Rick McQuiston
©2007
The lamp had moved, Andy was sure of it. The soft yellow glow from the 60-watt bulb had shifted slightly, causing vague shadows in the room to move as if alive. Granted it wasn't much movement, but it was there. There was no doubt about it.
Andy forced himself to relax, settling back into his worn recliner with his small caliber semi-automatic handgun resting in his lap. It was an older model, a gift from his senile grandfather, but it still worked effectively. The silencer he bought for it had proved to be money well spent. Silence was a necessity in his situation. He couldn't afford to let any of his neighbors hear anything out of the ordinary, such as a gun firing.
He focused on the lamp again, studying it closely, waiting for it to move again. It wore its pale yellow shade like a hat. Fondling the trigger of the gun he swore to himself that he would take action this time if anything moved. This time he wouldn't hesitate. This time he would be ready.
Several minutes elapsed. The monotonous ticking of the wall clock was the only sound in the house, echoing in the room. Andy was fighting sleep, his weary mind drifting in and out of consciousness. He knew very well that falling asleep could be a big mistake, but still found himself dozing off. The last time he did the spider thing came, slithering out of the refrigerator, week old milk and cheese dripping from its bloated body. He had woken up just in time to flatten it with a few sharp swings from his trusty baseball bat, Woody.
Eventually he had abandoned his bat in favor of a more versatile and efficient weapon, his gun. In a strange way he actually was anxious for the spider thing to appear again. Surely bullets would do a far more effective job of dispatching it than good old Woody.
His troubled mind wandered back to the first time the spider thing had appeared. He had just come home from work, back when he had a job, and promptly fastened himself to his chair in front of the television set. He was tired and suffering from a cold and all he wanted to do was flip through channels, a routine that he found himself slipping into more and more frequently. As the newscast lady read about the day's events her pretty face started to distort. Her light blue eyes slid apart further and further until they were next to her ears. And from the vacant spaces where they had been emerged the glowing evil of the spider thing, its thick skull splitting open the lady's head as it snaked its way into the light of the news station room.
Next came the legs, which sprouted from the sides of the TV and immediately began to thrash up and down as if throwing a fit. The appendages were thin, almost skeletal, and were covered in glistening slime.
The newscast lady continued on about a horrible car accident that morning on Interstate 696, completely oblivious to the swollen abdomen rising directly behind her head. She was pretty still, although in a horror movie type of way now, and Andy found himself wondering if he was hallucinating.
But he wasn't.
The spider thing's razor sharp fangs clicked together methodically, dripping a foul greenish substance that Andy guessed was some type of venom. It focused its multiple eyes on Andy then, and he before he knew what he was doing he ran to his bedroom and grabbed old Woody and ended the nightmare, and his TV, with three quick swings.
There it was again! The lamp had moved! Andy raised his gun slightly, leveling it at the inanimate object as he pondered whether or not to finally take action. The lamp stood motionless on the end table, illuminating the room with its yellowed light. It almost dared him to fire at it. He watched it methodically, still undecided if he should blow the thing apart before it changed, before the spider thing came. Too many times in the past he had waited too long.
One time the spider thing nearly got to him, grazing its jagged teeth along his forearm, leaving a four-inch scar and undeniable proof of its existence. Since then if he ever doubted that it was all real all he needed to do was to look at his arm.
The lamp started to jiggle, a little at first, but then much more pronounced. It jerked forward, then backwards. Its lampshade shifted to one side. The light bulb shattered. The cord slipped out of the wall socket and swung high into the air before crashing down to the floor. Andy watched in horror as the glistening legs slid out from the sides of the lamp. For all the mental preparation he had done he still found himself shaking considerably, so much so that he had trouble steadying his gun on the creature.
The face of the spider thing emerged from the lamp and focused on Andy, hissing at him so loudly that a small mirror on a nearby wall cracked. Andy stared into the dull, emotionless eyes of the thing. He saw his distorted reflection in its eyes. He saw his death.
Gathering what strength he could Andy leveled his gun at the thing's head. He squeezed the trigger four times in quick succession, each rattling his already frail nerves. And after the smoke cleared he leaned forward to view his handiwork.
All he saw was a shattered lamp. Sharp pieces of it lay strewn all across the table and floor and four bullet holes decorated the wall. Andy grunted in disgust. The mess was terrible and would require a lot of cleanup.
How could he have missed it? Where was its body? And why no blood?
There was however another explanation.
Perhaps it was all in his mind. Hallucinations. Stress. Imagination. Maybe he had just imagined the whole thing.
But what about the wound on his arm? Surely that was proof the thing existed.
But then he remembered the accident he had when he was fixing his truck. A sudden slip with a large screwdriver and bingo…a huge, bloody gash. Just like the one on his arm.
Feeling relieved for the first time in days Andy suddenly realized he was hungry. Sauntering into the kitchen he made himself a quick sandwich. Disturbing thoughts interrupted his meal though, such as where the thing had come from in the first place or what it really wanted. But there was nothing he could do about it now. One way or another it was gone.
He finished his meal and fell back into his recliner half asleep. For the first time in ages he was able to completely relax, finally not having to worry about being attacked by alien spider monsters. He would work on bettering himself. First thing in the morning he would scan the want ads for any available job he could lay his hands on. And then he would ask the cute girl across the street out on a date. And then he would look for a nicer car.
He found himself periodically looking over at the remains of his lamp, just to make sure there wasn't anything attempting to crawl out of it, but saw nothing except for splintered pieces of it lying on the floor.
Eventually he started to doze off. The day had been a long one and he was very tired. So tired that he didn't notice the thin legs sliding out from one of the shattered pieces of the lamp.
BACKGROUND
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Rick McQuiston is a 39 year-old father of two who loves to read,write and play drums. He has had 87 publications so far and is currently working on his second horror novella. You can check out his new horror fiction ezine at www.geocities.com/many_midnights.
