Chuck slowly opened his eyes but it didn't seem to make a difference. He was surrounded by darkness. Where was he? He didn't feel cold or warm, in fact he didn't feel anything. Chuck tried to get his bearings to feel around in the inky blackness, but there was nothing. Panic began to rise in his chest.
"Relax. Stay calm. Everything you're feeling is completely normal," a disembodied voice in the darkness spoke with measured words.
"Who's there?" Chuck spun in circles trying to determine the location of the speaker. "I said, 'Who's there?' Where are you?"
"I'm here beside you. I'm here to help."
Chuck felt some of his anxiety wane, "Thank you, it's just I feel so disoriented not being able to see or feel anything."
"Well that will get better once you stop trying to use your body," the voice gave an exasperated laugh.
"Stop trying to use my body? What does that mean?"
"It means, you can't use sensory organs that no longer exist. You're dead Chuck."
"Dead?!" and as soon as he said it the world became clear. Chuck was at the bottom of the sink trap. Around him was a dank, mildewed mess of hair and soap scum. Then he looked again and saw the crumpled mass of his own body, the legs akimbo in a gruesome display. "Dead?"
"Yep, dead," the voice now had a body...well, sort of. The voice echoed out of the hood of a dark cloak, peaking out of the edges of which was a hallowed out exoskeleton.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the Grim Reaper, the harvester of souls. And I'm here to guide you to the next life Chuck."
"Oh..."
"Are you okay?" the Grim Reaper asked.
"Well, it's just, I'm not sure how to feel. I mean, my life is over, but it wasn't the greatest life. I sort of regret all the things I didn't get to do, but you said there's a next life, right?"
"Yes."
"Hm, then I suppose let's go. No point in wallowing in a sink trap." Chuck found he was feeling less and less upset by the idea of his own death.
"Follow me," the Grim Reaper began to rise, and Chuck followed after. Now they were out of the sink and hovering up through the bathroom. Up they went through the ceiling and into the second floor. They were steadily rising up towards the roof, when a voice caught Chuck's attention.
"Hey listen to this gross story, you guys. So last night I went to get ready for bed, and there was this big gnarly spider in the sink. So I wash him down the drain, and I go get changed. I come back to take out my contacts and there he is again! A little waterlogged and bedraggled, but the same spider in the sink again! So I almost just wash him down again, but then I'm thinking what if he just keeps crawling back up. So I had to get the Raid and spray him. But after I sprayed him and watched him die, I washed him down the drain again, and I thought, what if I just rinsed all the poison off and he crawls up again!"
"Thrilling story. They should make a nursery rhyme out of it."
"That's gross. So did it crawl back up?"
"No, I think it's pretty dead. Can you imagine if it had still come back? It would have been like the Rasputin of spiders!"
Chuck gaped in horror as the cruel humans laughed over the details of his vicious murder. He remembered the flashflood that had washed him down the sink. He remembered clinging to the stinking, slimy hairs waiting for the downpour to end, then finding the strength to pull himself back onto the gleaming white porcelain of the sink bottom. Then came the poisonous death cloud. The burning and churning of his insides, and in his final agonizing moments one squealed word, "Gross!"
"What is it, Chuck? Why'd you stop?" The Grim Reaper had descended back to where Chuck had frozen.
"They're talking about my death, no, they're laughing about my death."
The Grim Reaper turned and watched as the humans broke out in raucus laughter as the human who had killed Chuck rolled onto her back with legs and arms curled into the air in an impression of the dead spider. A meaningful silence fell between them.
"You know, there are exceptions. Well, I should say delays, of sorts." The Grim Reaper continued as Chuck looked at him quizzically, "I can give your spirit a little more time here if, say, you had some unfinished business."
"You mean..."
"Yes. I don't think the Boss would blame me for this one. But remember, you can't hurt anyone, and try to do some good. I'll be back soon." With that the Grim Reaper disappeared and Chuck was left hovering alone.
His murderer had gone downstairs and was saying goodbye to the two other humans. Chuck heard the door close and his murderer whistling merrily as she walked towards the bathroom.
