As it lay helplessly on the laminate flooring, with its entire body crushed and its own blood and pus seamlessly pouring out everywhere, the spider looked pretty damn dead to Frank. He couldn’t be entirely sure however, as a few of its legs were still twitching in sudden, jolting movements. It could just be a reflex action, he thought to himself. Either way, he didn’t dare try to put his face anywhere near the gooey mess to give it a closer inspection.

Spiders - no matter how big or small - have always been Frank’s biggest fear. A great fear of things such as: heights, flying, the sight of blood; commonly arise in a person’s oldest childhood memories. With Frank currently in his mid-50s, you can sure bet that something acutely distressing must have happened to him in his early years, for him to overreact in this way now towards such a harmless, eight-legged predatory arachnid.

Whatever had happened to him to set his anxiety off so alarmingly bad could be anyone’s guess really, but one would think that being a bullied victim and loner throughout his life - inside and outside of school - may have had a major part to play in it. Living such a quiet, introverted life and being stuck at home all day with no friends, no job, and only his wife of over 30 years to depend on him, it was safe to assume that Frank didn’t like to associate himself with the outside world in any way. Nor did he interact with the overwhelming social media aspects of a normal person’s everyday life. That meant no smartphone, no iPad, and no computer. He was probably more old-fashioned than anyone you have ever known, perhaps even more so than your own grandparents, who are always expected to struggle when it comes to wrestling with the idea of using technology once they’ve reached a certain age.

So in the end, it was just Frank and his incredibly patient, all loving and extremely forgiving wife, who had taken pity and sympathised for Frank more times than she cared to remember. The fact that Frank refused to go out and look for work, meaning that she was the only one bringing in any income, also had a huge impact on their relationship over the years. Soon enough, their love for one another - or more specifically, the love that Frank’s wife had for him - put a massive strain on their overall time spent together.

Of course, they had arguments; just like any other married couple. But these arguments were happening every single day. Some of them were just harmless bickering, while others were really loud and aggressive, the kind when a couple descend into a full-on dispute about anything and everything.

It was pretty much always Frank who instigated so many of these arguments in the beginning. It wasn’t his fault, really, as Frank was the insecure and self-doubting type, you see. Stuck alone at home and with his wife away for several hours each day, many troubling thoughts began to enter his mind that just weren’t logical at all; thoughts about his wife being unfaithful to him, about her being in full control of their relationship and not letting him do whatever he wanted. Of course, whenever he confronted her with these wild accusations, her heart shattered into a million pieces. His sweet darling wife had every right to be angry and upset with him and, in the end, it was always Frank who owed her the deepest, and most sincere apologies.

He felt bad about upsetting his cherished wife all of the time, especially when he knew half of the stuff that entered his subconscious mind could not have been farther from the truth. He hated upsetting her nearly as much as he hated himself, and he would do just about anything to set things right again, just like how they were years before. This was the woman he loved unconditionally and so, deep down, he knew that living like this just wasn’t healthy for either of them.

With the blood and goo spreading more and more across the floor, Frank knew that he had to start cleaning up this whole mess. He was fully aware that he ought to get it rectified long before his ‘better’ half came back home from work, or there would be hell to pay.

‘If I wasn’t scared shitless, I would have made a move into the kitchen already’, he bitterly muttered to himself.

Sadly, all he could do was stand there, completely frozen stiff, as his gaze fixated upon the monstrosity that had been caused just a few minutes before. It was impossible for Frank to tear his eyes away from what had just happened, even for just a few seconds. But even he knew that he couldn’t just stand there all day and watch this catastrophe in his own living room grow progressively worse as each second passed. He had to do something, and fast.

There was just one slight problem standing in his way: his brain was reacting the complete opposite way to his body, which were fighting against each other like cancer or some kind of infectious blood disease. The fact that he had no control over his own physical actions posed some rather worrying and dubious questions: Was he schizophrenic? Mentally ill in some severe way? Or maybe suffering greatly from multiple personality disorder, and he just didn’t know it yet? And just why in god’s name did he feel the need to hide away from the rest of the world?! Especially at his age!

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much point in seeking the answers here as nobody knows why. And it’s highly unlikely that anybody ever will. Not now, anyway.

