Spider - in the net of death
The rustle of incessant rain, which fell in large drops through the wet foliage to the ground, was the only sound mingling with the hum of the church flock in a small, damp cemetery at the edge of the Yorkshire swamps, which lowered Maud Roxby's body into the grave.
It seemed that even the sky was shedding tears over the deceased, while among the small group of people who stood around the grave under umbrellas there was hardly a single pair of tear-stained eyes.
If Maud Roxby ever had friends, they were clearly not living in this part of Yorkshire. It seemed that her own serpentine tongue was not enough for her to turn the villagers against herself; over time, her behavior became more and more strange, and after she became disabled as a result of the fall, the woman completely began to live as a recluse, whose company was shared only by her long-suffering and long-suffering husband Tom.
For other residents of the village, Tom has always remained a little short saint - he was a calm, selfless and unpretentious person. For over a year, he continued the courageous struggle for the survival of his farm. This battle he had to fight alone, because all the workers left them in protest against the antics of Mod, whom they considered a witch in human form.
Even if it really was, this circumstance did not help Tom in any way. In the old days of Dan Roxby, the farm on which they lived was one of the best in the entire district, but over time, unknown damage destroyed the entire crop and seemed to mow down the livestock.
For now, the most Tom could count on was growing some vegetables.
Poor Tom! If you look, it was for him that they generally agreed to put on their cloaks on such a day.
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Rose Hardcastle glanced smugly from under the edge of the umbrella and secretly congratulated herself on the fact that there were now enough mourners at the grave.
In their early years, Rose and Tom courted each other for a time, however, he eventually married his master's daughter, and she married a local blacksmith.
After her husband's untimely death, Rose got a job as a cook in Colonel Fortescue's house, but she believed that she would not stay on this job, if, of course, she took proper care of herself. Even now, when the heyday of youth had already passed, Rose made an impressive impression on those around her. She had a large, one might say luxurious figure and a full sensual mouth, contrasting brightly with the thin lips and bony body of the mourned late Maud. In addition, now she almost imagined herself a farm wife.
So far everything went according to plan. After a year of complete silence and a rare exchange of glances, she finally mustered up her resolve and came to the farm to offer her services in caring for a sick woman. Tom received her with his characteristic coolness, although over time she repeatedly noticed how his cheeks turned red at the sight of her full-breasted figure bending over the sink, and therefore she had every reason to believe that he was not at all cold about her presence in the house.
And yet she was literally shocked by the sight of how the farmer's breath caught and his figure swayed at the sight of the coffin disappearing into the grave; a vague idea flashed through her mind at that moment that perhaps there was more between Tom and his late wife than she could have imagined. But Rose was decisive and quickly dismissed her doubts, so that by the time the funeral cortege returned to the farm, she was again an energetic woman serving wine and sandwiches to guests, while the farmer himself stood and looked sadly out the window. At the same time, his gaze often shifted towards a large glass jar on the sideboard.
From somewhere on the side, his cousin Frank approached him.
“What have you got there?” He began, but the words froze in his throat when he saw through the glass a huge spider the size of a saucer lying in a jar, spreading out to the sides four pairs of long, gnarled legs covered with black hairs.
“Wow spider,” Frank said. - Where did you get it?
A thick, round body reclined on a piece of exquisitely embroidered silk, covered with patterned mysterious signs and hieroglyphs.
Immersed in his waking dreams, Tom abruptly returned to reality.
- What you said? Ah, this … it belonged to Maud. Listen, why don't you take it? With these words, he took the can and almost by force wanted to squeeze it into Frank's hands. He quickly stepped back and threw up his hands in horror.
- No, no, thanks! With such a thing in the house, I can't sleep a wink. Don't be offended! he said, nervously rejecting the farmer's persistent attempts to hand him the can.
One by one the guests began to disperse, until Tom and Rose were alone in the small whitewashed living room. The widow was wearing a tight black skirt and an embroidered English cut blouse that favorably accentuated her curvaceous shape.
