the spider in the bathroom

jessica michalsky

CW: menstruation, mentions/descriptions of blood, spider (spider's body/movements are described), mild language   


Every month I am reminded that I have a body. This realisation arrives at night when my dreams are interrupted by the sensation of blood pooling beneath me, running down my legs as I heave myself out of the safety of the freshly stained sheets. The monster under the bed decides to give my ankles a break as I lumber into the darkness to deal with the issue at hand. 

A deep breath caused a shooting pain up my spine, if I had my glasses on then I would have realised that my vision blurred. I learn the same lessons every month; extra strength grows weaker every time and seconds take longer when I’m bleeding. More human than ever, I seek refuge in the bathroom, where the back issues of magazines live forever. Getting off my feet gives me hope for things to come. Leaking in a toilet isn’t the most dignified way to spend an evening, but someone had to appreciate the full moon through the frosted glass. The paranoia of whether I had grabbed the wrong pills dissipated as I had no choice but to entrust my instincts and accept that I would find out in the morning. Until then I would be reflected in the pink water. 

Looking around the room I began to watch a piece of lint climb the wall. Thin legs outstretched with each passing stride, her body no bigger than a thumbtack. I leaned forward, my eyes struggling to focus on the Spider who could feel my attention on her back as she slowed to a halt. Eight eyes were now fixed on my flesh which was textured with goosebumps. 

“Did you kill something?” Her voice was faint, a wispy sound from her fanged mouth. I looked down at the blood that was beginning to dry along my thighs, embarrassed, I balled up some toilet paper and wiped it off. 

“No, it’s mine.”

“Are you okay?” The Spider took a step towards me, as she moved closer my intestines started to cave in on themselves, and this caused a grumbling roar to ring through my abdomen. I bared my teeth. “Oh, I see what’s wrong. Mosquitos do that to me too.” 

“I don’t eat mosquitos, it's my blood.” 

“Then why is it red?” 

“What colour should it be?” 

“Clear, only mosquitos have red blood.”

“But I’m not a mosquito and my blood is red.” 

The Spider scratched her head while I spoke. 

“Well, that makes no sense. Are you sure?” 

“About not being a mosquito or having red blood?” 

“I suppose both.”

“Well, I’m sure of both.” 

“You’re a strange creature, are you aware of that?” I think about that while I sit there, my ribs encasing inflating lungs. The use of the word cavity when discussing the body makes more sense than ever. It’s a place that is so hollow and boundless, yet packed tight with fleshy pink organs all huddled close. If I lived my life correctly, not a single one of them would know sunlight or the chill of an unexpected breeze. Normally, I am only reminded of the persistent tempo of my heart when car horns shout at me. Now it was the sounds of blood rushing past my ears that kept me present in that fact. 

“Yes, I'm aware.” I started grabbing the pads nearly out of reach, the fresh underwear I had brought with me now bunched around my heels. “It’s easy to forget though.” The growling was once again echoing from my depths, the Spider examined her thorax. 

“That seems like an odd thing to forget.” 

“Overtime you learn to look past it, you deal with things you think are much stranger.” I tore open the thin plastic packaging placing the pad on the lining. “Life is just a bit easier when you forget.”  

The Spider started scurrying towards me till she was standing on the counter beside me. Just a bit too close to my toothbrush for my liking, but not close enough for me to say anything. Now that she was near, I could see the faint brown of her body and the pale stripes that rested on her back. Tiny hairs covered her legs while her eyes reflected the moon. 

“What else are you made of?” She relaxed her back legs so she could look up at me. I was feeling another cramp attach itself to my body, I laughed in spite of it. 

“Nothing special. Acid, shit, and blood, there’s also some mucus and spit holding it all together. When they are all together, they make me.” 

“It sounds exhausting.” 

I leaned back on my porcelain throne, cleaning up the remaining blood. My hands brushed against razor-burned skin while I noticed some eczema nuzzled deep within the joints.  

“It really is.” I shut the lid to the toilet and flushed that small piece of me, it was gone and soon to be replaced. “But I manage.” 

The hot water felt too good on my hands to pull them away. The Spider crawled back to her web, adding a bit more threads for extra support since her exoskeleton was starting to feel just a bit too tight. 

“Maybe it would be better if you never forgot.” The Spider’s voice faded into the night. I turned back to her, my hands wrapped in a towel. 

“I think you’re right, but I’m sure I’ll find something much stranger soon.” I motioned for the door. “I have to go now, are you okay alone?” 

The Spider cradled herself in the webbing. 

“Yes, thank you for the chat. It was…strange.” 

I told the Spider goodnight, and she said it back. In the morning I entered the bathroom, coughing up some bad breath. While scrubbing my teeth I couldn’t help but check her web, empty. Only the delicate silver strands were left as a sign of her presence. Now completely soaked through, I sat to change the pad, the cramps now reawakening and twisting my guts. Wrapped tight in the new packaging I went to go throw it away, as the muscles in my shoulders tightened and pulled back on one another. I think of the Spider and hope she’s okay, I think of the cotton that is absorbing the blood—my blood that will soon join the rest of me in the trash. 

“How strange.” I think, but that is all I can muster on the topic. I go to the medicine cabinet and pop in two extra-strength painkillers, and then I forget.  

Jessica Michalsky is an up-and-coming author; she typically focuses on stories involving oddities, peculiarities, and the down-right strange. For Michalsky, the most interesting stories are waiting to be discovered. It is for this very reason that she can typically be found overhearing conversations, exploring places she should not be, and staring a bit too long at the stars, waiting for them to look back.

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