Milton the Mighty

by Emma Read

  ‘Your name is Laundry?’

  Milton and Audrey laughed, their little bodies shuddering, and Zoe laughed too. Milton showed Audrey how to communicate using the book. ‘Oh! Hello, Audrey.’ Zoe held out her index finger as Audrey extended a leg and they sort of shook a delicate greeting.

  ‘Well, aren’t you two like spiderlings in an egg sac?’ Audrey said to Milton. ‘You’re just the same – thinking you’re too small to make a difference.’ She tutted at them both. ‘How are we going to tell her, Milton?’

  ‘Tell her what?’

  ‘That the professor might well be an expert in spiders, but Zoe is an expert in standing up for what’s right. We need her, just like she needs you.’

  Another voice joined them from Zoe’s shelf. ‘Yeah, and if the prof was gonna do something about this whole situation, she’d have done it already, wouldn’t she?’

  Zoe gasped as Ralph scuttled forward, creating an alarmingly large shadow on the wall.

  ‘This is Ralph,’ said Milton. Then remembered that Zoe didn’t understand. He signed Ralph’s name with the book.

  ‘Hello, Ralph.’ Zoe gave a nervous wave. ‘Have we met before?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ralph frowned. ‘But the less said about outdoor plant pots, the better. You’re forgiven.’

  My friends

  Milton spelt out.

  Yours too

  Zoe went downstairs when the humans’ dinner arrived, as it did occasionally, at the front door.

  ‘She’s even more lovely and brilliant than I thought. But she doesn’t believe in herself,’ said Milton.

  ‘Like I said – identical spiderlings. Except for the legs . . . and the eyes . . . and, oh, you know what I mean. And by the way, you are more lovely and brilliant than we thought. You do realize you’re talking to a human!’

  ‘You did it, Milt! It’s amazing! And we’re all doing it!’

  ‘It was incredible. But there’s no time for celebration. We’re no closer to our goal.’

  ‘How can we persuade her?’ Audrey tapped her claw thoughtfully.

  ‘I know,’ said Ralph. ‘We could start our own campaign and tell everyone that humans are deadly and then . . .’ Ralph gazed at the ceiling, as if the thread of his idea were up there. ‘No, never mind. They actually are deadly! Silly me. Oh! Hello, One Short.’

  Audrey looked strangely at him. ‘Yes, Ralph, you are one brain cell short of a good idea.’

  Ralph laughed. ‘That’s for sure, but I meant our visitor.’ He pointed to a small garden spider on the curtain.

  ‘S’up, Indoories.’

  Milton groaned. He needed a GS in the house like he needed a hole in his web, and this one looked strangely familiar . . .

  Seven legs! It’s that irritating little heckler from the shed.

  ‘What do you want . . . Outdoory?’ Milton winced at his terrible attempt at a put-down.

  ‘Thought I could help ya,’ said the small garden guest. ‘I’ve been thinking about you, since you spoke in the shed.’

  ‘You can’t help us.’ Milton frowned. He moved to the end of Zoe’s bunk, eager to get away from the bully, however small she might be.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Audrey. ‘Your lot did enough “helping” the other day, thank you very much.’ She made little quote marks in the air with four legs to make her point, then swooshed off after Milton.

  Ralph stopped them. ‘Actually, guys, One Short here’s my friend. She helped me out when I got stuck outside. Give her a chance. How can you help us, little’un?’

  ‘And what do you want in return?’ Milton eyed her suspiciously.

  ‘Why’ve I got to want something?’ The little garden spider shrugged.

  ‘’Cause that’s what the GS gang are like. Plus you’re indoors and you shouldn’t be.’

  ‘Fair point.’ One Short shuffled awkwardly. ‘Don’t tell no one, but I don’t like it outside no more.’

  This was a big thing for a garden spider to admit, and it stopped Milton and Audrey in their tracks.

  ‘Is this a trick?’ Milton narrowed his eyes at her. ‘So you can laugh at us all again?’

  ‘No tricks. I ain’t like them big lads. I hate the cold, the birds, the cats. It’s a rough life – you house-huggers got no idea.’ She pointed to her missing leg. ‘I lost this to a hideous rodent, hence the name. It’s a badge of honour – a proper garden name and I’m proud of it.’ She glanced shiftily out of the window. ‘Except I always kinda wished I was called Petal.’

