, his truncated arms stirred uselessly. He turned his head, as if he had heard her. Where his cheek had lain, a dessicated rose clung to the pillow.

  A wordless cry ripped through her.

  "Shush." Dr. Fairview's breath was hot in her ear. "Stress is bad for the donors, and it's hard to find someone with my skin tone."

  "Kaj."

  Kaj's mouth opened and closed like a wound.

  "He's missed you. I can tell." In one movement, Doc pushed her pants down and entered her.

  She cried out as something tore inside her. Grete twisted away from the stabbing pain, but Dr. Fairview pinned her against the bed.

  With each rip and thrust, Kaj's head rolled further off the pillow. His blind eyes seemed to stare at her as if reminding her why she was there.

  Kill him now. Now, while the bastard was riding her. Now, while he stood too close to the beds to see into the bottom one. Sobbing, Grete fumbled for the pillow and pressed it over Kaj's face. She bent over him, holding him, trying to block out his hands squeezing her breasts. His cock ripping her open.

  Kaj bucked under her. Dying. "I love you," she whispered into his perfect ears as she killed him. "I will always remember you. I love you." The scent of roses surrounded them.

  He had stilled under her hands long before Dr. Fairview finished. Grete cradled Kaj against her, remembering the feel of his perfect body.

  Doc squeezed her breast. "You know. I could do wonderful things with these breasts." His hand trailed down her neck. "No one knows where you are, do they, kitten?"

  THE SPIDER IN THE HAIRDO

  Michael A. Burstein

  Michael A. Burstein won the 1997 Campbell Award. His short fiction, mostly in Analog, has been nominated for ten Hugos and four Nebulas. He and wife Nomi live in Brookline, Massachusetts, where he is a Library Trustee and Town Meeting Member. He has two physics degrees, and attended Clarion. His first collection (I Remember the Future: The Award-Nominated Stories of Michael A. Burstein) was released in late 2008 by Apex Publications with the title story (“I Remember the Future”) earning a Nebula Award for short fiction.

  “The Spider in the Hairdo” first appeared in Urban Nightmares (Baen) edited by Keith R.A. DeCandido and Josepha Sherman.

  —§—

  The metal shell, small enough to fit in a human's hand, landed gently upon the pavement. After a long minute, during which the occupant's sleeping consciousness established that its hundred-light-year journey was at an end, the shell cracked open. The two halves of the shell, built to withstand the cold, hard vacuum of empty space, fell apart perfectly and rattled against the ground. They wobbled for a few seconds, then were still.

  The spider emerged from the shell and felt the air around it, warm and humid. It stretched its eight long legs and let its black body fur stand up on edge, probing the sunlight shining above. Briefly, it extended its needle-shaped proboscis from the mouth in its underbelly, stopping it before it hit the ground. Its body felt fully functional.

  Immediately, images flooded the spider's mind, images meant to be triggered as soon as the spider was free of its shell. The spider shuddered at images of a home planet, far away, threatened with destruction. It paused at images of its own race threatened with extinction. Finally, it contemplated the images of a last-ditch effort to save its own kind, and to spread its people among the stars.

  The spider now remembered why it had been sent out as one of millions, so long ago. The stimulus that had triggered the opening of its shell on this particular planet was electromagnetic radiation, a definite sign of intelligence of some sort, intelligence that could be bent to the spider's will.

  It scurried away in search of an easily manipulated human mind.

  Peggy hated Mondays. It meant going back to school and, although home life was no great shakes, school wasn't much fun either. Especially now that, as a ninth grader, she had been forced to attend a new school, a long bus ride from her home. Why couldn't she have been sent to Forest Hills High School with all her friends from Russell Sage? No, she had been sent to Hillcrest, in Jamaica.

  This morning, she had managed to avoid her tormentors when walking from class to class. Lunchtime, now, and as always, she waited until the hallway was empty before heading to her locker for her bag lunch.

  She had just started to work the combination lock when she heard Roxanne's voice. "Hey! Fatgirl!"

