“So what happened, exactly?” asked Thread. “You busted up my web and made the boy late for school. Full marks, Fido—you’re doing well.”
“Was he late for school?”
“Of course he was. I hear everything: the school phoned home and woke up his dad. You’ve done it again, you see.”
“I didn’t realize. Why do I cause so many problems? I don’t mean to, but they just keep happening.”
“You know what I think? You’re in what’s called ‘an unsustainable relationship’. Do you know what that means?”
Spider shook his head.
“It means the honeymoon’s over, dog. There’s no credible future for the two of you, which is what I said at the start. The first time we met, I told you straight: the set-up is a bad one. You won’t get lies from a spider, Spider: we observe the world, and we tell it like it is. You’ll find plenty of so-called friends who’ll say how wonderful you are, but they’re flattering fools. I hear lies and deception every day.”
“Who tells you lies?”
“My visitors. Up here, in the web—they’re all full of it.”
“I don’t understand you, Thread—I’m not sure I ever do. What visitors do you get?”
“The bug fraternity. I’m talking about my little clients, OK? Those who check in long-term. You can meet them if you want—they’d be pleased to see a friendly face, even if it’s yours.”
Spider stared, completely bewildered.
“Use your head,” said Thread, chuckling. “How do spiders eat? And, by the way, why did you get called Spider?”
“Because of my legs.”
“Of which you have four.”
“Yes, but—”
“One at each corner, as is traditional for a quadrupedal dog. You’re the least spider-like animal I ever saw, but so be it. That boy’s got a lot of problems, so you can’t expect him to think rationally. Back to the matter in hand: how does a creature like me get to eat? It’s general knowledge.”
“You catch things. In a web.”
“In the web you put your paw through, yes. You want to meet the gang, then get on the wardrobe.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t want to take any more risks.”
“You managed it last night. You were up here in a flash when the cat waved her whiskers. What was all that about?”
“She wanted to talk.”
“Oh, I heard what she said.”
“What she said to me was private, Thread—and very personal.”
“She’s playing games, and you need to be careful. Are you coming up or not? Because if you’re not, I’ll get on with my repairs.”
Spider got down from the bed and looked at the skylight. Thread had sailed halfway down, and the window above him seemed high and remote. Nonetheless, he clambered on to Tom’s chair and stepped on to the desk. He performed the same, awkward leap, pushing off the convenient shelf and then scrabbling with paws and elbows up to the flat top of the wardrobe. In the daylight he could see just how filthy the window was. There were smears of dirt and complicated nets of grime that spread over the frame. There were webs both old and new, some with torn edges that trailed off sadly and waved in the breeze. Thread crawled to the centre.
“Wow,” said Spider. “You keep yourself busy.”
“I do.”
“Do you make them on your own? It must take ages.”
“It does. Some of us work for a living, Spider. Dogs get given stuff out of tins. They get nice big bowls of meaty goodness, and they never even wonder where it comes from. Others have to sweat and toil, and live by their wits.”
“What do you catch?”
“Oh, you name it.”
“Flies?”
“Of course. Mosquitoes. Gnats. I got a moth last week—he was fluttering around just where you’re standing.”
“It’s the boy’s blazer, I think—pure wool, probably. Our friend grabbed some tasty fibres, and on his way out he got a bit too close to the glass. Things got sticky.”
“What, you caught him?”
“He was careless. Didn’t take basic precautions, and suddenly he’d joined what I think of as a very exclusive club. You want to meet Mr Moth? Come on—he’s in the confessional.”
“He’s still alive? You said it was last week.”
“Ah, he’ll be with us a while yet. He’s preparing for eternity, Spider, and that can’t be rushed.”
The dog padded to the edge of the wardrobe and stretched his nose up to inspect the particular corner where Thread was now sitting. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, for all he could see was dust and the mess of another web. Then he realized that there was a curious order to everything. The spider had walkways and even tunnels. The webs were of different densities, and some were sagging with lumpy cocoons.
Thread moved behind a curtain and reappeared beside a large knot of tightly wound silk. The spider lifted a leg and pushed it, setting the whole thing rocking gently. Then it revolved it, and a tiny, wizened face appeared, peering from the end of the bundle. Spider could make out shining eyes, but the head was skull-like and the mouth was a little round circle of distress. Two thin antennae emerged from the forehead, waving weakly, and Spider whined. He could see the creature’s shoulders, and beneath them he saw the pale ivory wings which had been compressed and bound tight. The bonds went round and round, intricately tied until the body was encased in a solid, sticky duvet. As he watched, the moth did his best to break free—Spider could feel him straining with every atom of his remaining strength—but the only thing that moved was the mouth, which opened wider and uttered one soft word, so faint he could hardly hear it: “Please…”
“What’s that?” asked Thread. “Oh my, did I hear a cry for help?”
