Tabitha Read online

  .;iudxs z

  Tabitha tapped the Caps Lock off again and slouched with a huff. It was 11:04. The internet had eaten her morning. It’d be high time for a cake or a donut if she still had a job. She put that massive, crushing thought from her mind with a shake of her head. She looked back up at the computer screen, at the text in its entirety:

  It’s

  .;iudxs z

  She’d started this new document when the sun was rising over the sea. She’d seen a scatter of dandelion seeds drift by in the warm summer air; felt inspired and began to write. Hours later, she’d just watched her cat casually beat her word count. The sunshine had long since faded to grey rainclouds. Tabitha sat back and lifted the mug of steaming tea to her mouth again, forgetting her sore tongue. She burned her lip, cursed. A falling trickle of tea pattered down and turned the crotch of her grey jogging bottoms into a hot black piss patch. Then came another power cut. Mains electricity had never met with the full approval of this old house. The computer's gentle fan died. The screen faded to black with a helpless tut. Her morning's work, unsaved, was gone forever. That could have been the It’s to start an internet sensation, she told herself. The greatest blog in the world. Once again cruel fate had conspired to thwart her chances of fame and fortune. Tabitha saw her grim hedge-haired reflection in the black computer screen. She couldn’t hear the birds singing any more outside. Rain blew in from the sea. She stood up and pushed the chair away with her bum, and pulled the old window back down an inch to close off the cold whistling gap. She blew on a stray dandelion seed on the window sill, and watched it sail up towards the ceiling. She glanced out of the window as raindrops plinked and pattered on the glass. Wished for a decent summer. With shuffling slippered feet she carefully carted her mug of tea downstairs. Mog tried to get under her feet every step of the way.

  ‘Why are you purring?’ she asked him, as they went down the second creaky staircase together. She had to stop and start, sidestepping him, trying not to stand on a paw in the gloom. The lights in the house flickered and came back on.

  The salty scent of bacon filled the kitchen, filled the house. Both well-fed and sleepy, Mog and his human snoozed on the couch to the gentle patter of the pouring rain. Meanwhile, up in the study, the dandelion seed was moving. It had long since floated down when Tabitha blew on it, and now it bobbed along the carpet to a damp mouldy corner of the room. Tabitha hadn’t noticed how silvery the seed looked. She hadn’t seen its tiny legs, no bigger than a mite’s, wriggling for something to root in. The seed burrowed down into the damp carpet in the corner. With the quietest electronic chirrup, a tiny grey shoot sprouted from the floor. The sound was just enough to wake Mog, ears raised. As he jumped down from Tabitha's stomach she woke up with a gentle grunt.

  All afternoon the metallic shoot took in the sunlight that emerged from the grey clouds. It produced pulsing little lights on tiny fibrous branches. Its presence being neither intriguing nor frustrating to Mog, it had been sniffed and left unharmed. Tabitha didn’t see it; she was too busy trying to write her blog. She didn’t notice its rapid alien growth in the back corner of the room. She tried her best never to look in that corner. It was a useless cobwebbed space where the angled ceiling sloped in, too damp and mouldy to leave a box or a bag there. Too disgusting to clean. If she never looked there, she’d never feel guilty enough to clean it. She sipped fresh tea and watched the sunlight sprawl over the ocean; a grey-brown eternity beyond the road outside her window. The computer speakers gushed shameless pop into the room, making Tabitha tap her toes to the beat. A seagull flew by outside with a whooping call, laughing at Tabitha’s joblessness. She slouched there all afternoon, staring at the bright glow of her blank-paged computer screen. Typing. Deleting. Repeating.

  A house spider, meanwhile, spent all afternoon in the bathroom. It was scaling the inside of the grand old bathtub by frantically picking out, with trial and much error, the rougher patches of the worn enamel surface. By sundown its legs tapped against the rim of the bath.

  A seagull sat on the weathered old metal railing on the seafront. Behind it, across the road, a light in the top window of a town house glowed warmly in the gathering dusk. Inside, a crazy-haired lady sat at her computer with her head in her hands. She heard a couple on the street below, fighting and screaming, probably drunk. She lost her train of thought. Thankfully they went on down the street, giving Tabitha back her beloved silence. In the musty bathroom Mog stared momentarily at a fresh hairball, and pawed the spider as it scuttled across the rim of the bath. The spider fell to the floor, and quickly curled up to receive a cat-batting around the lino. Caught and briefly mangled in the dribbling depth of Mog’s mouth, the spider was coughed out to die in a corner.

