Spiders

Illustrated by Ella Clayton.

We do not kill spiders. Once, perhaps, but not anymore. For some this may not be unusual, and I expect those people are the ones who prefer to use the glass-and-sturdy-card method. We too were of that leaning for a time, but not now. No, now we leave them exactly as they are. 

Do not think, however, that we are this conscientious with all creatures. We did not hesitate, for example, to call the rat-catcher last autumn, and were in fact very complimentary of his techniques which consisted of bright green pellets that left surprisingly little mess to clean up. The killing of moths is also no concern to us, but rather it is a common occurrence to find them smeared across the edges of the bathroom mirror. And though we do not own a fly-swatter, I know for certain that June-born keeps a book on her windowsill (a hard-back copy of On Chesil Beach) specifically for catching those insects found fluttering in on warm afternoons. But the spiders we do not touch, and though there have been some close calls – December-born, on misplacing her glasses, once raised her hand to them, but we caught her just in time – on the whole we have been true to our promise. 

While we know we have not always been this way, we are not sure when the change occurred exactly. September-born said it was after we stood on the table to change the lightbulbs and suddenly we saw the room from a different angle. A change in perspective was all it took, she insists. December-born holds that she never killed spiders; not since the boys from school laughed at her that time for having legs like an insect. I do not like to come between my friends and so I tend to keep quiet when such a debate crops up, but really I do not think either have got it right. I think the change for me was rather being told by my lover: I don’t want you anymore (though not in words so much as a look). And that night, as I cried for the girl I had lost, I swore I could see those shapes moving in the dark. Long legs extending up, out; feeling their way along my walls for all those early hours. Slow. Tentative. My spindly night-watchmen. 

We often discuss our luck that all four of us are in agreement about the spiders, for I know of many who would not be as keen to embrace them as we do, and it is made all the more manageable given that so few people drop by nowadays. We used to have more visitors until the boyfriend of September-born accused her of trapping him and left that afternoon with all his things. We asked her what he meant by this. She said she did not know, but that if loving and trapping were so interchangeable then perhaps both had better be avoided from then on. Since this change, the other boys that used to frequent our home have kept away too, but, like I said, we do not mind. It is a full house now with us and the spiders and will only get more full if they continue to multiply at this speed. It is difficult to move sometimes for fear of treading on them, especially in the mornings when they seem the most active. The young ones in particular enjoy running across the exposed bits of floor while we eat our breakfast. June-born says we should not laugh at them as we do for they will grow up to be show-offs, but even she admits that it is lovely to see they are so comfortable in our presence. They do not really like to dwell in corners we have learnt, it was merely out of politeness that they previously did so (they are historically very accommodating), but since we have invited them out, they have grown in both size and confidence. 

It is hard to know what we will do when our little house gets full with them, yet strangely this thought does not worry us and recently we have even agreed that those spots empty of spiders prove a greater discomfort to look at. They are still wary of the shower, and there is a draughty patch by the backdoor that they tend to avoid unless on hot days. Besides, it is easier now since we gave up our separate beds. I do not remember a time when we were as happy as we are now, and I do not doubt that that this change is down to the spiders, for it is a rare thing at our age not to spend those last moments before sleep feeling sickly alone, but nowadays such feelings do not haunt us as they used to. 

There are more now than there have ever been. Last night we four girls woke to something creeping on our faces and at first we were afraid, for the touch reminded us of lovers’ lips, or the lingering pressure of male hands. But then we remembered that it must have been the spiders, and the realisation was such a comfort that we pulled back the covers and drew them close.