--
Diane walked into the bathroom to begin her nightly bedtime ritual. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and pinned back her bangs with a triangle snap clip. As she examined her skin with a critical eye in the mirror, out of her peripheral vision she saw a small black shape in the sink reflected in the mirror. With a gasp Diane jumped back, but looking into the basin she saw nothing there. Although she could see in an instant that the sink was clear, she spent several seconds searching it with her eyes, then looking back in the mirror to see if the dark object would reappear. Diane even bent down to look under the bowel to see if it had crawled under, but she could find nothing.
As Diane stood back up she caught the unmistakeable smell of bug spray. She felt her heart begin to race, and once again she scanned the basin and its mirror doppelganger. Diane picked up the motley assortment of items that littered the counter: brush, face wash, contact lens solution, lotion, mouth wash, hair cream, face cream, powders, blushes, clips, hair ties, and barettes. Why do I have so much crap? Diane wondered to herself. After a thorough search, Diane still had not found anything. She looked herself in the eye, and with a shake of her head she turned and walked out of the bathroom.
She returned moments later wearing her pajama top. As Diane walked through the door she felt the silky threads of a spiderweb across her face. Spitting and swatting at her face, Diane flailed about the room. She rubbed her face until it was red and splotchy and then tentatively returned to the bathroom. Holding her hands up protectively, like a blind person, she crossed the threshold into the bathroom again. With her hands she caressed the door frame on both sides but could find no indication of the remains of a web. Struck by an idea, she searched the top of the frame and then struck out wildly into the air. Nothing. She felt no further strands.
Looking at herself in the mirror, Diane once again shook her head, but this time neither her nor her reflection seemed reassured. Diane turned on the faucet and cupped her hands. She splashed water on to her face and neck and rubbed vigorously, and then pumped a handfull of liquid facewash into her hands. As she lathered her face she felt a series of tickling sensations along the back of her neck. With a grunt of panicked disgust she slapped both hands to the back of her neck and felt around for the cause. Nothing. The face wash stung her eyes. She quickly doused her face, nearly holding it under the tap to get off the soap.
Diane stood up and reached for her towel when she once again felt the tickling sensation, this time traveling down her chest. Squealing, she slapped at herself, realizing then that the feeling was caused by water running down off her face. Breathing hard, Diane patted dry her face and flung the towel back on its rack. Bracing herself by clutching the sides of the sink, Diane tried to steady herself with deep breaths.
Diane rapidly blinked her right eye. Something was irritating her lower eyelid. With exasperation Diane thought she must have rubbed an eyelash into her eye amidst all her panicking. She leaned in close to the mirror and pulled down her bottom lid. Years of contact wearing had helped desensitize her eyes, and while poking around unaffected, she saw the edge of something black. Rolling her finger, Diane captured the object on her finger tip. Holding it up to her face, Diane saw the unmistakable, jointed leg of an arachnid.
--
Chuck laughed to himself as a high pitched scream broke from his murderer. She turned in sheer panic to run from the bathroom, when a small baby spider scurried onto the door frame. The spider was so small that his eight tiny legs looked more like fuzz. Chuck's murderer instintively grabbed a magazine from the back of the toilet to smash this tiny innocent. Chuck's stomach lurched, and he found himself frozen in horror as the scene unfolded before him.
The murderous human reached back with the magazine poised to strike, then paused. A look of terror still contorted on her face, she lowered the magazine to a level position. With a shaking hand she pushed the magazine up to the baby spider who crawled unto its glossy pages. Swiftly she turned, opened the bathroom window and shook the spider onto the flower box outside, and promptly shut the window again. Muttering to herself, the human left the bathroom and headed up the stairs to her bedroom.
"You did good Chuck."
Chuck turned to see the Grim Reaper once again floating next to him.
"I'd be lying if I said that was my intention," Chuck replied.
"I know, but if the Boss asks, do me a favor and go ahead and lie." They both laughed and began again their ascent through the ceiling.
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