  ‘I like One Short,’ said Ralph. ‘You should be proud, taking on that disgusting squeaker. You hungry? Let’s go to Milt’s for tea. I got eaten by a cat once.’ And with that, Ralph put a leg around their new friend and began telling her one of his tall tales.

  Milton cleared the table after a supper of fruit-fly flan at his house. ‘You can stay here for tonight, but tomorrow you find your own place.’

  One Short looked at the floor.

  ‘Poor One Short. She can stay here, can’t she?’ offered Ralph, oblivious to Milton’s hard, eight-eyed glare.

  ‘Of course she can.’ Audrey frowned at Milton. ‘Ignore Milton, he’s being an old stick-in-the-fluff. Now, let’s hear this plan of yours.’

  Milton didn’t say a word as he carried the plates away, then clattered them loudly in the kitchen. He wanted to give One Short the benefit of the doubt, but just looking at her stripy abdomen made him shiver. Her kind were making the homeless spiders spin webs and wrap flies in return for shelter.

  Milton stood in the doorway. ‘This had better be good.’

  ‘I know you don’t like me much. I understand. But if you judge me because of who those big garden lads are, then you’re as bad as the humans. We’re not all the same, just like you widows are not all the same. I don’t want those poor spiders freezing in the shed any more than you do.’

  No one spoke for a moment, then Milton sat back down at the table and poured some lady-bird juice for himself and for One Short. ‘Tell us your idea, and I’ll help you learn to be a house-hugger.’

  One Short grinned. ‘Thanks. Ralph’s told me about this human web you want to use to save your species. That’s all well and good, and talking to humans is incredible (congrats, by the way!) but they don’t like us, and that has to change if they’re ever going to listen. We need to spread the word that we’re worth saving, and it has to come from us – spiders helping spiders, with our own webs. Let me talk to the GS, they’ll listen to me. You say the word, and we’ll be ready.’

  Milton was nodding. ‘OK. But the GS gang must stop taking advantage of the false widows. It’s not right.’

  ‘Leave it to me, I got a plan for that. And you have to persuade that smallish human of yours to do what’s right too. If we’re using our webs, she’s gotta use hers.’

  The spiders held their breath then Milton sighed. ‘OK.’

  ‘OK?’ One Short asked.

  ‘You can stay.’

  Ralph whooped. ‘I’m glad we met. You know, I think it’s a sign. Seven is proper lucky.’

  ‘That’s it!’ Milton clapped his front claws together. ‘Signs! We need signs to talk to Zoe. Zoe can use signs to talk to the world. Come on. We need to communicate with Zoe . . . and you know how long that takes.’

  Ralph’s eyes lit up. ‘More chocolate spread?’

  ‘Not this time, I’m afraid. Mr M is in the kitchen and the sight of you in the Nutella jar will have him dragging Felicity round for tea and bug spray.’

  Ralph looked disappointed. ‘So what, then?’

  ‘Head upstairs to Zoe’s room and I’ll show you.’

  The four spiders worked through the night, and by the time Zoe woke the next day, their message was ready.

  Milton nudged Ralph. ‘Theeth awake,’ he said thickly, his jaws aching.

  ‘Gweat,’ slurred Ralph, rubbing his numb fangs. Now all they had to do was get her attention.

  As Zoe climbed out of bed, Audrey staggered to the head of their literary masterpiece, gav
e a slightly wobbly twirl and collapsed in a heap.

  ‘Oh, hello, you lot. What are you up to?’ Then she saw the message they’d made from words nibbled out of one of her magazines:

  ‘With signs?’ she said, tapping her upper lip. ‘What sort of signs?’

  The exhausted spiders groaned.

  ‘I told you it weren’t enough,’ moaned One Short.

  ‘I couldn’t bite another peeth of paper if my life depended on it,’ wailed Ralph.

  ‘Your life does depend on it,’ said Audrey. ‘We’ve only got four days left until we get sprayed into oblivion!’

  ‘Give her time to think.’ Milton stared up at Zoe, willing her to understand. Then he had an idea. He ran, or rather limped, to the chewed piece of paper with the U on and with all his remaining strength, lifted it above his body.

  Think, Zoe. Think.

  Zoe crouched down and looked Milton in all his eyes. ‘U means me. Means I hold up a sign which tells the world that you’re not dangerous?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. Some of you are!’