She smoothed her outfit with her palms, straightened her hair and, taking Tom by the arm, led him to the chair.
“Now I’ll make you a cup of hot strong tea,” she said.
- No! - The harshness of Tom's voice took the widow by surprise. He immediately softened his tone, but his voice continued to sound unexpectedly firm notes. - Thank you, Rose, you were very nice and kind, but now, I'm sorry, I want to be alone. Rose flushed, but immediately pulled herself together.
“Very good,” she said with unnatural calm. - I'll come tomorrow and help you clean the house.
After she left, Tom stood for a long time at the sideboard and looked at the creepy insect, spread out on silk like an oriental ruler, sitting on his exquisite pillows. Then he bent down and pulled out an almost full bottle of whiskey from the farthest corner of the cupboard. Having poured a hefty dose, he began to sip the drink with a thoughtful look. His gaze slid to the smallest curls of intricate sewing that Maud had worked with such frenzy during her illness. What did this pattern mean? Where did this spider come from? How many times did he ask Maud these questions, but she invariably only smiled mysteriously in response and continued embroidery.
Her secret, however, did not end there. He hoped that the people who were at the grave did not notice that the handles of Maud's coffin literally pissed him off. Instead of simple bronze, they were made of filigree finished steel, and outwardly remotely resembled the outlines of a spider. He winced and poured himself another.
The next morning, when the funeral home owner came to open his establishment, Tom Roxby was already waiting for him at the entrance.
- Dixon, can I talk to you?
Noticing his angry expression, the undertaker immediately invited him inside the room. They settled comfortably in the chairs, and only then did he give Tom the opportunity to open his mouth again.
“So, Mr. Roxby,” he said in a quiet, soothing voice, what's bothering you?
Tom told him. Honest Dixon's thick black eyebrows went up.
“But you yourself, the day after your wife’s death, sent me a letter in which you specially ordered these pens.
- I didn't do anything like that!
Without a word, the undertaker took a letter from the pile of papers on the table and handed it to Tom. He read it and turned pale. He recognized blue paper and handwriting. On a separate sheet of paper, a neat sketch of the supposed spider-like handles was made. The paper, as well as the handwriting, belonged to his wife.
But Tom did not say anything about this to Dixon, because he did not rule out that he would consider him crazy. He simply said it was a fake, and then left the office.
When Tom returned to the village, Rose had already arrived and was preparing steaks. He started to protest, but this time Rose met him fully armed.
“Yesterday I listened to you, and now let me speak,” she said. Tom stood, slightly swaying from the whiskey drunk under the influence of the undertaker's revelations.
“ Well, for that matter, I think it's time for you to start getting used to my more serious habits, ” he said playfully and with these words pulled her to him, clasping her arms with one hand, lifted the hem of her dress and stroked the corset-covered one with his palm stomach. Rose squeaked like a schoolgirl, but rather quickly calmed down and whispered something in his ear. He grinned and followed her upstairs to the bedroom.
That night after Rose left, the farmer's sleep was disturbed by a terrible nightmare, the most hideous of which was his startling realism. He dreamed that the huge spider below in the jar stirred, arched its back and began desperately trying to lift the lid of its glass prison. Having got out from there, the nasty insect slowly crawled down the side of the sideboard, alternately fingering with its paws, and then flopped down on the stone floor with a chomping sound.
The spider, which seemed to have doubled in size compared to what was in the bank, made strange whistling sounds, under the influence of which ants, slugs, other spiders and beetles began to crawl out of all corners of the house, which were in a hurry, wriggling, crawling and scrambled across the living room floor, until its entire surface turned into an eerie coating stirring from their countless number.
Then - oh, horror from horror! - they lined up in a disgustingly swaying column and moved up the stairs after their new leader. Passing through the open door of Tom's bedroom, they performed a devilish dance around his writhing, tormented body.
