Monday, October 5, 2015

White Devils

  The rain had come. Surely, it was a signal for the oncoming Fall. The Van Man awoke in the back of his van. The temperature gauge on the cell phone told sixty degrees, but surely it was colder. He hacked and choked, then rolled up the sheet.
  The van revved and the engine warmed. A small, white spider dangled from its webbing. Right in front of Van Man's face. He swatted at the Creature and it fell to the floorboard. Van Man looked down and searched. It was there, somewhere. Alive. He had seen others just like it in the van. Ghostly, pale. Tiny Draculas that roamed his rolling abode. He had spotted them here and there, usually on the outside looking in. Along the windshield or the hood. Occasionally, one would be found on the inner ceiling and promptly smashed. Van Man was terrified of Spiders. They looked frightful. Every damn one of them.
  He grabbed a cup of coffee at the usual stop and sat in the van. He wrote the usual nothingness, thoughts and dreams. Another White Spider appeared. Van Man watched in horror as it crawled along the dashboard. He was frozen for a single moment. Then he was not. Van Man obliterated the Cream Demon with a used napkin. He wondered if the rain had anything to do with the influx of evil. Or maybe them's the breaks, living in a van.
  After the spider killing, Van Man decided to leave the coffee shop lot. He needed to find work and the library called. He rolled down the passenger window for air and a large, Brown Widow crept along the exterior of the door frame. Van Man, once again, froze. He watched as the Monster scuttled down the door side and, probably, underneath the van. That way it could eat Van Man later.
  He sped away and never looked back. He would be back the next day for his morning cup, unless the White Beasts got to him first. Van Man re-examined his being. There had been two, small insect bites on his legs. He had noticed them a week before and thought they were harmless. He was wrong. It was obvious what they were, spider bites. Had the cough been brought on by their poisons? He was no expert in the field of spiderology, or medicine, for that matter. Yet, it was certain that The Van Man was being murdered by the Spiders, one bite at a time.
 

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