There's a Giant Trapdoor Spider Under Your Bed by Cantero Edgar

Author:Cantero, Edgar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-26T16:00:00+00:00

“Who the hell put that spider in there?”

She rocked her body to rotate the chair toward the left. She was only a few feet from the desk.

“I can jump.”

“The chair will roll out from under your feet,” Noah said. “If it rolls into the shadow, it will disintegrate!”

“Yeah, but I won’t be on it!”

“The wardrobe is in the shadows, and it didn’t disintegrate!” Sam objected.

Rina carefully planted her feet on the cushioned seat and straightened her knees.

Bump.

She was standing at her full height—four feet nine inches—on a wheeled office chair. No one on the bed dared breathe, lest the exhaled air push her off balance.

“I’m gonna do it.”

“Rina, please don’t fall,” Ian begged.

She aimed toward the desk, feet firmly dug in the cushion, and started gently rocking her body back and forth, then a little harder, all the while focusing her strength on her legs, her heels, her toes, keeping the chair nailed to the ground while she achieved maximum momentum. One. Two.

She jumped.

The chair rolled in the opposite direction as she kicked off, but she had landed almost gracefully on the tabletop before the chair entered the shadow zone, unharmed, and smashed into the wardrobe. The impact made one of the doors open a crack.

And the springs helped it open more, creaking all the way, and the full moon waved at them on the inside of the door.

“Mirror!” Rina yelled, immediately hopping on two rungs of the bridge and diving onto the bed, crashing into Sam and Noah. “Don’t look at the mirror! Don’t let it look at you!”

But they couldn’t help it; they couldn’t shift away. The door kept swinging open, showing the foot of the bed. And Ian’s right arm. And Ian’s right arm—a moonlit, sickly gray, ragged version of Ian’s right arm—stuck out of the mirror, fingers clinging to the wardrobe door.

Real Ian pulled the quiltscreen into place and fell back with the others, in a bundle of limbs, screaming in terror.

“Light!” Ian shouted over the others. “Noah, light!”

“It doesn’t work!” Noah screamed, slapping the bottom of the flashlight.

The moonbeam sneaking over the upper bunk was now blasting off the mirror and backlighting the screen before them, and behind it they could make out the shadow—Ian’s reflection’s shadow—lurching toward the bed. Exactly like Ian—the lanky figure, the puffed-up curls bouncing with every sick loll of the head. Everybody recoiled, compressing themselves into the corner.

“Noah! Light!”

Noah slammed the flashlight against the bedpost. It blinked on.

He aimed it at the quiltscreen, and Ian hand-shadowed a dog’s head. The dog shadow snapped at Mirror Ian’s shadow, and Mirror Ian screeched at the antimatter burn, its bright flak splitting the darkness like a strike of lightning. Ian even faked the barks as the dog shadow charged, biting off chunks of Mirror Ian’s shape, unraveling the atomic structure of its body in a few seconds, each bite accompanied by whipcracks of blinding light and the piercing screams of the creature disintegrating into bursts of energy and zero-charge elementary particles.

After the last flash of light, only Ian’s hand shadow remained on the screen.

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