  Zoe’s bedroom door swung open and Mr Macey breezed in. ‘Morning, Zoe, time for breakfaaaaaaaaaaaah!’ He screamed as he saw the four spiders, looking half-dead on the desk. Zoe quickly swept away the message – that was a discussion for another time.

  One hand on his heart, Mr Macey panted, ‘Why am I so scared of those things, Zoe? And why are you not? I wish I knew.’

  ‘Why am I not scared of spiders?’ Zoe said slowly. ‘That’s it, Dad, you’re a genius.’ She hugged him and kissed his cheek. ‘Because I know about them, and I’m going to tell the world just that.’

  Two days later (after tea) Milton, Audrey, Ralph, Owen Macey and Greta Parker were gathered in the dining room. Zoe stood in front of the laptop, with a clipboard and a purple biro.

  ‘Right, then, we’re all here so I’ll start . . . Dad, are you listening?’

  Mr Macey was clearly not listening. He was sat rigid, staring at the spiders on the table, particularly Ralph, and trying not to look terrified. But failing.

  ‘Look at me, Dad. It’s fine. They won’t hurt you. They won’t come anywhere near you.’ She looked at the spiders, who were shuffling about, almost unable to contain their excitement. ‘No sudden movements, OK, guys?’ She introduced them, and as the spiders waved, Mr Macey looked as if he might pass out. The professor put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and he started breathing normally again.

  ‘Milton and I have done some research into setting up the campaign. As a reminder, this is what we’re up against.’ Zoe clicked her mouse and a hideous sight appeared. It was the dreaded headline again, but Zoe had cut and pasted a picture of Felicity Thrubwell underneath. She’d made a few improvements to the photo, and added rotten teeth and warts. The spiders flinched, and Milton and Ralph instinctively went to hug Audrey, but she stood strong.

  Mr Macey gave a sharp intake of breath and everyone assumed it was a similar reaction to the sight of the meek but murderous BugKILL! owner. Except of course, it wasn’t. He’d meant to cancel his booking with Felicity, he really had. He’d just been rather busy.

  ‘Er, what’s the date today?’

  ‘It’s campaign day, Dad. Stay with us. Focus.’

  Dad looked wide-eyed at the spiders once more. He gripped Greta’s hand. ‘But . . .’

  Zoe interrupted. ‘Dad! They’re perfectly harmless. Stop worrying.’

  Mr Macey side-eyed the professor. Once the campaign was up and running, he could quietly call and cancel BugKILL! without Greta ever finding out. ‘Remind me to make a phone call in a bit, will you, Zoe?’

  ‘Whatever, Dad, come on, we’ve got work to do.’

  Zoe clicked again. On the screen was a lovely picture of all four spiders, in Zoe’s old doll’s house, having a tea party. She’d drawn happy faces on them and hats and they had speech bubbles that said, ‘Cheers!’ and, ‘Chin-chin.’

  ‘Oops! That’s not it, that’s my new screen saver.’ She blushed and clicked again.

  This time there was a picture of Zoe, holding up a sign which read:

  #NotScaredOfSpiders

  ‘Ta-daaaaaa. Welcome to the latest social media challenge! Now, I’ve got a checklist of everything we need to do:

  1. Do your homework

  ‘Well, I did my homework and this is extra, so if this doesn’t get me a house point then I’m changing schools.

  2. Form a committee

  ‘OK, who wants to be in my committee? Everyone? Great . . . wait, Dad, you didn’t put your hand up. I need you to run things on social media. I’m not old enough to have my own accounts.’

  Mr Macey looked peaky again, and the professor handed him a biscuit. ‘We’ll do it together,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’ Mr Macey stared at Greta for rather a long time.

  ‘3. Contact an expert.’

  Zoe looked at Professor Parker again. ‘Check.’ And then at the spiders. ‘Check, check and check.’ As Zoe put flamboyant purple ticks on to her sheet of paper she noticed that her dad still wasn’t paying attention. At least not to her. ‘Er, Dad?’

  Dad was admiring Greta’s ornate, jewelled spider brooch. ‘Yep, right away.’

  Zoe smiled. She’d forgotten how nice it was to have a full house.

  ‘Here’s what I need you to do, then. Prof— I mean, Greta’s right. We can’t encourage people to go rummaging around for spiders. There are too many countries in the world where that could be dangerous. But just because an animal might attack if it’s threatened is no reason not to try and understand, appreciate and respect it. Bears can be dangerous, tigers can be dangerous, even elephants can be dangerous, but we know they need protecting. Spiders are no different.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said the professor.

