The Texas Spider - Александр Александрович Чечитов

aching from exertion, and the closing of her eyes betrayed fatigue. She looked around, and once again made sure that the street was silently empty.

Then Whitney went to Larry Queens, looking for help. She couldn't remember how she'd made it all the way to his house. The impatient, timid drumming of blows on the door remained unanswered for a long time. It seems like an eternity passed until an orange-red light bulb turned on over the porch of his house. A puffy face appeared in the doorway, which was ajar by five inches.

— Damn it! Whitney exclaimed, catching a glimpse of the older man. The rays of a small lamp illuminated a skull split in two, from which a burgundy liquid was slowly oozing. The right side of the cheek and forehead with a convex mole was much better preserved, and the man could still be recognized.

— Why are you yelling? Queens asked irritably, licking his split lips.

— Something broke into my house. Larry, please call the police!

Nodding, the elderly man disappeared inside the house. Evening silence enveloped the area, and even, it seems, drops of water flowed silently from the soft tiled roof. Whitney could only hear the heavy tread of Queens' retreating footsteps, disappearing into the dense blackness of the rooms.

— Listen, what's your name, — Larry's voice rattled from the, depths of the house, — you'll have to come in and help me. Dial it yourself, I don't feel well.

After spending about a couple of seconds fiddling with the door chain, Whitney got inside. The suffocating rancid air of the rooms squeezed the lungs, and Whitney Graham's neck and forehead were covered with cold, salty perspiration.

— Where are you, Larry?

A warm wave of air and a short, rustling sound near her ear were followed by the crash of things smashed behind Whitney's back. Something heavy plopped down beside her, bouncing to the side. Whitney's hand, clutching the gun, jerked, and a flash of light lit up the room for a moment.

— There are only two bullets left, — a strange thought flashed through Whitney's mind when she managed to make out the unnaturally hunched figure of Larry Queens. Now the back of his head was completely covered by a pink — red arthropod creature that looked like a spider. A small body, dotted with many eyes, throbbed and fidgeted on a gray, broken head, fingering two dozen curved paws.

Larry himself seemed hideously thin. And yet, in the next instant, the man easily lifted a large pedestal. Whitney's eyes had time to get used to the darkness, a little, and she managed to notice in time how Larry launched an improvised projectile at her.

— Hey come closer. It's time to call! Lari commanded in a trumpet voice, lifting the bedside lamp from the floor with his crooked hands.

Whitney's shot landed in the center of Larry's head. Quins' body crunched and collapsed to the floor.

Turning on the light, Whitney found a terrible mess reigning in Larry's house. Among his scattered belongings, there was a mobile phone turned off. After putting the device on charge, Whitney sat down next to the mummified body of Queens. The bullet left a through hole, completely bloodless. The liquid, viscous and transparent, flowed only from the body of the many-legged creature, saturating the space around it with a bitter, nauseating aroma.

Whitney plopped down in Larry's worn-out chair, only now feeling how tired she was. My legs ached terribly from the strain, and the weight, squeezed with monstrous force. Whitney covered her face with the sweaty palms of her hands, and then ran her fingers through her hair. A nerve impulse burned through every cell of her body. Whitney raised her hand with the revolver and pulled the trigger.

Pink — red arthropod with a lot of eyes, it casually slid off the back of her head, crawling under the sofa.

Whitney's heart was racing to get out. She jumped up, feeling the back of her head, and trying to keep track of the place where the spider-like creature was hiding. Fortunately for Whitney, Queens smoked a lot during his lifetime, and among his things she came across a box of matches.

On the street, powerful currents of air violently swayed the extinguished lampposts, and tree branches slowly grated on the cold, extinguished windows of silent houses. The flames greedily enveloped the rooms where Larry Queens used to live, releasing thick, acrid clouds of smoke into the sky.

Dragging her tired legs, Whitney wandered off to seek help. Yellow tongues of fire brightly illuminated the naked, slimy bodies of unknown spiders crawling out of the red-hot remains of the house.