  Up the second staircase in her study, Tabitha suddenly sat up and tapped away at her computer:

  The true value of films lies in

  Hesitating, she slumped back in her chair with a huff of defeat. Futility draped itself around her shoulders, as cold and comfortless as a damp shawl with a charity-shop smell. Mog wandered into the room unnoticed. He puffed up in fright at the thing in the back corner and made a swift exit. Where a small grey shoot had sprung up from the carpet this morning there was now an alien plant, two feet across, sitting spidery and silver in the shadowed corner of the room. Opening its mouth parts, out slid a sinewy, synthetic snake of a tongue. Tabitha was checking her messages, unaware. The tongue stretched out silently across the room. It edged towards the back of Tabitha’s head while she sat staring at her screen. A big bony needle on the tip was filling with venom for the kill. Slouching in her chair, Tabitha typed something and then deleted it again. The tongue stretched and swayed behind her, serpentine, aiming for the top of her neck. It tensed up, coiled back, and shot out silently. Tabitha kicked the chair back and walked out in search of her vibrator, yawning like a foghorn. Unsuccessful, the silver plant tried to wrench its spiked tongue quietly from the back of the chair. Mog came back in and watched it cautiously from the door. Once free of the chair, the plant swallowed its tongue back inside. Its body sagged with newborn exhaustion, and splayed out metallic branches to absorb the growing moonlight. Its tiny lights flickered out while it recharged, and it sat completely still. Mog stalked around it, approached it. He gave it a careful sniff here and there, and batted it with a paw. The silver plant did nothing. It was too hard for Mog to pluck or chew, and smelled of not very much, so it held very little interest just now. Mog gave up his inspection and resolved to play with the plant’s wriggling limb in the future, when the opportunity presented itself.

  Tabitha slept peacefully that night in her double bed. She was sprawled out with newfound freedom; no longer kicked or groped by a snoring boyfriend. Her soles stroked the bobbly feel of clean sheets. The homely perfume of good washing powder filled her head and tinted her dreams. Down the street, Mog strode along a garden wall and thought about sex. In Tabitha’s bathroom a silverfish tapped the house spider's hunched corpse with its antennae. In the study, the alien plant woke up in the corner. It folded its branches down into spider legs, and uprooted itself from the floorboards with a rustling creak. It scuttled its sleek form down the stairs to the large landing, sniffing out prey. Tabitha’s closed bedroom door thwarted it. It scrambled gently, soundlessly against the door for hours while Tabitha slept. The tall gap beneath the solid door could accommodate its skinny young limbs, but they flapped around redundantly and soon withdrew. Tabitha turned over and began to snore, blissfully unaware. Her ugly old piggy bank watched over her from the shelf beside the bed; perma-grinned porcelain, glowing night-blue in the curtained moonlight. The silver alien spider slinked downstairs to explore the distant drone of the fridge.

  Sunrise over the sea front. The seagulls were calling already. Mog sat on the living room window sill and watched them keenly, making short sharp meows. His head darted back and forth to follow their flight. His pinprick pupils stared in the bright dawn. Tabitha, fresh from the shower and towel-clad, padded bare
foot into the kitchen. She rustled cereal into a bowl and caught a waft of it, sugar-sweet. Water dripped from her hair onto the worktop; glassy splashes exploding in slow-motion. Cold milk crackled on her cereal, a silky white gush. She smoothed her wet hair over her shoulder and dusted her cereal with extra sugar, then flicked the kettle on and leant against the worktop while it boiled. She leaned over and plucked a clinking cup from the hooks. Took a clattering teaspoon from the drawer in front of her and put it in the cup. The silver spider untucked its legs and crawled silently from the cupboard behind her. Soundlessly it crept across the wall, and squatted its arachnid mass on the ceiling over her head. Small lights on its body focussed their attention on the top of her wet neck. Its spiked tongue slid out from its parting mouth, a shining trunk slick with mucus. Silently the giant spider shifted its clawed feet around on the ceiling for the best position. It moved one leg, then another, then another. Soft as petals it lowered two clawed legs to join its tongue, ready to grip Tabitha’s temples before it punctured the base of her skull. Tabitha waited for the kettle and stared at the floor in a bleary-eyed haze, oblivious. She wiggled a finger in her ear with a wet rattling squelch to loosen the water that welled there. The kettle boiled. Steam rolled up against the cupboards and clouded the cold metal arms that descended, inch by inch. Condensation gathered on the lowering spike and turned to droplets. Propped against the kitchen counter, Tabitha put a spoonful of sugary cereal in her mouth with a cold crunch and munched it loudly. A bead of moisture rolled down the alien tongue, dripped from the bony spike and landed on the back of Tabitha’s neck. She scratched idly where the drop fell and crunched another mouthful of cereal, turning to look out of the window at the greying sky. She tutted at the weather. The giant spider hesitated at the sound. Mog jumped up on the worktop behind Tabitha, stood up on his back legs against the cupboard and pawed the alien tongue playfully. His swishing tail caught the teaspoon with a tinkle in Tabitha’s empty cup. Tabitha turned at the sound.

