Chapter #5Spiderhand, spiderhand by: Yote   Of course you waste no time in testing it on yourself. Stretching out your hand, you take the brush and press it against your palm, intending to use it to paint your skin. Perhaps you applied too much force, because the tip of the brush sinks through your flesh with ease, piercing right through your hand like its made of wet toilet paper. Surprised, you let go of the handle and the brush just stays there, embedded. Gulping, you grip it again and gently pull it out.
A hole, rubberer-rimmed and about the size of a coin, sits in the center of your palm. You lift it to your eye, peering at the room through the opening. Still hardly able to believe it, you slide your fingers through the wound.
"This better be reversible," you mutter pleadingly, as with shaking fingers you raise the brush again. Except instead of plugging the gap, your sweat-slick fingers slip, the brush swings down, and the bristles arc smoothly through the skin, muscle, and bone of your wrist. "Ow!" you flinch, not from the sensation of severance (which was more of a pleasantly cool sensation), but from the impact of your hand as it lands on the carpet.
Somehow you can feel every sensation from the detached part! Furthermore, you can still control it! Flexing your fingers of your left hand causes it to flex too and with a little practice, you're able to lift your hand onto its fingers, keep it balanced there, and even take steps. You watch as the hand moves tentatively across the floor, scuttling along almost like a... spider.
There is only one thing that must be done next. It is your destiny.
You wait all evening, practicing your control of your newly independent limb and occasionally touching up the modifications you've made to it until eventually you hear your sister, Jennifer, enter the bathroom and the shower begin to run. Creeping out of your room, you set your hand down and send it scuttling in the direction of the bathroom door.
The hand was unrecognizable. Where there had been five fingers, the brush had created eight segmented, spindly legs. Your palm and the stub of your wrist had been remolded into a body and bulbous abdomen respectively, glistening black and covered in short, thick hairs. What had once been a hand was now a hideous, rubber arachnid.
Reaching the bathroom, you tease open the door a crack with your front two limbs and squeeze through. Once on the other side, you're operating blind, guiding it along by touch alone. You can feel the cold tiles beneath your fingertips as you creep across the bathroom floor. You can hear Jeniffer singing under the sound of running water. Then one of your fingers touches something soft yet rough - a towel! You squirm inside its folds, just as the sound of the running water cuts out and the shower door slides open. The towel is lifted and, for the briefest instant you feel your hairy, spiderized hand pressed against your sister's dripping wet skin, just before....
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!" A high-pitched, ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream, the sort you thought only existed in horror movies, fills the house. The bathroom door is nearly knocked off its hinges as Jeniffer bursts through it, stark naked, wild-eyed, still shrieking. You run forward, brandishing the stub of your wrist.
"Jen! Jen! Help! A spider ate my hand!" you cry.
"NooooOOOOooooo!" she moans, staring at the stub a moment before her eyes roll up into the back of her head. To your amazement, her body goes limp and she slumps like a dead weight onto the floor. She's out cold.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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