The Spider in the Car

Driving home from the first day at his new job, the Gurdies’ man felt content with himself. Looking at himself in his rear-view mirror, he was satisfied to see that his hair still hadn’t ruffled and his collar was still in place and tidy. He laughed, recalling how much he worried about whether or not he would fit in with his co-workers, whether or not they would like and accept him. Stupid superficial shit. It all worked out - thank god - he thought to himself. There was even a woman at work who seemed to be eyeing him a lot, smiling and looking away whenever he returned her gaze. The Gurdies’ man blushed thinking about it.

Sensing the perspiration in his armpits, the Gurdies’ man reached for the cologne he kept in the glove compartment and sprayed it over his clothes from afar; the light mist gently settled on the fabric without leaving any noticeable wet patches. Without taking his eyes off of the road, he carefully returned the cologne neatly into place, next to his breath mints, his comb and a backup pocket-sized deodorant canister. He ran his hand through his hair, and once again looked at himself in the rearview. The gel in his hair had long since dried and he felt in desperate need of a shower, though luckily it seemed not to impact his appearance at all, as his hair had remained sculpted in its ideal position.

Looking himself over in the rearview, the Gurdies’ man thought about how much he had changed over the course of his life. The Gurdies’ man never imagined that - through all the places he’d been and experiences he’d had - he would somehow end up as a software engineer. He had been around quite a bit in his life, working as a barber, woodchopper, drummer in a rock band, even taking a brief stint - very brief - as a law student. Now he had a cozy, stress free desk job, which came packed with all the traditional office drama, but none of the physical labour he had been tiring of, outside of repacking printer paper. It did take him a little while to get the hang of the technology, but even with his limited understanding of his responsibilities, he still managed to get by well enough without being seen as a liability by his co-workers.

He felt himself relaxing into his car seat. It was a long drive ahead of him down the Bass Highway, 'but those are just the things you have to deal with when you decide to move into the countryside', he thought to himself. The Gurdies’ man enjoyed the peace and the privacy, there was nothing around for ages that could distract or unsettle him. It was the perfect place to forget about all of his troubles and stresses, especially now; the Gurdies’ man had never felt so stress-free.

His phone buzzed from the seat next to him. The Gurdies’ man peered down towards it.

Vanessa

I miss you so much. Please come home.

The sixth text he had received today from that woman, on top of several other voice mails. The Gurdies’ man could not help his frustration as he was constantly reminded of his older life. Dealing with an ex is always trouble, especially so when they try to contact you incessantly. The Gurdies’ man finally had something good going, he was finally feeling comfortable and at peace with himself.

'That bitch isn’t going to ruin this for me. Just fuck off and leave me alone. Wasn’t like I was all that good to you anyway,' he thought.

The Gurdies’ man tried to calm himself, taking a few deep breaths. He believed that it was important to always remain calm. don’t sweat the little things, or you’ll face a lifetime of frustration, he thought; a mantra he had repeated to himself hundreds of times before. “Not good for the skin”, he chuckled to himself. The Gurdies’ man left all of that behind when he moved here, away from his ex, his old job, his annoying friends and his nosy family. He would block her number on his phone later.

The Gurdies’ man’s home was, truthfully, not really that new at all. He got it a while back as a convenient little country getaway when he just needed some time to himself to think or get a bit of rest and relaxation. Realising he didn’t fit comfortably within Melbourne’s urban jungle, the decision to move out here permanently was easy when he began the process of taking control of his life; though his family, friends and girlfriend - His old family, friends and girlfriend - seemed to disagree. He knew this from the desperate, almost childish pleas they texted him, and the whimpering voicemails they left on his phone, begging him to come home.