You’ve probably guessed this all on your own by now, but this spider wasn’t small, not by any means. In fact, it was downright frigging massive. It was so big in size that you could see it’s evil glaring red eyes and it’s piercing fangs from a far-off distance. Just those small details, along with its hairy eight legs which once helped to scurry its fat, pulsing body along, was certainly more than enough to send an icy chill down anyone’s spine, let alone Frank’s. The bigger they got, the longer it took for them to finally give in and die, it seemed, which Frank had discovered with this one, having already taken many heavy blows from a human foot before its body finally decided to cave in and admit gruesome defeat.

He couldn’t help but stare intently at the deceased body afterwards. Just the sight of the mangled body with blood pouring out at one side and its four legs which had been broken and torn off, had stirred a weird mix of deep-felt emotions within Frank.

At first, he looked at this dead spider with absolute repugnance and abhorrence, but these feelings were soon joined by remorse and sorrow. Just why did he feel this way? It was just a creature of nature. Was what he had done really that bad? There was no use trying to figure out why he felt the way he did for an insect that was so meaningless to him, and yet, at the same time, experiencing so much despair by bearing witness to how easily it was crushed to death by his own doing. Maybe it had something to do with how helpless it appeared to be while being attacked by an invading human force, and having nowhere to escape to.

It's unclear to anyone what was worse during and after this uneventful encounter - the catastrophic aftermath of the spider’s sad and untimely demise, or Frank’s incessant high-pitched screaming. It was the most bloodcurdling thing to ever violate an individual’s eardrum.

For anyone unlucky enough to have been walking outside of the house whilst all of this was taking place, it must have sounded like some poor soul had just been brutally and savagely murdered. All assumptions were made that a very concerned neighbour would have already dialed the cops within minutes of hearing the commotion taking place within the comfort of Frank’s house. And that must have been exactly what happened, as an abruptly loud sound of knocking was suddenly being pounded on his front door. Did the police really just arrive on his doorstep? Because of a spider? If by a miracle he was able to find the inner strength to actually move his muscles, he may have been able to see that a patrol car had already pulled up into his driveway. But, alas, he remained trapped in the same spot that he had been stood in for what seemed like hours.

As the knocking and banging on the front door rapidly grew more aggressively louder, beads of cold sweat trickled down Frank’s forehead and he suddenly looked as white as a ghost. You could see as clear as day that the panic-stricken look on his face as his brain tried to desperately question who on earth it could be constantly banging at his front door. He may have heard some yelling rise from the other side of the door, too, but the words were far too muffled and inaudible for him to make out what was actually being said.

Soon enough, the image of the dead spider, his own living room, and the noises of the loud knocking all came crashing down on him at once, as he returned to the cold reality of his true situation, one that he had already unwittingly come back to a thousand times before. ‘Frank. Frank! Fraaaank! It’s time to wake up, Frank.’

Gradually, at his own pace, Frank began to open his eyes from the deep void of darkness that he had been consumed in for who knows how long, to now having found himself in the brightest room that he has ever been in. Re-adjusting his eyes and focusing on his new setting, it took him a few minutes to piece together his surroundings to realise that he could no longer make use of his arms or hands, for they were completely tied behind him and restrained in a white straitjacket.

Before starting to even figure out just how he had come to be here and why, he suddenly noticed after regaining consciousness that he was being intently watched by three complete strangers dressed in business suits, sitting on the other side of a big glass window. He quickly guessed that it was the man sitting in the middle who was repeatedly calling out his name, as

he was still gripping the amplified desk microphone firmly in his hand. He seemed agitated with Frank – slightly frustrated, even - as it looked like his patience with Frank had almost sailed its final shore.

‘Well, it’s finally nice of you to finally join us again, Frank. Do you remember where you are right now?’ Frank, looking puzzled and a little frightened, slowly shook his head from side to side. ‘Wh…who are you people? Wha…what am I doing here? Why am I strapped down in this jacket!?’

Behind the glass screen, the three business-like people all looked at each other as they privately consulted about what they should do with Frank. A few minutes later, the man in the middle began to speak into the mic once again.

‘Frank, my name is Dr. Norman Tate. You have been under my care for the past four years now. I have closely monitored and examined you, in which myself and other doctors have worked extremely hard in helping you to reach full recovery. Unfortunately, you have been fighting against all of the help and support that we’ve tried our very best to provide you with. You probably think that you’ve only just arrived here, don’t you?’

