The Widow's Walk

This morning, as I exited through the rear access of my domain, I spotted a rather large arachnid perched poorly camouflaged just outside the open window of my personal chambers. The creature was of formidable size, and though I did not glimpse his underbelly, I was sure I had seen his top half before. Last time I saw it, it was frantically running about its own homestead desperately trying to escape the onslaught of apparently non-lethal, yet still painful "Raid for Ants" I had unleashed. I did not have the time or the courage to put an end to Daddy Widow that morning, so I simply prayed he would still be there on my return.

The rest of my day carried on as usual. My classes were fairly interesting. The children I nanny in the afternoons were fairly well behaved. It was a pleasant few hours. I almost forgot about the arachnid army rallying in the garden, awaiting my return.

That evening as I pulled into my parking space, dread washed over me while I recalled the nightmare waiting for me on my journey to the back door. I could feel my heart beating faster and faster in my ears as the soft light of my flashlight illuminated one, two, three orange hourglasses surrounding merely the gateway at the back of my home. Terror seized me by the throat, keeping me from advancing towards the infested path to the rear entrance. My hand reached slowly towards the latch whilst keeping the rest of my body at as large a distance I could manage. I closed my eyes, turned away with my lower lip placed firmly between my front teeth, and pulled up to open the gate.

Waiting on the other side was a maze of terror worse than any arachnophobe could ever be expected to face. Spiders and their webs draped from wall to floor, from shovel to tomato plant, from lounge chair to barbecue, all with the shining hourglass and potent venom of the widow family. I stood for eons paralyzed by panic, fighting back tears of wide-eyed defeat. My flashlight searched for a way through, but seemed only to illuminate my certain demise. Finally, with a map in my mind and limited visibility, I made a run for it.

I jumped and ducked my way through the garden, fearing for my life. Over and under heavily guarded webs and egg sacks, dodging side to side feeling what surely must have been hundreds of territorial eyes on my back. On the other side I stopped and frantically brushed any and all remnants of webs I may have destroyed, and assessed the threat I had overcome. I saw to my great relief that no widow had come after me. In fact, once I had calmed a bit I realized there were only roughly eight visible widow spiders in total along the path I had just traversed. I felt a bit foolish, and yet still oddly proud of the courage I had found to pass them.

When I reached the back door I checked the area for the villain of the morning. Daddy Widow was nowhere to be found. Fear once again seeped into my veins as I considered the possibility that the gap between my window screen and the sill had allowed him access to my private space. Every time my hair brushed against my face or a new shadow fell into my line of sight a new jolt of panic took me. Perhaps the mental torture was exactly what my nemesis had intended to inflict upon me. Regardless, there was a very real chance that the assassin was there, waiting for me to lower my guard, and I was afraid.

As I continued to the compromised safety my bedroom I concluded that upon the morning, I would be avoiding the back door, the garden gate, and the Widow's Walk.