Of course, now that I’m gone they give a fuck about me, vapid pieces of shit - Deep breaths, inhale, exhale. He reminded himself that he was in control now, and he was above all of that. He realised that the transition from the man he was to the man he has become would be quite jarring for all of them. To see the dirty, ambitionless scum who had been leeching off of them all suddenly become a capable and efficient human being certainly would warrant some surprise, he thought. Even some questions, and questions there were. With every new opportunity that came his way he found another hand in his pocket - his friends’, his parents’; his girlfriend even started talking about marriage, when weeks earlier he recalled she wouldn’t even look him in the eye. In hindsight, he realised he shouldn’t have tried fitting them into his adjustments in the first place, it was unnecessary added stress. He should have left before they saw him as their cash cow, when he was still the stain on their couch sucking at their bank accounts. If he had, then maybe his phone wouldn’t buzz all the time now. The Gurdies’ man took a deep inhale and reached towards the glove compartment. He rattled around a small aluminium container until two mints fell into his hand, and he threw them into his mouth.

Recollecting himself and turning his full attention back to the road, he suddenly spotted something on his windshield. Turning his attention to the shape in his periphery, he examined it closely, discovering that a hairy huntsman, as big as the palm of his hand sat at the corner of the windshield. He nervously leaned closer, and realised he couldn’t see the spider’s underbelly; it was on the inside of the windshield. He jolted back, pressing himself flat against the driver’s seat. Above all else in the world, he despised these disgusting abominations; the way they crept around, the way they writhed and wriggled frantically when on their backs, their eight revolting legs flailing in the air, even just the sight of them sickened him. But nothing disgusted the Gurdies’ man more about these creatures than their shed skin, the carelessly abandoned shell they leave behind, instilling you with the knowledge that there is an even bigger and more loathsome version of itself nearby, hidden from view. The fact that this process was simply a natural part of their life cycle was unfathomable to the Gurdies’ man; is it painful for them? Aren't they disgusted by it? Do they even care?

The Gurdies’ man steeled his resolve, firmly gripping the steering wheel and fixing his eyes on the road, ignoring the large brown shape in his peripheral vision - at least, until it started to move.

His car swerved slightly as he flinched. He steadied the car, and watched the spider as it slowly crawled towards the steering wheel, its legs extending outward one by one as it crept towards him in a grotesque dance.

'Keep your eyes on the road. It’s just a tiny insect. Just ignore it. Just ignore it. Just ignore' -

Tears welled up in the Gurdies’ man’s eyes as he felt the spider’s rough and hairy legs caress his fingers. The Gurdies’ man took deep, shaky breaths. 'You’re better than this. You’re above this.' The spider crept up his forearm, its body brushing against his arm hair and causing an uncomfortable tickle; ignoring the changing texture of its path as goosebumps sprouted on the Gurdies’ man’s arms. He couldn’t help but look at the spider; the appearance of its hideous grey body and black, shining fangs caused him to gag. He was so close to home now, only ten or fifteen minutes away. He could do it. The spider disappeared from his field of view and rested on his shoulder. The Gurdies’ man’s breaths grew deeper and shakier. Just fuck off. Just go away. Fucking die somewhere that isn’t here, you disgusting nuisance.

As if in response to the Gurdies’ man’s thoughts, the spider scurried up onto his face, and sat on his cheek. The Gurdies’ man’s breaths turned to heaving grunts. He wanted to shake his head and fling it off or brush it away with his hand, but he didn’t want to risk getting bitten, or covering himself in the slick discoloured ooze of the spider's innards. He imagined an exaggerated, unfathomable pain, envisioning the spider pressing its fangs into him; his thoughts manifesting themselves in a slight, illusory sting on his cheek.

His eyes drifted from the road ahead of him, trying to glimpse the figure of the spider resting on his cheek. The Gurdies’ man didn’t realise that he had veered into the oncoming lane. He barely even registered the car’s vibrations as he crossed over the rumble strips separating the lanes. The honk of an approaching car brought his attention back to the road, and he saw headlights quickly approaching and spun the steering wheel to the left. His ears rang with the harsh sound of rubberised friction as his car swirled towards the edge of the road. A sudden pain in his cheek caused the Gurdies’ man to yelp and he took one hand off of the steering wheel to sweep the spider off of his face. The spider landed upside down in the backseat, unable to right itself as the car kept spinning until it eventually slowed, teetering dangerously on two wheels. Miraculously, The Gurdies’ man narrowly avoided totalling his car in a ditch near the roadside, the wheels landing back on the ground with a loud thud. The Gurdies’ man felt his heart racing as he tried to suppress his heavy breathing when he heard sirens behind him.