  Damn. She must have gotten wise to Peggy last week, when Peggy made a point of going to the lockers late. Peggy stopped fiddling with the lock and began a quick trot in the direction away from Roxanne's voice. "Hey! Come back here, girl!"

  Her book bag, an old blue one from L.L.Bean, fell off her shoulder as she ran. She skidded to a stop and backtracked to retrieve it.

  Unfortunately, that gave Roxanne the time she needed to catch up. Before Peggy could pick up her book bag, Roxanne grabbed her arm, lightly. Peggy noticed that two of Roxanne's friends were with her, jeering. "Hey, Fatgirl, didn't you hear me?"

  Peggy squirmed. She hated the way Roxanne and her cronies all called her by that name. She wasn't fat, just plump. "Roxanne, go away."

  "Aw, c'mon, I just wanted to say hello."

  "Yeah, right. Just leave me alone." She twisted her arm free.

  Roxanne spat at her, getting her blouse wet. "I don't know why they couldn't keep you losers in Forest Hills." With that, she walked away, her two leeches close behind.

  Peggy watched them walk away, and wiped away the beginnings of tears in her eyes. If only they would leave her alone. She bent over, picked up her book bag, and hooked it over her right shoulder.

  She didn't notice the spider that had crawled into her bookbag.

  The spider had found the perfect host. A body small in stature, but wide in girth. Someone isolated from her community, feeling dejected, depressed....

  Vulnerable.

  It needed to get closer to her, physically closer, for a period of a few days. That was the only way it could ensure the survival of its race. But how could it stay unnoticed on the skin of the creature for such a long period of time?

  Delving below the level of language and conscious thought, the spider probed the creature's unconscious mind. It began to grasp more fully the social pains of the creature, and realized a way it could work this to its advantage. The spider readied itself for a direct onslaught into the creature's mind, to bend her to its will.

  Dinner was always a chore. As an only child, Peggy had to bear the total brunt of her parents' questions. Sometimes it made her too sick to eat.

  Her mother passed the meatloaf. "So how was your day at school, sweetheart?"

  Her father passed the potatoes. "Meet any nice guys yet?" He laughed loudly.

  Peggy poked at her food. "Everything's fine," she mumbled.

  Her mother passed the peas. "You know, your father has a point. When I was your age —"

  Peggy interrupted her. "Mom, may I be excused?"

  Her mother paused in passing the gravy. "But, honey, you haven't finished your —"

  "Mother, I don't feel well. I need to lie down. Please?"

  Her mother nodded. "Okay, hon, but I'll leave your plate in the fridge in case you feel better later.

  "Thank you." Peggy jumped out of her chair and ran down the hallway to her bedroom. As soon as the door was safely shut behind her, she collapsed onto her bed, squeezed one of her many teddy bears, and began to cry.

  After she had let it all out, she sat up in bed and reached over to her night table for a tissue.

  "I wish I were more popular."

  I can help you with that.

  She jerked her head around. "Who said that?"

  Just think of me as a friend. I can help you with your problem.

  She turned her head around, a little more methodically. There was no one near her. "How?"

  Advice. What makes other kids more
popular?

  She shrugged. Perhaps it was just her own mind, helping her focus on her problems. "I dunno. Looks, clothes…"

  There you go. Looks. Why don't you change yours?

  She laughed bitterly. "It's not that easy. I've tried losing weight."

  It doesn't have to be something elaborate. Perhaps something simple, like… like your hair.

  "My hair?" Peggy's hands flew to her hair, and she pulled a strand in front of her face to examine it. It always struck her as being a dull brownish sort of color. She wore it long and straight, just because she could never think of what else to do with it.

  Why not surprise them at school with a new hairdo? Something…retro. That would get their attention.

  Peggy nodded, slowly. "Yeah. That might work. But what—wait! I know."

  She rushed into the living room and pulled one of her parents' old photo albums down from the shelf. She paged through it. "I remember Mom showing me a picture once…there!"

