By Kelleigh Cram

I see you, yes you, sitting upside down in the right-hand corner of my shower ceiling. You appear large, quarter-sized, but that could just be the shadows stretching over the curtain playing tricks on me. 

Yes, I am afraid. You are too high for me to reach with a shoe and brushing you down with a broom would be too risky, the chance of you landing on my face or disappearing into a crack in the tub. 

So you will just remain here, like me.

Today, if you are wondering, was not a good day. I fancied a walk, just a quick trip around the neighborhood, but there were so many people out there, with their kids and dogs and the threat of causal conversation hovering over their lips as I passed. I couldn’t wait to get back here to wash away the experience. 

Well, this has been nice, talking with you. Please don’t roam the house while I sleep or invite your friends over for a slumber party. Do you have friends? Are they all spiders, like you, or are some of them reptilian? I can see it now, spiders swaying on swing sets of silk, frogs hopping on webbed trampolines. Yes, that would be quite a sight. What was that there, the twitch of your leg? You want to have a dance party. Very well, just make sure the others are gone and the house is clean before I wake. 

*

Day two, and you haven’t moved. Are you dead? I hope you are dead, so I won’t have to kill you later. But that would mean I have been talking to myself this whole time. 

Today I must run an errand, go into town to pay a bill. The drive I dread, all those cars with impatient drivers rushing and honking at me. And God-forbid their waiting room is full again. I wish I could just stay here, where it is safe and quiet. Where I can be alone, just me and you.

Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you come with me? You can ride in the car, on the dash or the roof or floorboard, wherever you like. You could even come inside, perched on my shoulder like a parrot. I know, I know, someone could see you and speak to me, point out the spider on my shirt. But I think that would be okay, as long as you are with me. Yes, I will be okay. Please, will you come? I am getting out now, so climb down if you are going. 

No? That’s okay, my feelings aren’t hurt. You are probably dead anyway. 

*

Yesterday was hard. Impossible even, all by myself. You should have been there. A truck rode my bumper the whole way, its angry headlights shouting into my rearview mirror despite it being broad daylight. And don’t get me started on what happened once I got inside. The woman’s greeting, a chipper ‘how are you,’ to which I responded with a punctuating grunt, a period to declare the conversation over.

But she did it anyway, can you believe it? She asked about Mary.

Mary used to do these things, run errands and talk to people. Since she left, those responsibilities have fallen to me. She would have made me kill you, you know. 

Did you feel that? The water pressure just increased, only for a moment before going back to normal. Hold on, there it is again. 

It is her, shrieking. Shrieking with fear of you, shrieking the only way a ghost can, telling me to kill you and get you out of our home.

So sorry, but I must do as she asks. Maybe she is just waiting for you to be gone so she can return. Nothing personal, and don’t worry, it will be quick. Painless. Just be still, I will get the broom.

You moved. 

So you are alive, and you can hear me. You even understand me. 

Wait, I didn’t mean it. I won’t kill you. You can live here with free range of the house and everything in it. I will put on some music; do you like Jazz? No, you are a techno guy, something upbeat you can tap all those legs to. The kind for dancing with the heavy bass, what the kids play in their cars that makes the windows shake. I will dance with you, if you like. Mary made us take lessons for our wedding, and now I’m glad she did. Let me get the radio. Invite your friends. Snakes, pigs, even tigers for all I care. 

Where are you?

We don’t have to party, if you aren’t up for it. You like to weave, and I can use Mary’s yarn and needle to make something of my own. I will make them in all colors, webs of red, green, and purple hung in every corner of the house. We can even tape flies in them, if it would make you feel more at home. I have some of those plug-in traps; easy meals on me, if you stay.

Don’t worry about Mary. She will come to like you, in time. You will be like the son we never had.

But only if you come back. Please don’t leave me here alone.

*   *   *

Kelleigh Cram resides in a small town near Savannah, Georgia. Her work has been featured or is upcoming in Ponder Review, DarkWinter, and Right Hand Pointing.