One Big Eight Legged Freak

bya Gabrielle at 11:23 PM

With my tummy satiated on lizard, I decided to travel further into the wilderness of Table Rock country. What I found was nothing short of a nightmare.

After hiking a considerable distance, and scaling a particularly steep granite rock, I accidentally stumbled upon a herd of hungry spiders.

Yes, I said spiders.

And to my unlucky astonishment they were not the small, squish with your foot variety.

No, I could never be that fortunate. But the again, if I was, I’d never have interesting stories to tell.

But anyway, back to the spiders at hand, or rather, ten times the size of my hand.

Frozen half in terror and half in awe, I thought about turning tail and running like hell, but then one of the Enormous Eight Legged Freaks turned one of his billion eyes in my general direction and spotted me.


“Aww, lookie here, friends, we have a visitor.”

I had no idea I could understand Spider. They had never taught me that in The University of Hell.

“What? Me? No, I was . . . just . . . passing through. Don’t mind me,” I said as I turned to shimmied back down the way I had come.

“Oh, do not leave us Maniac Gone Awry, we have yet to speak to one another.”

I stopped.

“You . . . you . . . know my name?”

The biggest of the spiders began to approach me on his eight rather creepy legs.

“Maniac, you insult me. Of course I know your name. You are known far and wide around these parts. ”

“I am?”

“Now you insult yourself Maniac.”

“I’m . . . sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Maniac.”

I didn’t know what else to say – so I smiled.

“My name Maniac, is Borgous and this is my tribe. And we’re hungry.”


“We were going to split a lizard we spotted earlier, but it seems someone else got to him first.”

“I, uh, really?”

“Yes, Maniac. Someone did,” the monstrous spider grinned. “And now that we have lost our supper, we need to have it replaced.”

“Of course you do, Borgous.”

“That’s Mighty Borgous to you, Maniac.”

“Yes, Mighty Borgous. What do you suggest?”

“Well, you, unless you have another idea.”

Another gulp.

“Mighty Borgous, I’m really not that tasty. Not even a dash of salt could make me edible for any species – especially as one as great as yours.”

“And how would you know that.”

“Oh, it was published it Maniac Weekly last October.”

“And who was the author?”

“Well, um, me . . .”

“Oh really? What gives you such knowledge?”

“Simple. No one but me could be so knowledgeable about me. I know myself best.”

“Good point, I guess. But who or what else will my tribe and I have for dinner then if we cannot dine on you?”

“Well, Mighty Borgous, there is a path just over that ridge,” I said and pointed to where I knew the Table Rock path was. “Just go sit and wait over there. A traveler will appear before long. I promise.”

Mighty Borgous and his tribe deliberated and then bid me farewell, being sure to tell me that I was very lucky that a dash of salt would not make me an agreeable dinner. And on that note they marched toward the path I had pointed out.

Before long, as I walked in the opposite direction, I thought I heard the screams of innocent hikers, but perhaps it was the sound of some strange new species of bird I have yet to discover.

Yes, and that is what I will continue to tell myself after I watch the 11 o’clock news tonight. It was a bird. A strange and fascinating bird.

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