by Emma Read
Milton tried to move, but his legs buckled. ‘I’ll try. It’s just . . . I’ve not been sleeping, and after the fainting . . .’ His eyes looked dim and his normally chestnut abdomen was pale again.
Ralph made sure Audrey could see his most heroic look as he said, ‘Don’t you worry, mate. I’ve got this.’
By Monday morning, Ralph was looking less heroic.
‘Have I lost weight, Audrey? I feel like I’m wasting away. It’s all right for you and Milton, you’re already thin and tiny. I feel like a shed-skin of my old self.’
‘Oh, Ralph. It’s been two days. You’ve got a long way to go before you starve.’ Audrey tutted. ‘We’re all hungry.’
‘Maybe I should eat you two,’ muttered Ralph under his breath.
‘I heard that,’ snapped Milton.
‘But Mr M finished cleaning yesterday – can’t we go now?’
True to his word, Mr Macey had done his absolute best to decontaminate every surface of the house. From under the floorboards it sounded like the end of the world. The vacuum rumbled overhead with its terrifying roar, the blackened web floating up and down over and over again. No one said a word, but they were all thinking about Lou.
The tale of Old Hairy Lou was told in hushed tones up and down Bramley Road. If a little spider misbehaved, an older, wiser spider would warn them to do as they were told, otherwise the ghost of Hairy Lou would get them.
It was the perfect creepy tale for a dark night, except for those who’d actually known him. Lou had claimed to be the oldest house spider in the street, and looking at him it wasn’t hard to believe. He’d creaked and crackled as he moved, and sometimes pieces of his exoskeleton fell off. But as he got on in years, he’d got slow and one day poor Old Hairy Lou’s scuttling came to an end. Mr M sucked him up the vacuum cleaner, where he sat for who knows how long, on a pile of fluff and hair. The enormous clear plastic cylinder didn’t need emptying for weeks, so there poor Old Hairy Lou stayed, until he turned to dust.
Audrey, Milton and Ralph held claws and huddled in close until the vacuum thunder passed.
Next came the rain of lavender-scented bleach as Mr M mopped the floor.
Fortunately the ‘thing’ Audrey had put over the top of their underfloor fort was an ancient mouse-nibbled crisp packet which, when unrolled, became a perfect umbrella. The downpour rolled right off it and on to the floor, and Ralph and Milton had hugged Audrey until she’d struggled for breath.
But now, the little food they’d had was gone and any crumbs that had washed down the gaps were wet with bleach and inedible. Whatever the situation was up above, the spiders would soon have no choice but to move on.
‘I think Zoe’s up there, it must be almost time for school.’ Milton looked nervously through the gaps in the floorboards. Daylight filtered down, and with it came two voices: Zoe and a school friend were in the hallway.
‘What are you doing your communications homework on?’ asked the other girl.
‘Spiders.’
‘Eww. Really?’
‘Yeah. You know, all this ridiculous panic over the so-called deadly widows. People being “terrorized”. I mean, seriously? So I’m writing about how spiders in Britain are perfectly harmless and, like, super important for the ecosystem. The hysteria is stupid . . . why are you looking at me like I’ve stood in dog poo?’
‘Come on, girls,’ said Mr Macey.
The front door opened, there was an earthquake of shoes and then the door slammed.
And silence.
Milton held his breath, hardly daring to hope.
‘You heard that too, right? Tell me I didn’t imagine it in some hunger-induced hallucination. She said, “so-called deadly” and “perfectly harmless”, didn’t she?’
‘All I heard was ant bites wrapped in sautéed lacewing, with roasted bluebottle dip, and lady-bird juice on the side. Is that not what she said?’ moaned Ralph.
Audrey loped to one of the beams of daylight and looked up through the gap. ‘She said it all right. Zoe is on our side!’
Oh, Zoe – I could hug you.
But not literally. That would certainly involve more screaming and Milton flying through the air again.
‘But, even if we’re safe with Zoe,’ Milton said, ‘Mr M is another barrel of aphids altogether. Felicity Thrubwell has him convinced that we’re the enemy.’
‘So what’s next?’ said Audrey.