  ‘Mog, get down,’ she said. Then she saw the bony spike above her head. She looked up at the silver spider on the ceiling. She didn’t gasp or scream. She felt her insides twist for a second in primal fear, and ducked down from the jabbing spike. Then she ran. The spider dropped and scuttled after her, inches from her heels. Mog streaked past her upstairs and into the bedroom. Tabitha sprinted in after him. She tried to slam the solid old door behind her, trapping the spider’s tongue in the doorframe as it shot towards her knee. The rubbery limb stopped the door from closing. A pair of spindly silver legs edged in through the gap around the door, waving in the air to find her. The thick tongue withdrew then, and Tabitha saw her chance. It took all of her strength to bang the door shut on the spindly legs. They curled, frayed and lifeless, on her side of the door. With terrifying strength the spider tried to wrench its dead metal limbs free from the doorframe. The door shuddered loudly on its hinges. Tabitha's shaking hands snapped the lock shut on the door handle. Her heart was hammering; the metal taste of fear filled her dry mouth. Her thoughtless panic gave way to terrified confusion. She searched her head for some kind of meaning, some kind of plan. Mog stared hunched and saucer-eyed from the top of the wardrobe in the corner. Silver legs whipped frantically through the gap under the door. Tabitha backed up to the bed out of their way. Getting nothing from her phone but white noise, Tabitha slammed it down on the bedside table. So it was just her, then. Just her and death at the door, sudden and inexplicable. She was balled up on the bed, half tempted to hide under the covers like a screaming cliché. The monster wasn’t going anywhere though. The door was taking a beating, and she heard it crack on the other side. This was her only chance to stop it, whatever the hell it was, while the door still stood between them. Tabitha gritted her teeth and switched her brain back on. What would her movie heroes do? She willed her hands to stop shaking, and she put some clothes on. New t-shirt, old jeans. In her own good time. Meanwhile the thing scrabbled relentlessly against the door. Made spaghetti of the nice new carpet in a hail of fluff. Tabitha searched the bedroom for weapons, but saw nothing. Coat hangers, lamp, hairdryer. TV, shoes. She glanced over at the electrical socket beside the door.

  Crawling towards the door, she grabbed nervously at a trapped metal limb in the doorframe. Pulling it, the spidery leg snapped off redundantly. The metal was dull and smooth like silver rubber. Angular grains like engravings ran up its spindly length. The small clawed hand at the tip rolled back when she pulled it, like a cat’s paw or a foreskin, to reveal a toothpick-thin spike. The leg was a thing of exquisite, murderous beauty. But it was no use to her as a weapon; bendy as a plastic snake. The spider felt her presence there and thrust another leg beneath the door, plunging a spike into her thigh. Spurting venom into her flesh. Tabitha screamed. A hot rush of shock filled her veins, and something alien too. Her adrenaline surged. She yelled as the metal limb wriggled out from her leg. Blood dribbled and streamed from her wound, soaking through her jeans onto the cream carpet. Before the spider leg could strike again she grasped it, wrenched it into a boomerang shape and rammed its needled bloody tip into the mains socket. Plugged it in. Nothing happened. The socket switch wasn’t on. The leg writhed and tried to free itself, but Tabitha held it in place. More legs scrambled for her under the door, flailing and slamming. Panicking, Tabitha let go of the limb and pushed the socket switch beside the jammed-in claws. There was a sudden loud crack and a spark, and the thing’s body slumped to the floor outside with a thud. Tabitha’s blood coated the metal claw that had stabbed her, and boiled from the wall socket in bright red bubbles. The lights went out. Tabitha took a few deep breaths, sitting by the wall. She gave up searching for sense. She grunted at the pain in her leg and hobbled to the door, unlocked it. She stood there and listened for it outside, just to be sure. When she opened the door an inch and peered terrified through the gap, she saw a dead alien spider crumpled on the floor.

