Oh, how things change. I remember one of my New Year’s Resolutions. I would blog every day. When was the last time I did that? Almost a month ago! A bloody month. It wasn’t for lack of blogworthy material, either…

A few Sundays ago, I experienced one of my worst horrors. Claire was on a day shift, so had left for work hours before I awoke from my slumber. As I crawled out of my pit, I noticed something on the end of the bed. It was a spider. A huge, black spider with big, hairy legs. It lay motionless; presumably, like me, enjoying a Sunday morning lie-in.

For what seemed like hours, but was probably mere seconds, I stared at the creature in absolute disbelief. When my brain woke up and I realised I wasn’t dreaming, and there was, in fact, a gert-maccy spider on the end of the bed, I got out of bed quicker than I ever have before, reaching for the spider spray I always keep close to the bed.

In the past, people have laughed at me for keeping bug repellent in the bedroom. I was accused of being paranoid. My over-cautious approach, which I had followed for over a decade, had finally paid off. I held the can of Raid in my hand and with one firm press of my index finger, unleashed chemical warfare on the spider.

The jets of poison from the aerosol, were more than enough to awaken the creature. It spread its long legs, like a lifeform from another planet, before running all over the duvet. It was horrible. I think the spider must have been half-asleep, as it appeared slower than the ones that sprint across the living room carpet, while you’re watching Coronation Street. It appeared almost intoxicated. Despite its slower, uncoordinated pace, the sight of the monster invading the very place where I rest disturbed me greatly.

The message on the aerosol promised to kill bugs in seconds. This was clearly a lie; as the spider, now becoming more awake and dangerous, looked to be flourishing, as opposed to lying on its back with its legs in the air. If the poison wasn’t going to kill the spider, maybe the metal can which contained it would be enough to end its reign of terror. Holding the top of the can, in a tight, clenched fist, and using all my strength, I smashed the makeshift weapon onto the spider. Instead of resulting in a a mess of broken, twisted legs and spider guts, the can broke apart in my hand. I was left with the plastic rim of the canister, while the metal aerosil was flung across the bedroom.

The spider remained on the bed. At this point, it was mocking me. If it was large enough for me to be able see its mouth, I would no doubt see laughter on its face. In a mad fit of rage, I picked up the aerosol can hit the spider with it. I hit it hard and accurately. The creature which had scared me so much seconds earlier lay motionless on the bed. I hit it again… and again. I had to ensure that I had fully completed ‘the job’. The spider was dead.

I was still fearful of the creature, even in its death. Although frozen and crippled, the thought that it would suddenly spring back into life and start running around again, would not leave my head. I left the bedroom and was able to find a glass, which I placed over the body. Taking care to ensure the dead spider did not fall off the bed or worse, onto my hand, I transferred the small, but scary, carcass from the duvet, into the bottom of the glass. The spider stayed in the glass for most of the day. I don’t know why I kept it. Possibly to assure myself that it really was dead. Later that night I disposed of the body. I considered many methods on how to get rid of it, and eventually came to the decision the safest, from my point of view, and most respectful, for the spider, was to flush it down the toilet.