The Gurdies’ man gently placed his hand against his cheek in response to the throbbing sensation pulsing from his wound, cursing to himself. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and groaned, running his hands through his dishevelled hair and poking at his swelling cheek. He glanced around the car, trying to find the spider that had caused all of his misery when he heard tapping on the driver-side window. A stern-looking police officer glared at him from the outside and motioned at him to open his window. The Gurdies’ man sighed, dropping his hand from his cheek, and opened the window.

“Wanna explain what the fuck that was about, mate?”

The Gurdies’ man smiled at him, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m really sorry about that. I probably gave you the fright of your life! Are you alright?”

The police officer continued glaring at him. The Gurdies’ man cleared his throat.

“It’s a little embarrassing, but uh… see, I have terrible arachnophobia, and a spider big as your hand was crawling over me. I panicked and, well, that was the result.”

“Panicked, eh?”

The Gurdies’ man struggled to meet the stare of the police officer, shifting his gaze to his chest. He spotted a nametag, reading:

‘Senior Constable

Ray V.’

“Alright mate, step out for me.” The police constable said.

“What? Why? Don’t you just need my license and all that?” The Gurdies’ man shifted uncomfortably.

“Bit too much American tele, hey?” The police officer chuckled. “I need to check your car. Fella driving like that might be on something.”

“Wait, hold on! I already told you what happened! Look, there’s a bite mark right here, see?” The Gurdies’ man said.

The police constable peered closer, squinting at the small red mound in the Gurdies’ man’s cheek, before pulling back and smiling.

“Don’t see a bite, mate.” His smile quickly disappeared. “Get the fuck out. I won’t ask again”

The constable stepped back from the car as the Gurdies’ man opened the door. When the Gurdies’ man stepped out, the police officer presented a pair of handcuffs.

“Is that necessary?” The Gurdies’ man asked. The constable smirked.

The constable grabbed the Gurdies’ man around his neck and slammed him into the car. The Gurdies’ man groaned from the impact. What the fuck is going on? He thought to himself.

“Best you keep quiet from here on”, the police constable smiled maliciously. He took the Gurdies’ man’s hands and closed the handcuffs around them, before shoving him towards his car and putting him in the backseat.

“Now, let’s have a look then, hey?” The police officer approached the Gurdies’ man’s car.

The police constable left the passenger door to his vehicle open, occasionally looking back to smirk at or taunt the Gurdies’ man. He realised that the constable must’ve wanted him to act out, so he would have an excuse to get violent. Quelling his frustration, the Gurdies’ man tried to relax. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. At least, nothing to warrant this kind of treatment. He would get through this, go home with a fine, and be done with all of this stress before the week is out. This was a bump in the road, nothing more. The Gurdies’ man kept his eyes on the trunk of his car, tapping his foot nervously. 'It’ll all be okay, so long as he doesn’t find anything he’s not supposed to', he thought to himself.

The police constable hummed to himself, producing a small plastic sandwich bag from his pants pocket containing a small amount of cocaine he had taken from the evidence locker at his station. The constable started poring through every inch of the Gurdies’ man’s car, starting with the glove box in the passenger seat.

The constable stepped out from the driver’s side door, dropping a mint stolen from the glove box into his mouth, and shot a knowing wink at the Gurdies’ man in the backseat of the police car.

The Gurdies’ man’s eyes widened. Shit, shit! Did he find it? Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, not like this! The Gurdies’ man thought. The police constable moved towards the rear of the car, opening the trunk. Why’d it have to be this prick? The Gurdies’ man’s frustration and anxiety continued to swell. The police officer leaned towards the boot’s hidden compartment, brushing away the huntsman sitting on top of the pulling ring. The spider found itself upside down once again; it wriggled and writhed in distress.

Now I’ve got to start all over again.

The Gurdies’ man closed his eyes, and something underneath his skin began to shift.