‘I think Ralph makes a very good point.’
‘Huh?’ said Ralph, not accustomed to being right.
‘I can’t plan on an empty stomach. Let’s get some breakfast.’
The three very hungry spiders followed the pipes, back past the brick with mystic etchings and the hidden bag of worn gold coins, towards the air vent they had fled down only two days before. Ralph’s tummy grumbled and Audrey complained about her stiff legs, but Milton felt like a new spider now that he knew Zoe was on their side.
The air vent was close to the front door, and they had no idea where Mr Macey had gone, or when he would be back. He could have just gone to put the bins out, for all they knew.
Audrey volunteered to check the coast was clear. Standing on Ralph’s back, she cautiously cranked herself up to full height, her body peeking through the vent and into daylight. She blinked several times until her eyes adjusted.
‘All clear,’ she said. Audrey heaved herself out and grabbed first Milton, then Ralph, who slipped through the vent holes a little easier than he had two days ago.
Apart from being very clean and sparkly, the hallway looked normal. Coats hung overhead, Zoe’s scooter leant against the wall and one wellie boot was toppled in the corner.
And everything was blissfully quiet.
‘Back to mine, then?’ Milton suggested.
Suddenly, the door swung open and Mr Macey stumbled through, struggling with a large parcel and narrowly missing stepping on all three spiders at once.
Audrey squeaked as her knees buckled and she tripped over herself. Ralph tumbled into the back of her, their legs tangling in the process. Above them, Mr Macey wrestled with the package, his feet stomping dangerously close. Then, the door swung back and hit him in the head and he stumbled forward, face first into the coat rack.
Amidst spider screams and human moans, Milton bolted for the skirting board. Safely hidden, he called out to his friends: ‘Come on, you two!’
Ralph and Audrey had become knotted and were frantically trying to undo themselves when they heard a second voice outside the door.
‘Mr Macey, let me get the door for you. Ooh, isn’t it lovely and clean in here? I do so love the smell of bleach.’
Felicity Thrubwell!
The spiders gasped and wriggled desperately as Felicity snuck shyly on to the doormat.
‘QUICK!’ yelled Milton. ‘It’s a reef knot! That leg over, that one through, over and under . . . Ahhhhh!’
It wasn’t working, and Audrey and Ralph started dragging themselves towards the skirting board, much, much too slowly.
Milton had an idea, and started spinning as Felicity Thrubwell looked down and saw the knotted ball of wriggling arachnids on the floor.
‘UGH!’ she squeaked and roundhouse-kicked the front door closed behind her. ‘Stand back, Mr Macey, I can handle this.’ With surprising agility, she leapt over the spiders and in one swift move pulled out her can of Bug-Off pesticide spray and the fly swat from her utility belt.
Mr M peered around the parcel to see what she was talking about and saw the jumble of spiders by his feet. He threw the box high into the air, fell over the toppled wellie boot and sat down hard on the bottom stair.
The box landed with an expensive-sounding crash on the floor beside Felicity, who was standing like a cowboy at high noon, spray can raised and aimed.
She blasted a toxic stream of bug-killer directly at the terrified spiders. Audrey screamed and Ralph squirmed, trying to cover her with his body. At the same time Milton threw out his web like a lasso. It hooked over Ralph’s ab
domen and Milton tugged with all his tiny might. It was enough on the newly polished floor to send Ralph and Audrey skating, and as they crashed headlong into Milton, the three of them slid under the skirting board.
Felicity Thrubwell was furious. She stamped her feet and thwacked at the entrance to Milton’s home with the fly swat. ‘Looks like you’ve got a multi-species swarm, Mr Macey. I’m going to have to fit you in sooner – a week on Monday?’
Mr Macey glumly rattled the broken contents of his parcel. ‘You’re too kind, Ms Thrubwell.’
‘I promise you, Mr Macey, I am going to squash every last spider on this earth. Ugh!’ She spotted a housefly on the hall mirror and in a sulk, splatted that instead, leaving behind a disgusting smear.
Under the skirting board, Milton was panting. ‘Did you hear that? We’ve just lost a week, and, oh, no, my winter-tog web has gone up the vacuum . . . Audrey!! What’s wrong?’ He immediately stopped complaining as he saw Audrey crying and clutching her eyes.