“He said ‘please’,” said Spider.
“They all say that.”
“Please!” said the moth again. “Either let me go, sir… or…”
“Or what? What are my options, bug? List them for me.”
“Just eat me.”
“Why?”
“Kill me! Get it over with…”
“Oh, come on,” said Thread, and it chuckled again. “Come now, mister. I thought you had more stamina. We’ve got things to talk about, as well you know. Your therapy’s hardly started—”
“Thread,” said Spider. “Stop this.”
“What?”
“This is cruel.”
“Oh no, this is necessary. Don’t talk to me about cruelty, friend—there’s no gain without pain. This little chap here, he’s got an opportunity to think about his life and realize how insignificant he is. How many creatures get that chance?”
“He’s a prisoner. He’s suffering!”
“Aren’t we all? You’ve forgotten something, Spider, which is the fact that he came to me. Deep down, he wanted this.”
“I don’t think so,” said Spider. “He flew into the web because he didn’t see it—because you built it as a trap. That’s what you do, and it’s called a trick. I think you should let him go.”
“Then what do I eat? Are you going to share your dog food?”
“Yes!”
“No. Anyway, he’ll thank me in the end—they always do. What I give these guys is time, and they’re not used to it. They get time to reflect on the dumb decisions they’ve made, and their stupid, miserable relationships. ‘I was so happy!’ they say, and I help them to see that happiness for what it was. An illusion, buddy—because the suffering starts as soon as you’re born.”
Thread swung the cocoon round and set it rocking.
“You understand that, moth?” he cried. “Of course you don’t—not yet, but… Spider? Where are you going?”
“I’m getting down.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like it and I don’t think it’s right.”
“Oh, wait!” sighed the moth. “Don’t leave me!”
“Spider,” said Thread. “We haven’t talked about you yet—and your own crisis. When are we going to do that?”
“Never. I don’t want this.”
“No? That’s because you’re in denial, friend. You don’t know what you are or where you’re going, and neither does the boy. Life is work and pain, and then you’re dead!”
“I don’t believe you!”
“You think you’re happy? Look at you.”
Spider had had enough. Before Thread could speak again, he jumped wildly down, crashing hard on to Tom’s desk. A mug of pens and pencils overturned, and the dog skidded as they rolled beneath his paws. He spun, and his tail caught the computer screen, tipping it over the edge. Spider heard the crack, but there was nothing he could do. He leapt to the floor and nosed his way swiftly out of Tom’s bedroom and down the stairs.
Phil was on the landing, and he patted his head. His hands smelt of fish food, so Spider made a bolt for the kitchen, where he found his own bowl. He swallowed a biscuit and took himself out into the garden. At last he could shake himself and drink in the fresh air.
The moth’s face wouldn’t leave him, and those sad words, “Don’t leave me!”, were still ringing in his brain. He shook himself. There was nothing he could do, and to think about misery only made him miserable.
Spider noticed a ball on the grass and picked it up in his jaws. Then, for a horrible moment, he saw himself as Moonlight had seen him: a mindless dog, with a plastic toy in his mouth. What did he want with a grubby white ball? Did he want to bounce it and chase it and wear himself out? Yes, was the answer. Yes. Was that really such a crime?
A door slammed in the house, and he turned. It was later than he thought! There were running feet, hammering down the hall. Then came the cry he’d come to know so well, and he found himself spinning and barking as he tripped over his own paws. It was Tom’s voice, loud and excited.
“Spider? Spider!”
He was overwhelmed by instinct. He dropped the ball and belted back into the house, sliding over the kitchen tiles. His master was there, having dropped his bag and his blazer. They launched themselves at each other, and Tom caught him, spinning to the floor, as usual, in a somersault of tangled legs.
“Spider!” cried Tom. “New game, OK? You’re a sniffer dog! Come on—get me! Catch me!”
It was a different kind of chase, and Spider caught on at once. He grabbed at Tom’s arm as Tom thrust it out, retreating up the hallway. Tom pushed him off with a shriek and made his escape, his shirtsleeve tearing as the telephone rang. Up the stairs they ran, and after a quick wrestle on the landing, Tom announced that by some miracle he had no homework, so it was time for the park.
They played until dusk, then watched TV. Phil cooked supper, and when Tom took Spider upstairs the rain fell gently, pattering on the skylight that wouldn’t close.
The boy slept under the duvet, with the dog curled up on top. They turned and squirmed, and the phone rang again in Tom’s dream—on and on, until he cried out, trying to answer it. Spider licked his hand and felt the fingers stroke his muzzle. They played over his tooth and finally lay still.
I’m a guard dog, Spider thought happily. Then he thought of Moonlight again. Unless somewhere—somehow—I’m a cat.