One of Those Nights

It had been one of those days.

My wife and I both worked long hours and we’d been paired up on a stressful project all week. By the time we pulled into the driveway, the sun was low and everything felt heavy. She climbed out of the car without a word, and I grabbed the mail from the box before heading inside.

“Man, I hate bills,” I muttered, flipping through the stack as she unlocked the front door.

Inside, the air was stuffy, dark. We hadn’t been home much, and the house felt like it was waiting for us, holding its breath. I dropped the mail on the desk in the corner and headed to the kitchen.

“You want a beer?” I called.

“Yes, please. Something cold. I’m done with today.”

I cracked open two and brought hers over as she sank into her armchair with a sigh. I handed it to her and sat in my own chair across from her. She reached for the remote, and the television flickered on, casting soft light across the living room and breaking the gloom. The local news was already on—traffic cameras, flashing lights, a twisted heap of metal on the highway.

“Damn, that looks bad,” I said, squinting at the screen.

“It’s always something,” she said, barely glancing at it. “When it’s your time, it’s your time.”

I nodded and took a sip of my beer, the cold biting down my throat.

“So,” I said, “what do you want to do for dinner?”

She didn’t answer right away, just kept watching the wreck on the news. I was about to ask again when something caught my eye—movement, just barely, near the ceiling above her.

At first, I thought it was a shadow.

Then it moved again.

And I saw it.

A spider. No—a monster.

It was the biggest wolf spider I’d ever seen, legs splayed like black twigs, its fat body clinging to the ceiling right above her head. Dinner was the last thing on my mind now.

“Babe,” I said slowly, trying to keep my voice steady, “I need you to stand up. Right now. Walk to me.”

She looked at me sideways. “What? Why?”

“Just do it. Please. Come over here. Now.”

She gave me that look. The one that says, I’m too tired for your games.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What’s your deal?”

“Don’t scream,” I said, lowering my voice, “but there is a spider the size of a dinner plate right above you. If you spook it, it’s going to fall.”

She blinked at me. Then she looked up.

And screamed.

The spider detached from the ceiling and dropped—straight into her lap.

Everything exploded into chaos. Her chair flipped backward as she shot up and shrieked again, beer spilling across the carpet. I watched her run a ten-yard dash into the hallway in under a second.

“Kill it! KILL IT!” she howled from around the corner.

The spider sat balled up on the rug between us, stunned, twitching. I didn’t think. I acted.

One stomp.

A loud, wet crunch.

The room went still.

I looked down at the mess, already regretting wearing socks.

She peeked her head out from the hall. “Is it dead?”

“It’s gone to spider hell.”

She stayed behind the wall a while longer, just in case.

Eventually, we sat back down in silence, the TV still flashing scenes of human wreckage on the highway. The room smelled faintly of beer and bug guts.

Now that I think about it… I don’t think we ever ate dinner that night.