‘Milton, do something. Audrey got sprayed!’ Ralph was cradling her and rubbing foul-smelling Bug-Off from his own tough exoskeleton. Milton had pulled them out of the direct line of fire and Ralph was unharmed, but they hadn’t been able to completely protect Audrey from the pesticide mist.
They tried their hardest to clean her off, but it was no use, Audrey was blind in three of her eyes.
Milton and Ralph did their best to comfort Audrey until the awful pain of the spray had worn off. But, delicate as she looked, Audrey was one tough little spider. She was determined not to let a small matter of Bug-Off and a near-death experience stop her.
So, once the humans were in bed, the spiders emerged to discuss their predicament. Sticking to the shadows, they gathered on the dining-room table.
‘Right,’ said Milton. ‘We need ideas, and quickly.’
No answer.
Ralph was skipping (unsuccessfully) with a yo-yo string and Audrey was working out if she could still pirouette, now she could only see half as well.
‘Guys! Come on. We’re down to two weeks. I want to get Zoe’s attention somehow. She’s the only one who can convince Mr M that we don’t mean any harm.’
‘But she’s a house human!’ said Ralph, pulling a face.
‘It was her talk of homework that gave me the idea. We need to communicate with her, leave her a message. If we could find another newspaper article that said: “Hey, humans of the world, there are some spiders in your house that think you don’t like them, but they’re actually really nice and friendly and won’t hurt you, honest.” And leave it somewhere for her to see, she might want to help us. Then maybe we can persuade her to help change all the humans’ minds.’
‘I don’t know, Milt. It seems a bit far-fetched to me.’ Ralph shrugged. ‘I know you want to save your whole species and all – who wouldn’t? – but can we just get ourselves out of the clutches of death first?’
Audrey, who was regaining her confidence in her ballet practice, suddenly gasped.
Milton’s heart missed a beat.
‘Ralph!’ she cried. ‘Don’t move.’
Both Ralph and Milton froze immediately.
‘Come here, Milton. I think I’ve got it!’ Audrey beckoned Milton to the top of the board game she’d been doing the splits on. ‘Stay exactly where you are, Ralph. Trust me.’
Milton climbed up and saw what Audrey was so excited about.
‘That’s it! You’re a genius!’ shouted Milton.
‘Thanks,’ Ralph called up. ‘Can I move now? I’ve got an itch.’
Milton sailed down to Ralph. ‘It’s perfect. Oh, yes, you can move.’
Ralph scratched his abdomen. ‘What’s perfect?’
‘The leaflet, look. It says: HELP US RAISE 10K.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I’ve no idea – but where you were standing, your whole body blocked out the RAISE 10K part. We can cover up the words with something other than you, though . . . like ladybird juice? It’s nice and gloopy when it dries. Then, when Zoe sits down at the laptop, you run over and point to the words that are left. She’s sure to understand.’
Ralph made a thinking noise. ‘So, blocking out the RAISE 10K leaves HELP US. I get it . . . hang on . . . what do you mean, I run over and point at it?’
‘She might not notice unless it’s obvious. She’s a human, remember? Rubbish eyesight.’
‘Why me? No offence, but you’re the one in the news, in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten, thank you. That’s exactly why it has to be you. And, besides, you’re big enough to be noticed.’
‘What? You’re the deadly one. You do it.’
‘I AM NOT DEADLY.’
‘All right, you two. Don’t get your legs in a twist.’ Audrey tried to pat Ralph’s abdomen but missed.
‘You do it, then,’ Ralph said to Audrey.
‘Oh! I don’t think I’d be much good. I’m too slender to make an impact.’
Milton nodded. ‘Audrey’s not ideal, she’s almost see-through.’
Audrey covered her body with her legs. ‘Milton! How dare you? I am not see-through. I’m delicate.’
Milton looked ashamed. ‘Sorry, Audrey. You’ve been through enough. We can’t ask you to do it.’
The trio studied their claws in silence. Then Milton and Audrey raised their eyes to Ralph.