  The photograph, yellow on the edges, showed a picture of her mother at the same age Peggy was now, fifteen. She wore a purple sweater and a long white skirt with an embroidered poodle. But her hair! Her hair was coiffed up in curls that wrapped around themselves, forming a unfinished cone with the top of her head at the base. A beehive hairdo, that was what they called it. No one wore those anymore.

  "What do you think?" Peggy asked out loud.

  Perfect.

  The next afternoon, once the usual annoyances at school were over, Peggy headed to the Kevork hair salon just off Queens Boulevard. She had brought the photograph of her mother along to show the hairdresser exactly what she wanted.

  The hairdresser looked at the photograph, then at Peggy. She chewed on her gum, blew a bubble which popped, and studied Peggy's hair. Peggy shuffled and lowered her eyes to the linoleum floor. She already felt out of place, with the middle-aged women around and the speakers playing Muzak. The hairdresser wasn't helping.

  Finally, the woman spoke. "Why wouldja want to do this for?"

  "I want to be popular," Peggy whispered.

  The hairdresser barked a laugh. "This ain't the fifties, kid. Go home." She handed the photograph back.

  Peggy felt dejected and embarrassed. She turned on her heel to leave, when she heard the voice. Don't listen to her. She doesn't know what she's talking about. Stand your ground.

  Peggy turned back to face the hairdresser. "I want a beehive. Will you do it? If not, I'll go somewhere else."

  The hairdresser sighed. "Okay, kid. The customer is always right."

  It took about an hour to do Peggy's hair, an hour which passed very quickly for Peggy. Neither she nor the hairdresser noticed the tiny spider which crawled into the hairdo just as the hairdresser was putting the finishing touches on the style. As the last curl in the hair was made, the spider was securely locked in.

  The cost was forty dollars. Fortunately, Peggy had managed to steal a fifty from her mother's purse that morning. She paid the hairdresser and strutted out the door.

  "You'll knock 'em dead, kid," the hairdresser called to her as the door swung closed.

  Peggy ran all the way home, constantly patting her hair to reassure herself that the beehive was still there. She panted, breathless, as she ran into her house. "Mom! Dad! Take a look!"

  Her mother emerged from the kitchen, her father from the living room. They both stopped short when they saw her.

  "What do you think?" Peggy asked, turning all the way around. She could feel herself blushing with anticipation.

  "Oh, Peggy, I don't believe it!" her mother exclaimed. Her father just laughed, louder and longer then she had ever heard him laugh before.

  "I mean," her mother continued, "a beehive hairdo! Why on Earth would you go and do something like that?"

  She stared her mother right in the eyes. "To make me more popular."

  Her father laughed more at that, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I remember when your mother got one. But Peggy! No one gets them anymore."

  "Well, I did. And I like it." She jutted her jaw out, defying her father to contradict her.

  Her mother glared at her father, who stopped laughing. "Oh, Peggy," she said. "That's not going to make you popular. Those went out with poodle skirts."

  Don't listen to her, said the voice. The hairdo is perfect.

  "It's perfect, Mom."

  Her mother shrugged. "Whatever you wish, honey. Come, it's time to eat."

  After dinner, Peggy went straight to bed, her neck on the pillow and her head against the wall so as not to disturb her precious new hairdo. She was so excited about her new hairdo that it took her a long time to drift off to sleep.

  The spider burrowed deep within the hairdo, exploring the warmth of its new, very temporary, home. It crawled around for a few hours, enjoying the sensations of another being's hair tingling against its body, and ingesting nutrients from the chemicals with which the hair had been treated. When the host went to sleep, it got to work.

  The spider crawled down to the bottom of the hairdo, and found the tiny open spot of skin on its host's scalp, the point from which hairs whorled outward. Very gently, the spider settled its legs around this spot, so as to maintain stability as the host moved around. Slowly, it extended its proboscis out of its underbelly. The point of the needle, covered with one drop of a green sticky liquid, pierced the skin of the host's scalp with ease.

