She dragged her wounded, useless legs behind her. They felt of lead, heavy and dead, as they rustled against the wood floor. She tried to be quiet, but the fear of being discovered amplified each movement of her injured body. She had to find a hiding place, one the intruder would never find.
At the sound of footfalls, she froze. They were thunderous and closing on her. Her brain said move, but she was paralyzed. Her body couldn’t endure more torture from him.
Her eyes scrutinized her surroundings, frantically searched for asylum. The closet. It would have to be the closet. Obvious, but her only choice in the sparsely furnished room. But it seemed so far away to her exhausted body and terrified mind.
Exerting all her remaining strength, she wriggled across the open space and slipped into the shadowy closet. She waited. Listened.
Time seemed to fester. The stillness asphyxiated her. Where was the intruder?
The urge to look overpowered her good judgment. She peeked through the door crack. Nothing moved on the other side.
Feeling confident, she slid though the opening. She saw the mammoth foot hover above her for a fleeting moment before it smashed her furry, eight-legged body into a pulverize pile of tissue.
The young boy twisted his size 11 foot, ensured the spider was officially dead and exclaimed, “Gotcha you creep!”
I wrote this weird little tale for The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: What a Twist!
The prompt: “Tell us a story — fiction or non-fiction — with a twist we can’t see coming.” They asked for, “SURPRISE!” I hope I delivered it.