Stunned in silence, Frank had no idea what to think. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything in reply so he helplessly carried on doing the one thing that he could do, which was to listen to what else these complete strangers had to say to him.

‘This might all sound overwhelming and confusing to you, Frank, but you are in fact one of our most dangerous patients here at this facility.’

‘And just what kind of facility am I in, right now?’ Frank barked back, angrily. ‘Why have you kept me locked in here like some goddamn prisoner? Why have you taken me from my own home? And just what the hell have you done with Marie, goddammit!?’

Remaining as calm and patient as possible, Dr. Tate softly replied, ‘If you let me fully explain the situation, Frank, then all will become clear as crystal within the next few minutes or so.’

Letting out a scornful sigh, Frank quickly nodded as a small gesture to grant the doctor his request to explain further.

‘Frank, you are a patient here at Broadmoor, a high-security psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane. You are currently restricted to a padded cell room, away from every other patient and staff member, as you have demonstrated yourself as being the highest threat that we have ever encountered and experienced. We had no choice but to take the necessary precautions in restraining your body movements due to your highly physical violence and abuse to all others. You are, I’m afraid, a loose cannon, Frank. A troublemaker. We have exhausted every method and technique we can think of to help you to get better, but nothing we have done has ever come close to being even mildly successful.’

Fiercely shaking his head at such a ferocious speed, Frank screamed as loud as his lungs would let him, shouting and yelling all kinds of profanities. ‘We can sympathise that this is a lot for you to take in, Frank,’ Dr. Tate interrupted, ‘but we have been in this very same situation multiple times already, which may be hard for you to believe right now.’

‘No, I don’t fucking believe you! What a sick joke this is. Why are you people making up so much stuff about me? Just let me get out of here!’

‘Frank, please, think logically. You’ve been hiding the truth away for so long now, that it’s now time to face the facts. There’s no easy way for me to say this, so I’m just gonna go ahead and say it. Four years ago to this day, you brutally murdered your wife in your own home. Since then, you’ve created the same fantasy scenario in your head every day, as a way of trying to repress this utterly painful memory as much as you can. You know what that scenario is, Frank, just as much as the rest of us do.’

‘I can’t say that I do,’ Frank retorted. Tears were running down both of Frank’s cheeks at this point. Never had he looked more distraught and outraged, having had such shocking accusations thrown at him that he would actually be able to go through with murdering his own beloved wife.

Dr. Tate began to clear his throat. ‘It was the tarantula in your living room, Frank. You couldn’t bring yourself to come to terms with the horrendous crime you committed on your wife, or to bare to even think about her after what had happened. So, you replaced her in your mind with the one thing you fear the most - spiders. You became so isolated in your own home, that you suddenly snapped as a result of a claustrophobic reaction commonly referred to as “cabin fever”. You crushed your wife’s head in multiple times until her skull caved in. She died instantly before the authorities had a chance to get over there. When they arrived, they reported that you just stood there, hovering over her body as you watched wide-eyed in horror, her blood pouring out all over the floor, helpless to do anything. You were stuck in a complete trance, Frank. One that took a long time to snap you out of.’

‘Lies! All lies, I tell ya. What have you done with my wife? I demand to see her.’

Before Dr. Tate or the two colleagues sitting either side of him had the chance to reply to their distressed patient, Frank suddenly took a runner at the wall and headbutted the glass window several times. He kept at it until he was no longer recognisable, with his face covered in blood, his nose fully broken, and a few teeth knocked clean out. Breathless, he slumped down on the floor with blood dripping everywhere from his now self-inflicted facial cuts and bruises. In the moment that he had just started to get his breathing back to normal, three huge men rushed in. Before he even had a chance to find the inner strength to defend himself, two of them held him down, whilst the third guy knelt down over the top of him with his right knee directly rammed into his chest.

Holding up an ice pick and some other kind of medical instrument, Frank was sure that he could hear Dr. Tate saying how sorry he was that things had come to this over the mic. But he couldn’t be certain, as the three men, whoever they were, had pinned him down and blocked his view from anything beyond their masked faces. Then, they began the surgical procedure of severing the connections in the brain’s prefrontal cortex, casting his mind back into a shroud of darkness all over again.

By Martin White

From: United Kingdom

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