When Tom woke up, his foggy gaze was drenched in sweat, pajamas and incessantly trembling hands. The dream was still a vivid picture before his eyes, although there was no trace of the legion of insects. He met the dawn completely broken and decided to go downstairs to make tea for himself. Unsure of what he might find, Tom entered the living room and instantly found the glass jar empty. He decided to replace tea with whiskey and could not decide in any way whether to be happy with him or to be afraid that the spider had disappeared. All morning, walking around the house or yard, he carefully looked down, moving his legs in trepidation and fearing that a terrifying creature might appear from somewhere.
Once, when the leg hit a muddy puddle, the stomach rushed up to the throat, and immediately vomited on the spot. When Rose arrived, he didn’t even hide his immense relief. All day he did not let her go, insisted on repeated acts of love and desperately agreed to all her demands, including the promise to marry her "when enough time has passed." Only by forgetting himself in her embrace could he get rid of the more and more clearly visible vision of a huge hairy beast. Long after midnight, he continued to beg her to stay, but Rose categorically refused, for the next and last time she put on a dress, then a coat and a hat - in all her movements there was a cold calmness of a man who had regularly done his duty.
Tom intended to stay awake for as long as possible, but immediately after Rose left, he sank into a kind of trance. Slowly, from somewhere in the subconscious, a huge spider crawled out and sat on an unmarked grave, in which he recognized the burial place of his wife. In its two front paws, the spider squeezed something that vaguely resembled the disgusting remains of a mouse or rabbit. From time to time the head of the creepy fatty body bent down and, having bitten off a piece from the victim, began to chew it frantically.
Clouds covered the moonlit sky, causing the silent tombs to take on strange shapes. Suddenly the black colossus stopped eating and seemed to begin to listen attentively to the sound of approaching footsteps. The spider darted to the side with lightning and began to wade through the thicket of tall grass, until she disappeared into the shadow of the cemetery wall. From the side of the path that led along the cemetery towards the village, the sound of footsteps continued to be heard. Finally the moon burst out from behind the clouds and its pale light illuminated the approaching figure … Rosa Hardcastle. She purred something under her breath with a contented look, completely unaware of the existence of a terrible animal that had lurked two steps away from her.
When her footsteps began to subside, one ominous furry leg appeared, then another, another, another, and another - all of them nimbly stepped over until the huge spider was on the ridge of the cemetery wall. Freezing for a second, as if listening to the sound of footsteps, he silently descended and rushed into the darkness after the defenseless woman …
The farmer woke up with the name of his mistress on his lips. He never undressed and sat in the same chair in which he was overwhelmed by sleep. Tom darted about the room, tormented by the indecision that seized him. He wanted to rush out of the house and warn her, but every time he wanted to take even a step towards the door, his legs refused to obey.
Finally, with another shot of whiskey, he managed to calm down. Maybe it was all just a vile nightmare, however, he would soon figure it out. Despite the accumulated fatigue that continued to torment him, he made a firm decision not to fall asleep. Having undressed, he dipped his legs into a basin of cold water and began to wait for the day. As soon as the sun rose, he dressed again, put the revolver in his pocket and headed down the path towards the village. Approaching the place that figured in his dream, he moderated his step and with an incredible effort of will forced himself to look over the cemetery wall, keeping his weapon at the ready. He did not see anything special there - only tall grass, tombs and a little further off the grave of his wife.
He walked on, glad that his knees had finally stopped shaking. The path led through a short bush, and at the base of one of the trees he saw Rose. At least it seemed to him that it was her, as far as one could judge from one bare foot protruding from a thick gray carefully wound cocoon, almost entirely - except for this leg - which hid her body. Now this sticky mass did not show the slightest signs of life, although the woman must have shown considerable resistance before yielding to the enemy who attacked her.
