Fred Aiken Writing

Leo wakes to the soft chime of his alarm, a sound that blends seamlessly with the gentle rustle of leaves outside his window. The day is charged with a subtle electricity, as if the air itself is holding its breath.

For as long as Leo can remember, spiders had been his constant dread, weaving webs of fear in the corners of his mind. The fear of real spiders, with their many legs and quick movements, and the fear of imagined ones, lurking in the shadows of his thoughts—all intertwining to form an invisible web around him. But today, he senses a shift, a readiness to face the shadows that have haunted his dreams.

Yet still, he must confront his fear. In the attic of his house, where boxes of forgotten memories gather dust, lies the heart of his fear. He approaches the narrow staircase, feeling the cool wooden banister under his fingertips, and takes a deep breath. Each step upward is a challenge, the air growing thicker, the light dimmer. The higher he climbs, the more the familiar world below becomes a distant memory, a surreal landscape that blurs the lines between reality and imagination.

At the top, he finds himself facing the darkened attic door. A tight knot in his stomach forms, but he knows he must continue. He closes his eyes and lets the darkness envelop him, realizing that the shadows, while real, do not have to control him.

Pushing the door open, Leo steps into the attic, his flashlight piercing the gloom. The first spider he sees is small, hanging delicately in its web. His instinct is to recoil, but he forces himself to stay. He watches it, studying its movements, understanding its place in the world. The fear remains, but it is tempered by curiosity, by the realization that this small creature has no power over him.

As Leo continues to explore the attic, he finds more spiders, each one a little larger and more intimidating than the last. He encounters a tarantula, its hairy legs moving slowly across the floor, and a black widow, its red hourglass glinting ominously in the light. He feels his pulse quicken, but he takes deep breaths, reminding himself that he is in control.

Descending the stairs, Leo feels lighter, as if he has shed an invisible weight. The next challenge lies in the foyer, where spiders spin their webs since he could remember. Not allowing him to pass. A silky barrier to the outside.

From the shadows, a spider of emerges, a creature woven from his deepest fears. It is large, menacing, yet strangely beautiful. He does not recognize this spider. But the spider knows Leo. He stands his ground, his fear palpable, but mixed with a sense of determination. He speaks to it, not with words, but with the strength of his presence. The creature, sensing his resolve, begins to shrink, becoming less monstrous, more manageable.

As Leo stares into the spider’s many eyes, he sees reflections of his own fear, his own vulnerability. He understands that the spider is a part of him, a manifestation of his deepest anxieties. By confronting it, he is confronting himself. He reaches out a hand, and the spider crawls onto it, its movements no longer threatening, but almost gentle. He feels a strange connection to the creature, a sense of empathy and understanding.

Leaving the foyer, Leo walks with newfound confidence. He has confronted his fear for the day. He stared into the many eyes of that fear and not blinked, so to speak.

As he moves forward, the shapes grow clearer—phantoms of dread, shadows of past anxieties, specters of his imagination. But with each step, his confidence fades, unable to withstand the light poking through the front door.

Escape, he tells himself. Walk out the door and face what comes. But a small, invisible hand holds him back. The hand belongs to a specter of his young self pulling him back into the house, back upstairs, back into the comfort of his room.

Leo tells himself he’s done enough for the day. He’s faced enough spiders as is. Perhaps tomorrow he will brave his fears again. Perhaps tomorrow he will open the door and walk out to face the world’s spiders. Perhaps…