Redback Spider
On July 13th I discovered a redback spider in my shower, cowering behind the shampoo skyscrapers. It stood so stillI, as if it were dead and ever so often it would elongate a leg, waving it around as if it were saying hello. I questioned this spider’s survival instincts, it didn’t run away, it didn’t hide, it just loomed, waiting. I was never scared of it, on the contrary, I wanted to know what circumstances lead this creature to take up residence in my house.
It felt voyeuristic. This private place where I washed away my indiscretions, sat on the floor and let the water fall into my eyes and mouth and emerged feeling virtuous and new. I reminded myself that spiders are not capable of complex thought, let alone perverted tendencies.
On July 14th the spider had moved from its place behind my shampoo to the thin metal strip that attached the shelf to the wall. It greeted me with a wave of its dainty front legs. I started to talk to it. I spoke for so long that the steam started to make me dizzy. I asked how it could be so small yet so deadly. I envied the armour of its feared presence. Somehow that made it seem large, outside of its physical body.
I often fantasise about power, what it would feel like. Would it be as delicious as everyone believed? Would I cherish or abuse it? The only power I have ever known is power over myself, but even then I give it away to greedy hands and never get it back. Having power over someone else felt like an admission of guilt- I knew it was wrong because I enjoyed it too much. This made me think about God, would he enjoy watching the torment he creates? On July 15th I returned to my confessional. My eight legged friend listened dutifully as I told him about my day. The text, the denial, the tears, the fixing my makeup in the library bathroom, the bus being late, he listened dutifully.
Often I found myself wondering what it felt like to have faith, to believe without seeing and to give with nothing concrete in return. I wanted easy, I wanted to be told what was right and wrong and to trust without fear of humiliation. But I did not know how to believe, only to obey, and I did not know how to pray, only to beg. After all, faith is only obedience disguised as certainty, and its disciples are simply vessels for an empty promise. I imagined the spider as a priest with a tiny spider sized priest hat and robe. I asked him to baptise me.
On July 16th I let the water run cold. I wanted to feel as icy as the air outside. In the midst of my indulgent, self inflicted torture, I wondered what the spider thought of me. Was I just a strange giant? Or did he see me for what I was, a pitiful girl, searching for faith in a world where I did not believe it existed. I envied those who could believe so easily and without thought. I had never been religious, my parents' regard of the christian faith was one of indifference with a tinge of disdain, but I watched a baptism once. I closed my eyes, the drum of water on my face coercing me into a vision.
I was in church, statuesque, cavernous and stiff. Tiny ghoulish creatures sneered at me from their perches, I felt their beady eyes on me when I turned away. My steps echoed on the stone floor and resonated like bells, the sound becoming louder with each step I took through the endless rows of wooden pews. There was my priest, a round body and stick-like legs, adorned in the holy dress. I stepped up to the altar and He read aloud “I baptise you in the name of the father, son and the holy spirit” and plunged his fangs into the side of my neck, releasing the blood of Christ into my veins.
On July 17th I wondered what it would feel like if he bit me. To think this tiny creature, my little priest, so fragile and meagre could kill me, set alight a candle of masochistic curiosity within me. I studied him while I washed myself, not even blinking to stop soap from spilling into my eyes (the pain was proof of my loyalty). I wondered if I was the voyeuristic one now. An avalanche of bravery spilled over me, I watched as my arm began to rise, fingers outstretched towards the spider. Before I could make contact, the trance dissolved, like smoke into the night.
On July 19th I readied myself for church. I adorned a white collared dress with long sleeves and put on my red nail polish, in the image of my spider’s name sake. I turned on the tap and stepped into the shower without removing my socks. I prepared myself for the bite. I imagined it to happen like a scene from a vampire movie, his teeth in my skin, black eyes rolled back, my mouth slightly ajar, pearls of anguish cascading down my flushed cheeks. I laid awake last night for hours, fantasising about the darkness of the aftermath, the silence. What did nothing look like? Feel like? Taste like?
I turn to face my executioner. He was nowhere to be found.
Written by Claudia Carter.
Claudia Carter is a Uts student based in Eora/Sydney. She is inspired by Authors like Rachel Cusk, Sylvia Plath and Carmen Maria Machado and thematically enjoys the obscure, absurd and grotesque. Her works span from short fiction to essay and creative non-fiction.