Spider! Spider! Spider!
Spider in my hair!
Crap! Crap! Crap!
Scrubbing the dewy web I’d walked thru energetically from my face, I started inwardly cursing the lack of essential maintenance to the manor. A second later, when my nerve ending perceived eight legs scuttling over my scalp, my curses turned audible (and rather blue), while I attempted to dissuade the arachnid from remaining on my person. Which sounds way classier than reality – which featured more face scrubbing, hair fluffing, hasty outwear removal, and thrashing about trying to fling Aragog off me. (Aragog, Hagrid’s spider friend from Harry Potter and the approximate size of the bloodthirsty predator I’d spied lying in wait in its’ web a nanosecond before my forward momentum carried me thru it.)
Shaking my coat out vigorously and venting, “Forking spiders! Why are there always spiders? And why can’t Errants ever be easy? And those stupid forking Von Haeville sisters! Locking me out!…”
“Loathsome children, no better than their mother, really. No appreciation for family traditions…” The woman’s voice trailed off into a low murmur.
The unexpected agreement from a reedy voice the other side of the wildly untrimmed hedgerow cut my own spleen short. Standing on my tiptoes and craning my neck, I managed to catch a glimpse of a rusty row of wrought iron spear tops peaking thru the foliage. The sight of the barrier lifted an invisible weight off my shoulder (or perhaps my fanged foe leapt off, either way, they felt better), Beatrice mentioned in passing something about a family plot on the property didn’t she?
Taking a deep breath, I pulled my coat on and gave my backpack and scarf a good shake – just in case. (I do not want that brown behemoth moving in and making my ear canal its new abode.)
Standing back, I scrutinized the tall feral hedge. There two yards ahead, an inch of burnt orange poking out – a gate latch. Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the oxidized iron, I took a careful step forward, unwilling to tangle with more artfully strung gossamer spun at exactly face height…
In point of fact, I’d walked thru three other (hopefully) unoccupied webs while dodging mossy statues, thorny bushes, and standing water. The water, a well-camouflaged puddle, I’d actually encountered first and avoided as successfully as that last bit of spider silk. The resulting moist pant cuffs, socks, and shoes (if you’re going to do something, do it well) lead to me stumbled around this unintended labyrinth for the better part of an hour trying to hone in on my first impression.
Numb toes aren’t frustrating at all.
Also not frustrating? The hedge. Left to its own devices for so long, its’ swallowed up the open gate and the entrance once cut into it.
Fantastic, now I get to go where spiders live (webs are just where they hunt). Stupid. Forking. Day.
Psyching myself up, I plunged headlong into and thru the green garden border. (Probably not the wisest thing to do, diving in headlong, but the thought of hidden spiders threatened to dissolve my nerve.)