“What the fuck is this?” The police constable exclaimed, looking into the hidden compartment. He reached in, pulling out object after object: a pair of drumsticks, a textbook, an electric razor, a thick lock of long black hair tied into a ponytail; none of the objects he came upon were technically illegal, but the deeper the police constable dug through the Gurdies’ man’s chest of random keepsakes, the more uncomfortable he felt. His discomfort turned to suspicion when he discovered a small black box. Clicking it open, he discovered a pile of driver’s licenses as thick as a deck of playing cards, dating back as far as the 1920s, belonging to men and women alike. Finally, after he had amassed a small mountain of objects in the empty space of the trunk, the police officer reached into the bottom of the chest, pulling out a large black garbage bag.

Untying the bag, he peeked in cautiously. He couldn’t make out exactly what it was at the bottom of the bag, but it looked to him to be some kind of fabric. He reached in to pull some of it out.

He ran his fingers across a sheet of some kind of soft, rubbery material. Inspecting it closer, he noticed that it was covered in small hairs.

“Wait, is this… is that fucking skin?”

The constable turned it over, exposing a red, slick underside, reflecting a glossy shine from the flashing red and blue lights of his police car. The police constable gasped, dropping the skin back into the trunk of the car and stumbling backwards. The underside of the skin left his hands sticky and wet, no matter how frantically he brushed them against his uniform. The garbage bag left standing upright in the trunk toppled, pouring variously coloured sheets of skin across the asphalt.

The constable turned around, horrified, to see the Gurdies’ man lurching towards him. The Gurdies’ man’s hair had started to fall off in clumps, and the skin across his body was ripping and tearing itself as if being effortlessly peeled away by some invisible force. The discarded pieces littered the road behind him as more and more muscle and bone became visible. As the constable watched, he could even hear the sound of the Gurdies’ man cheeks slowly tearing, exposing a skeletal white smile. The Gurdies’ man’s right cheek, swollen by the spider bite, burst open and spurted out thick yellow pus that oozed down his face and dripped onto the asphalt.

“Get the fuck back, now!” The constable reached for the gun in his holster. He heard cracking, like the sound of bones fracturing and breaking, and watched in horror as the Gurdies’ man’s teeth came unhinged from his jaw and fell from his mouth, leaving behind swollen red gums that looked as though they were quivering. The Gurdies’ man’s brown eyes rolled back into their sockets and he took a deep breath, sucking the air into himself with a loud wheeze, and then his eyes returned, now a light blue - the same colour as the constable’s.

“Wha… what the fuck…” The constable drew his pistol and fired at the Gurdies’ man. The Gurdies’ man stopped, swaying slightly from the force of the bullets, and looked down at his stomach. There were four deep pockets in his exposed muscle, where the bullets had landed, but none of them had managed to pierce through.

Ting ting, ting, ting.

The bullets fell to the ground, squeezed out by the Gurdies’ man’s abdomen. The constable watched on in shock.

The Gurdies’ man continued stumbling forward, grunting with each step. He abhorred these transformations, and not just because of the severe pain it caused him, he had endured the process enough times to develop a mental fortitude against that. The transformations disgusted him; the inside of the human body was not something he derived pleasure from exposing himself to. The sight of his own blood, bone and discarded skin filled the Gurdies’ man with deep frustration and anxiety, as well as an overpowering feeling of nausea. What the Gurdies’ man hated the most, however, was the knowledge that he would have to leave behind the life he had carefully and affectionately cultivated, and start all over.

“You… Ruih… Erythi…”

“Get back! Fuck off!” The constable continued firing into the amorphous figure of muscles and tendons stumbling towards him. The ammunition fell to the ground with a clink, warped by the immense pressure that forced it out of his body. The Gurdies’ man looked to have grown and his muscles had changed shape, and now it was the same height and even had the same figure as The constable. The gun began to click with each trigger pull, so the constable dropped it and turned to run away, when the Gurdies’ man grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back so forcefully that a large chunk of skin and hair was ripped from his scalp.

The constable landed on his back, screaming and writhing and clutching at the back of his head with both hands. The Gurdies’ man crouched over the screaming constable.

“You… Fuhhi… Ruih… Erythi…” In the trunk of the Gurdies’ man’s car, the spider, stressed and discomforted after the night’s ordeal, is forced to shed its skin. Leaving its old shell behind, it starts its life anew, and begins to seek a safer place to make its home.