Women in Horror Month Fiction: Pavuchky - The Christmas Spider
I stand with my legs spread, shoulders back – will it help? Will it scare the little Pavuchky? I count to three – my lungs will burn if I don’t.
The cave, in the asteroid belt, sweats, walls throbbing with an organic hum, like something hot, sweet from the oven, pulsing, palpitating.
If I raise my gun, will the noise, the light, force them back? Will they feel terror for a weapon they’ve never seen?
The walls move. Like a tide coming closer. We’re here because humans can’t leave things alone. The outside of this asteroid is grey, steel cool, full of valued minerals. Inside, it’s green, whisps of delicate white darting between. Pavuchky, I whispered to my team when we saw. Like Christmas back home in the Ukraine.
If I swallow the saliva building in my mouth, will they notice? Will the Pavuchky come for me, like my colleagues? Gnaw my flesh to the bone? Skin melting away…
The walls flow. They come in ripples from the sides, splashes of Pavuchky, morphing as one. The pile grows. Reaching for the ceiling with every microscopic creature that joins.
It twists, moves into a shape like mine. Humanoid. It forms a mouth that cannot speak or taste. The billions of sets legs convulse, organising, rearranging. The Pavuchky is one now.
The mouth opens. Pavuchky’s jaw expands. The created jaw is above me now. Stiffening, it pauses. Its structure loses shape. The billion Pavuchky rain down on me like Christmas in the Ukraine.
***
Joanne writes sci-fi and horror under Joanne Askew, and writes alt-pop music under annie on the run. She achieved Amazon Best-Seller ranking for her inclusion in Unburied, an anthology of queer horror, and was featured on BBC Introducing for her song Deep Green. Her EP, The Summer is Dead, is out now.