  ‘So what we came up with is a challenge for people to tell the world what they love about spiders. Why they deserve protecting, why they are really cool and why it’s good to be #NotScaredOfSpiders.’ Zoe flicked through her photo library on the tablet. ‘Here are some pictures I’ve done. This one is my favourite.’

  The spiders leant over the table to take a look. The picture was a lovely one of Zoe, in a spiderweb beanie, holding a sign which read:

  Some male spiders give their loved ones gifts wrapped in silk, to try and persuade them to go on a date.

  #NotScaredOfSpiders

  ‘Ooh, note to self,’ muttered Ralph under his breath, glancing at Audrey.

  Zoe turned to Milton. ‘Right, then, little ones, your turn. You know what you’re doing?’

  Before the meeting, Zoe had raided the Scrabble and laid out the tiles for the spiders to use. She had already spelt out ‘YES’ and ‘NO’ on the table.

  Milton and Audrey went to ‘YES’.

  Ralph crept slowly to ‘NO’ and looked sheepish.

  Audrey sighed. ‘Oh, Ralph! You can’t have forgotten the plan already! We’re going to give the humans a show they’ll never forget – make them see how amazing we are.’

  Ralph nodded. ‘Oh, yeah.’ He shuffled some of the Scrabble tiles around so they spelt ‘WEB’.

  Zoe nodded. ‘Your webs working alongside ours. A double network of connections. On the computer, Dad will send messages to his friends, and when they see the message, they will all send it on to their friends, and so on. Pretty soon hundreds of people will know about the campaign. I can’t wait to see what you little guys can do . . . I think it’s going to be sensational.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Milton excitedly. ‘All the other spiders will be in the garden already. Let’s not keep them waiting. The GS gang don’t like hanging around.’

  ‘The GS?’ said Ralph, hardly believing his leg hairs.

  ‘Yes. One Short has convinced them to help. They’re going to . . . Ralph, you know this already – you were at last night’s meeting.’

  Ralph shuffled. ‘I was at the buffet.’

  Milton rolled his eyes. ‘You can figure it out as we go. Don’t look so worried – you’ll be too busy to get cold.’
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  Zoe took the spiders up to her bedroom. As she opened the window, Milton and Audrey started spinning long threads of silk from their spinnerets, looping it over their legs until they were happy they had enough length.

  As bonfire-night fireworks crackled in the distance, Milton perched on the edge of the windowsill, thinking of his dad and muttering, ‘Lightshade to telly swing, you can do it, lightshade to telly swing.’ He attached his thread to the window and as green and red sparkles filled the sky, he jumped.

  ‘WooooooooooooooHoooooooooooooo!’

  Milton sailed through the air like a chocolate peanut on a string. He made it safely to the shed roof and detached. ‘Oh, yes! GET IN!’ he shouted, giving a little claw pump, then he scurried off to find One Short.

  Audrey was already attached and, once she had made a few angle adjustments to compensate for her bad eyes, she leapt out of the window.

  ‘YeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!’

  Audrey floated gracefully to the roof, did a little pirouette and looked up at Ralph.

  ‘OK, Ralph?’ asked Zoe.

  But Ralph was far from OK. He had gone a sickly shade of brown and his hairs had gone flat.

  He pointed to the rear of his abdomen with his back two legs, looking very unhappy indeed.

  ‘Oh, do you need privacy? I’ll look the other way,’ Zoe offered.

  Ralph shook his head, then hesitated as if he was thinking. Then, jumping on to the carpet, he ran to Zoe’s spider encyclopedia and pointed first to the book, then to himself.

  ‘You want me to look you up? OK.’ Zoe took out the book and turned to the page showing his species.

  She read aloud, ‘Tegenaria species spin a sheet-like web consisting of a tangle of lines.’ She held her hand out to Ralph for him to climb on again. ‘I think I understand.’ She took him back to the window. ‘Are you saying you can’t do . . .’ They peered over the edge of the windowsill and saw a dance of spiders swinging from bush to bush, and fence to fence.

  ‘That?’

  Ralph squished himself into a small ball of shame.

  ‘Oh, Ralph! You should’ve said. It’s completely OK. Everyone has their own strengths. Come on, Milton and Audrey will do fine. Let’s go and see how Dad and the prof are doing.’