  A little later the dead creature sat propped up by the wall on the landing, wiry legs poking skywards, and could easily have passed for a discarded art project. Downstairs Mog squatted in his litter tray in the kitchen, and wondered how to cope with recent events.

  Tabitha had flipped the power back on. The phone was still dead; she had to get out and be with her mum. She’d disinfected and bandaged her leg. Already her thigh was patterned with steel-grey veins where the thing injected her; a web of right-angles blushing beneath her skin. She should have asked someone on the street to call an ambulance, but she was paranoid. It’d be just like a sci-fi film, she told herself. She’d be quarantined, experimented on. Maybe even dissected in some secret government lab. No, she had to get to her mum. She had to tell her friends. At least then people would know if she disappeared. She knew all about armies and governments, and their fondness for testing strange new things. She’d seen enough movies to know a thing or two about that.

  ‘Are you ok?’ she asked Mog. He was sitting despondently on the living room carpet. ‘I’m going out for a while, ok?’ she said, hobbling over to stroke him. She had to see her mum. The shock hadn’t sunk in yet. It was too strange to sink in. Mog purred at her strokes, and nuzzled her cold hands. ‘See you later,’ she said gently, and limped back to the hallway to wrestle her trainers on. Suddenly Tabitha stopped and gasped. She felt the angular veins spread from her thigh; pins and needles under her jeans. The grey veins coursed up her sides and down her arms. There was a crushing pain in her chest then, like someone was stamping a breezeblock into it. She was having a change of heart. She fell to her hands and knees, gasping and screaming. The hallway twisted into darkness, and even the retching feeling running through her body couldn’t keep her awake. Her brain shut everything down. Sick, terrified, soaked in a cold sweat, Tabitha fell unconscious on the carpet.

  3

  Lindsey watched the bustle of New York rush past outside the cafe. Yellow taxis crowded the road. Offices and department stores towered above the street, half-blocking the blue summer sky. A man passing by glanced in at
her through the window; a pretty girl sulking at the world. She had her arms crossed, sat facing her boyfriend Alex at their usual table. Staring at him with smoky eyes, wishing she was somewhere else. Like back in Mike’s apartment, wearing nothing but his bed sheets. It was hot today. Too hot for this.

  ‘I just don’t understand you sometimes,’ said Alex, leaning back from the table between them. After three years together, Lindsey said to herself, he’s finally hit the nail on the head.

  ‘You know, I think you enjoy it when we do this,’ Alex concluded, giving up on his interrogation. He leaned forward and sipped his coffee. ‘You like getting into these fights,’ he said. ‘That’s the only way I can see it.’ He sighed, frustrated. Lindsey said nothing. God, she hated the smell of his coffee breath. He slurped it too. Every single time. Just one of her pet hates about him, on a list that had grown and grown. She didn’t like that t-shirt on him either. Lindsey checked her phone then crossed her arms again with an angry sigh, looking out of the window at the world. Wishing she was out there in it somewhere, minus Alex. She used to love his impulsiveness; his ups and downs and his surfer-blonde hair. He was still hot, but somehow she couldn’t stand anything about him any more. His brother couldn’t come fast enough to meet up with him as far as she was concerned. Then she might even be able to leave them to it, and go talk to Mike in peace. She checked her hair in her phone camera. Outside the cafe window, people on the street stopped and stared into the sky, raising their phones to take pictures. The bright summer sky had filled with shooting stars, strangely slow and graceful. Heavenly papercuts in the blue. Lindsey and Alex didn’t notice.