Shoes and a purse were scattered on the ground in disarray, and the bark at the base of the tree trunk was all excised with bloody grooves - here unhappy Rose was desperately trying to grab onto her fingers, resisting the force of the mass that was sucking her in. Trembling with fear, Tom gazed with horror at the terrible scene, his legs as if rooted to the ground. In the end, the nerve cells found the strength to react to what they saw, and like a madman he rushed to run towards the farm.
Without slowing down for a moment, he reached the house and there, exhausted, collapsed on the floor, where he could not recover for a good half hour. Then he walked along all the windows, hammering them in with thick planks "with meat" torn from the wall of the old cattle shed. The last were the doors, which he also locked with all the bolts at his disposal. Rose's body will soon be discovered and an investigation will be launched. However, maybe not. And yet, what does it matter ?! Instinctively, Tom knew that there was hardly any point in running and asking for protection somewhere. There was no other way for him but to face this horror and survive it. Completely emasculated, he took the bottle of the remaining whiskey and went to bed.
When he woke up, he found, with a hitherto unknown feeling of relief, that for the first time in those two days he could sleep without seeing these terrible, nightmares. I went into the bathroom, rinsed my face with water. This morning his behavior was more meaningful. Yes, he will leave the village, and if necessary they will leave this country too. And he will never return here! He turned on the tap and at that moment he heard a sound coming from below. His heart almost stopped, and his stomach almost twisted as he stood frozen, listening and expecting that his hearing did not fail him. No, in fact, I did not disappoint. Here he again heard something. So in the house only one door creaked. Basement door! The only place he forgot to check! He rushed to the stairs. Perhaps it's not too late ?!
Holy Mother Mother of God, it's late !!! Making his way in the direction of the stairs, he noticed the outlines of an eerie body moving along the floor of the hallway. The farmer began to retreat towards the bedroom, muttering to himself and looking wildly for protection. Chandelier?! He grabbed it, but immediately threw it under his feet in disgust. Revolver?! He left it next to the bed. Righteous God, where is he ?! He thrashed about uncertainly, feeling the things around him in a fever. Of course he took it to the bathroom with him! This is where you had to run first! He flung open the door and immediately slammed it shut - his wild cry shook the walls of the house. It was already there, at the base of the stairs, cutting off his escape route - this huge fat body, moving on its stilted limbs, completely covered with a mass of black hairs. And this head, this sinister headhanging from a round body and staring straight at him.
Tom rushed to the old oak cabinet in the corner and, straining as hard as he could, began to pull it towards the door. As soon as the wardrobe began to give in, he felt the strength leave him - his glance caught the slow movement of the door lock. For some reason, he imagined how these shaggy, stick-like legs manipulate a strange human contraption - and finally get their way! Screaming frenziedly, he rushed to the window, preferring to die, crashing against a hard cobblestone, so as not to perish in the arms of this abomination. The windows spattered with fragments under the blows of his fists, which were covered with blood every second more and more thickly, while he was desperately trying to open the frames, so recently thoroughly boarded up by himself. And I could not find the strength to look back …
But even in this position, he felt that under the pressure of the weight of a terrible spider, the door opened, and immediately the room was filled with an indescribably disgusting smell that immediately hit his nostrils. His palms turned into bloody rags, but he did not feel pain - only an unbearable disgust for this horror, climbing towards him on its stiff legs. All overwhelmed with a feeling of disgust, he uttered a wild, growing cry, when suddenly he heard the voice of his wife, as if from a distant distance, speaking to him, Tom:
“You, Tom Roxby, need to understand this better before you try to get rid of me,” a voice hissed. “You thought you were acting cunningly enough to mix arsenic in my food and wish that my death seemed natural. I could have achieved your arrest at any time, but I wanted to die, and so I allowed you to carry out your plan, to do it for me. Now you see that I belong to the powers of darkness, and very soon the same fate awaits you, my poor unlucky hubby.
Tom Roxby's screams died away under a giant, eerie embrace, and when the spider finished its job. Tom was already completely wrapped in a thick shroud of death.
Simon Je