DEAD. ONCE. ONE.

Here be experimental slipstream metafiction. Proceed with caution.😉

DEAD CHARLOTTE 

(a prologue)

The girl stood in the corner of her bedroom, looking up at the spider for a long time. It was a dark shape lying on its back, legs slightly bent like a tired trapeze artist on a cobweb. It was dead. The girl ate it. She dreamed of withered clowns that night – and all the nights after.

Nowadays, she might notice dead spiders hanging lifeless from time to time, but she doesn't eat them anymore.

◾️◾️◾️

ONCE 

(told by one of the aunties)

The girl who used to eat spiders noticed something, a tiny dark smudge, crawling up her bedroom wall at evenfall one Wednesday.

I’m being unfair here – it’s one of my hallmarks when it comes to characters; better get used to it. 

To be precise, the girl had only once eaten a spider. No need to panic and call your local Animal Protection Services: the spider was already dead. I remember reading it was dead.

Accurately, now:

The girl who had ONCE eaten a DEAD spider noticed something crawling up the wall in her bedroom at dusk. It was a dark smudge moving across the arsenic-green wallpaper, slowly making its way towards the burgundy-plastered ceiling.

Soon, two other smudges emerged from the wooden skirting and began crawling upwards as well. 

The three smudges met at the center of the ceiling. That’s when they started to glow and morphed into letters, spelling one word:

RUN

She didn’t, of course. Girls who eat spiders don’t usually run. It’s a thing. 

Yes, I know, she only ate one spider. 

One dead spider. 

Once. 

◾️◾️◾️

WHAT HAPPENED NEXT 

(according to aunties ONE and TWO)

The girl who ate spiders didn’t run, but she left her bedroom and…  

(ONE: Yes, I know, very inaccurate of me. She ate one spider. A dead one. Once. Happy? Good. Can I resume typing the story now? Thank you.) 

As I was saying… typing… whatever… The girl left her bedroom. She came back with a very long broom and diligently started hitting the dark-smudges-turned-glowing-letters spelling RUN on the ceiling with it.

However, as soon as the broom’s flagged bristles touched them, they burst into giggles. 

It was very uncanny. Not at all the kind of thing you expect will happen when you hit glowing letters on your bedroom ceiling with a broom – not even when it is a very old broom that used to belong to your great-grandmother and no one has taken it from behind that hutch with the stenciled flowers that look like bats in ages. Well, basically, not since the old bird passed away or whatever it is witches do when they stop being here.

(ONE: I’m aware that the stenciled flowers are Tacca chantrieri, aka Black Bat Flowers. Do you really think readers care about that? Of course, I’m not giving you my phone! Next time, if you want to be the one telling the story, bring your own tools. Where was I? Stop! Yes, that was it.)

 

“Stop!” cried the dark-smudges-turned-glowing-letters spelling RUN on the ceiling. They had remarkably loud voices for such a small word. “It tickles!”

(ONE: Tickles, yes. I clearly remember that word. What do you mean, I wasn’t there? Well, you weren’t there either, were you? Fine. Take the phone. But I’m not deleting what I’ve written so far. Deal with it.)

The girl thought she had heard giggling and “It tickles,” but it was actually sobbing and “It hurts.”

(ONE: What? I didn’t say anything! My eyes often roll for no reason.)

The smudges-turned-letters-turned-word had merged into one single glowing body.

It was the body of a gecko.

(ONE: A gecko? Are you mad?)

“Why didn't you run?” asked the gecko.

“Who are you?” asked the girl.

(ONE: I'm warning you…)

“Don't you remember me? You used to call me Maurice.”

(ONE: Stop! Give me my phone back! What are you doing? Don't hit Send. No! You've just summoned it! I hope you're happy now. Stop grinning.)

TO BE CONTINUED 

(ONE: The heck it is!)

◾️◾️◾️

MAURICE 

(a poem by the girl who ate a spider once?)

a gecko

used to climb

inside the room

stop on the wall

and gaze

while I unmade

words

as it licked up

tiny flies

I called it

Maurice

haven’t seen

Maurice

lately

perhaps I should

now call you

gecko

◾️◾️◾️

TO BE CONTINUED. 

(Maybe.)