They Always Come Back

THEY ALWAYS COME BACK

(Note, this is my attempt at writing a short story in the style of Edgar Allan Poe)

I sat and waited. Sat and waited with the infinite patience that is the gift of my kind. How still I was, how still. Perchance if anyone had seen me they might have mistook my utter stillness for death. But, no. I was alive and aware. Every fibre of my being focused on the tiniest of vibrations, the subtlest clue that my long vigil had at last come to an end, and stillness could be swiftly replaced with deadly action.

And then...something. Yes, vibrations running through my senses. And yet, different from those I had so patiently awaited. Vibrations that were growing stronger and stronger until they were utterly transformed from the subtle and sweet signals of patience rewarded, into the shrieking call of an alarm I could no ignore. I focused on that howl of danger, intent on locating the direction from which it was coming. The vibrations had become a noise, and it was the noise of a deluge, the sound of water falling with a force I had never imagined possible. Falling with violent force and at the same time, creeping, creeping, creeping toward as though intent on embracing me in a deadly hold.

A fled, running I know not where, running with only one barely-formed thought, so primal as to be more reaction than considered action. And that thought was that I should get away. So I ran until the fatal mistake that I had not been aware of in my long, silent and patient stillness was made apparent. This place in which I dwelled was a prison from which I could not escape. No matter which direction I travelled, before long my panicked flight from that oncoming flood would lead me to a dead end. I was surrounded by white cliffs that I could not scale. They were so smooth that, despite my natural expertise in climbing, my frantic scrabbling at their surface would be rewarded with just a few paces upwards before I would slide back down.

And still the water kept advancing.

No, I would not give up! Had I not made small progress each time? With all the determination of a being fighting for its life I strained with every sinew to scale those treacherously slippery walls. That same patience which had enabled me to sit motionless now brought to the service of beating these cliffs whose only purpose in life was to send my sliding back down into the water. And, oh blessed relief, my determination was rewarded. I managed to climb up high enough to avoid the rising tide.

And the tide was rising no more.

Then, I became aware of something else. A Presence. A malevolent force that filled my environment with fear. The Presence hated me. With evil intent it knocked my from my refuge high above the water, sending me falling down into that deep pool. Immediately I began to swim, desperate to reach safety again before the waters claimed me. But though I increased my efforts and swam with as much vigour as I could muster, I was drawn not closer to the cliffs but further away from them. There were currents drawing me, drawing me with increasing rapidity toward a whirlpool. Now my direction was not drawing a straight line but a circle as I was drawn round and around the lip of that Charybdis. Round and around, closer and closer, my efforts to resist being drawn into its grasp utterly weak and ineffectual. The whirlpool drew me in and my whole world was one of dizziness and choking and of being drawn down, down, down into the blackest pits where there was only the pounding- the pounding!- of roaring water crashing down upon me.

It was over...and I was alive! I had been tested and the reward for passing the test was my life. All around my might have been utter darkness but I would not give into despair. Was not patience the gift of my kind. I had only to wait until the light returned, and then, surely, would I.

Is it safe, you think, is it safe? You creep back into the bathroom, and cautiously peer into the bath. There is no sign of your foe. You climb into the bath, its warm water enveloping you and washing away all the frustrations of a busy day. All you feel is relaxation and contentment, but little do you know that your foe is not far away.

Because, no matter how many times you flush them down the plug hole, spiders always come back.