  Exuding what, to the spider, was a sigh of pleasure and contentment, it began pumping liquid into the host's scalp, emptying its eggsac as gingerly as possible.

  The host slept on, peaceful and oblivious.

  The next morning was Wednesday, and Peggy woke up early. She had a slight headache, but her eagerness to show off her new hairdo overcame any thoughts of staying home. She tapped her feet impatiently waiting for the city bus, and when it let her off at the stop half a block away from Hillcrest, she ran to the school door as fast as her feet could take her.

  She went to the lockers to drop off her lunch. Usually she waited until just before homeroom, when Roxanne and her friends would be elsewhere, and sometimes that made her late for class. But this time, Peggy made a deliberate point of going to the lockers early.

  Naturally, Roxanne was there. Pretending to ignore her, Peggy walked up to her locker and opened the combination lock, all the while humming. There were other kids around as well, and as she secured her lunch she noticed that slowly, conversations died out, and everyone went silent.

  Peggy pasted a big grin on her face, and turned around to see everyone's reaction.

  It was not what she had expected. Most of the kids stared at her, with their jaws hanging open or their heads shaking. A few looked puzzled, and whispered to their neighbors.

  Finally, Roxanne maneuvered her way through the crowd, her two companions close behind. She studied Peggy's hair intently, then burst out, "Girl, whadja go and do that for? You look like a beauty school reject."

  She began to laugh, and her companions joined in. Soon the entire crowd of Peggy's peers were laughing at her.

  "I thought it would look good," Peggy heard herself say. That just made them laugh louder.

  Then the voice comforted her. It does look good.

  "It does look good," Peggy repeated aloud.

  It will make you popular.

  "It's going to make me popular." She turned on her heel and walked off to homeroom, holding herself as high as she could.

  In the end, the only people she managed to impress with her hairdo all day were her teachers, or at least the older ones. A lot of the kids had teased her, and some adults had gently suggested that she change it back. But, as she went to bed that night feeling more tired than usual, she knew that her beehive hairdo would make her the most popular girl in school, in just a few days or a week. The voice told her so.

  The spider continued to inject the green sticky liquid into the host, but at a slower pace. It moved from spot to spot on the host's scalp, as each injection point became too inflamed to h
old its proboscis steady. But the spider had a problem. It had not anticipated how weak this host became in such a short time. Another night or two of injections would be necessary. The spider reached into the host's dreams as she slept, projecting images that would ensure that she leave its home intact for that long.

  The next day, Peggy's headache felt a lot worse. During her morning English class, Ms. Carberg expressed concern about how pale she looked.

  "I feel fine," she lied. In truth, she felt a little dizzy.

  "I don't think so, Peggy. I'm sending you to the nurse's office."

  Peggy knew the nurse, Ms. Matthews, because she also served as her Health Education teacher. She made Peggy lie down on a couch, but Peggy kept her head and hairdo upright. Then Ms. Matthews stuck a thermometer in her mouth and looked at it after about a minute.

  "It's a little high. Are you feeling all right?"

  "Well," Peggy said, "I have been getting these headaches.

  "Hmm." She reached into her desk drawer and took out a small plastic bottle. "I'm going to give you two aspirin to take. If you start feeling any worse, you should consider going home."

  "Okay." Peggy slowly lifted herself off of the couch and stood up. She quickly sat down.

  "I'm still a little dizzy, I guess."

  Ms. Matthews nodded and gave her the aspirin and a paper cup filled with water. Peggy swallowed the pills and handed the empty cup back. Then she closed her eyes, getting her breath back.

  "You know," Ms. Matthews said, "it could be your hair."

  Peggy's eyes flew open. "What?"

  "Well, perhaps your beehive is a little tight. Maybe we should undo it."

  "Undo it? Well —" A wave of fear swept through Peggy, strengthening her resolve. She heard the voice in her head. Do not undo the hairdo.

  "No!" She jumped up, feeling recovered. "Leave my hair alone!"