Early the next evening, Milton, Audrey and Ralph waited in the bookshelf for Zoe and her dad to come home. As an almighty hubbub of chatter, discarded bags, and kicked-off shoes filled the hallway, the spiders nudged each other into action. Milton and Audrey hid behind the clock on the wall, while Ralph snuck reluctantly under a pile of papers. Milton noticed with a shudder that he was under a catalogue called World of Slippers – that wasn’t a good sign.
Mr M went to start dinner, then changed his mind, grabbing a plastic trug full of paper and cardboard. ‘Pass that pile of junk mail, darling.’
Zoe didn’t look up from the game she was playing on the tablet.
‘Come on, let’s get this recycling done before I forget. This place is drowning in Lucky House menus and charity adverts.’
The spiders gasped.
‘Go on!’ urged Audrey from above. ‘You’ll have to do it now before she throws our leaflet out.’ But Ralph was too well hidden to hear her.
Zoe reached across to the pile of papers, where Ralph was cowering.
‘NOW!’ said Audrey.
Just as Zoe’s fingers brushed World of Slippers she stopped. ‘Hey! That’s my brand-new NatGeokids. I haven’t finished reading it.’ She grabbed the trug and started rifling through the recycling. ‘What else have you chucked out?’
The spiders let out a sigh of relief, but they still hadn’t completed their mission.
From under the catalogue of death, Ralph rolled his eyes, let out an enormous huff and darted out as fast as he could. As she spotted Ralph running across the kitchen table towards her, Zoe jumped, her eyes wide, her body poised to throw the recycling high into the air and run for her life. She hesitated, watching as, in one smooth move, Ralph climbed on to the sticky leaflet, arranged his legs so he wasn’t covering the words . . . and pointed.
Poking out from the edge of the clock, Audrey glowed with pride. Ralph was pointing his claw like a ballerina, exactly as she’d showed him.
Zoe stared in shock, about to ‘eek’. Then the more sensible part of her brain took over. The part that said: British spiders are safe and this one seems to be doing some kind of yoga move.
She leant closer to Ralph.
Ralph trembled. Zoe still had the magazine in her hand and it looked suspiciously rolled up. He swallowed hard, his instincts told him to run, but he trusted Zoe. She’d never squashed one of them before and he had to help his best friend.
Also, Audrey was watching.
He blinked at Zoe, then tapped the leaflet with his pointed claw.
HELP US
Zoe frowned. ‘Dad, come and look at . . .’
Mr Macey was carrying a clattering box of cans and bottles to the front door.
‘Never mind,’ said Zoe, having second thoughts. Dad would no doubt start screaming again and insist on selling the house.
‘You funny little spider.’
Ralph’s legs wobbled, but he tapped again.
Zoe reached for the tablet.
That was enough for Ralph. Time to run.
Behind the clock, Audrey and Milton were both whispering, ‘Come on, get out of there.’ But Ralph didn’t budge.
Two of his back legs were stuck firmly in the glue-like juice.
Too late – another crunch and a flash and Ralph squeezed his eyes shut tight. He wriggled and struggled but it was no good, he was stuck fast.
Audrey couldn’t bear to look, and Milton had gone all pasty again, but Zoe was oblivious to Ralph’s struggles. She was looking at the tablet screen, and the picture she’d taken.
‘Hmm,’ she said to herself. ‘This gives me an idea.’ And she picked up the leaflet by the opposite corner to where Ralph was struggling. ‘Hey, don’t worry, little guy. I won’t hurt you. Let’s pop you somewhere safe. Ugh! What is this sticky stuff?’
She opened the back door and scraped Ralph off the leaflet with the edge of her magazine, dropping him into a flower pot.
After dinner, Zoe plonked herself down at the laptop.
‘Zoe, aren’t you coming to watch Has Essex Got Talent?’
‘Not tonight, Dad. I’m going to get started on my communications homework. I’ve had a great idea.’
Zoe’s dad leant against the wall, smiling at his daughter. ‘What’s your topic?’
‘The influence of the media. Most of my friends are doing theirs about celebrities, but after Ms BugKILL!’s spider story went viral I’ve decide to do something more worthwhile.’