TARANTULA
A familiar hoarse voice drifted into his room.
“Is everything okay, Eric?”
“Yes, mother. Everything is just fine,” came the reply.
Except everything was far from being fine. Eric was slamming his fist repeatedly onto the desk, but he didn’t want to let his mother know what was happening. Not yet, anyway.
He offered himself two choices. He could scuttle away into a metaphorical corner and just write it all off as a terrible experience, or he could fight back. He intertwined his long, slender fingers together and leaned back in his chair. After a few minutes of deep thought, he decided. This was a time for fight, not flight. The hunted must become the hunter.
Eric Needham was a professional web designer. This was not his passion though - he reserved that for writing. His long-held ambition was to have a manuscript published, and, in his opinion, his latest story was his best shot at catching the eye of a publisher. He’d approached several literary agents to see if anyone was interested, but that had been months ago, with no response from any of them.
Until last week.
The email from Flyn was short and sweet.
“I’m interested in your novel, Tarantula.”
Email exchanges followed; compliments flowed, and all seemed set. He felt on top of the world. He’d made it. And with such a prestigious publisher. Only he hadn’t. This wasn’t the real publisher, and he was being scammed. He should have seen the signs, but he’d been on a high, too much wanting this to be what he wanted it to be, his guard well and truly down. So now Eric retreated to the place he knew best–the web. A plan formulated in his mind. His spindly digits danced across the keyboard: tap, tap, tap. He started.
WhatsApp CHAT
ERIC
Hi Brian. This is Eric Needham. You have contacted me about my novel, Tarantula. I am thrilled to proceed with your offer to get my novel published through your company. Please let me know what I need to do now.
FLYN
Dear Eric, Hi! I am so pleased to know we are going to be working together. If you could print the attached non-disclosure agreement, sign it, scan it and send back to me, that would be great <document attached>.
ERIC
Doing it now. Sending over. What next?
FLYN
Eric, attached is the publishing contract. Please read it carefully, and if you are happy, sign and return via the post. Scan it before you post it and send over to us electronically. That enables us to get things started straight away <document attached>
ERIC
Will do. I look forward to working with you. Tarantula has been a labour of love for me, and I am so pleased that you have selected my work for publication. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have reviewed the contract.
FLYN
Excellent. Thanks, Eric.
ERIC
No-thank you!
Eric closed his laptop. There was a tap on his shoulder. His mother was standing behind him. She whispered, as if to keep the conversation private, even though there were only the two of them living in the house.
“I know you’ve been standing there, Mother. I know when a widow is close by.”
“I hate it when you call me that, Eric,” said his mother. “You know how much I miss your father, and I do not need your constant reminders that he is no longer with us.”
She brushed her fingers through his thick, black, spiky hair.
“You do not miss him, and you know why I call you the widow, Mother. It defines your nature so perfectly.”
His mother stroked his hair again. “Then do not be surprised when I act as I do. But something else is wrong. I can tell. What is it, Eric?”
“Nothing that need trouble you.”
“You let me know if you need my help, Eric. You are all I have.”
“And we know whose fault that is, don’t we? Now leave me alone. I have important things to be doing.” He shrugged her caresses off .
He read the contract. It was as expected. And it was good, very good. If he wasn’t aware that it was all a scam, he would have been impressed. Sole rights, global distribution, screenplay. They were laying it on thick, but he knew why. He found the clause he knew would be in there. Upfront editing fees. Two thousand. To be repaid once the book was published. He was a little surprised–he was expecting a less ambitious figure for the scam; he’d have guessed five hundred, so he didn’t think it too much to part with.
With one swift movement, he grabbed his mug and threw it across the room, smashing it to pieces against the opposite wall. He felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through his nervous system. If Flyn were here in this room right now, he might even kill him.
“Calm yourself, Eric,” he said to himself. “One step at a time. I must weave my trap with care.”
His mother, standing behind the door, heard the mug smash. She smiled, revealing stained, sharp teeth.
Eric knew she was watching. He also knew that Flyn would be pulled into his trap. And when Flyn was helpless and snared, he, (and perhaps his mother too), would deal with him.
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TWO DAYS LATER
WhatsApp CHAT
FLYN
Hi Eric. Are you good with the contract? I know this is the tedious bit, but I’d love to help you through it as painlessly as possible. You know what corporate lawyers are like!
ERIC
Brian, I do have a couple of questions, but I am sure we can work something out. It might be quicker to meet up? I think I know where your office is. Are you based there?
FLYN
Eric, my name is Brian, but everyone calls me Buzz–it’s a long story, but I’ll save that for later. Just call me Buzz. Normally I don’t work out of the London office–how about we go for a Zoom call?
ERIC
That works. Will you send out an invitation?
FLYN
Will do. I am so looking forward to helping you make a massive success of Tarantula. Let’s talk soon!
ERIC
Many thanks. I look forward to receiving the Zoom invite.
END OF CHAT
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Eric was pleased. He never expected Flyn to agree to meeting in person. Getting him on Zoom pulled him in a little closer, though. He closed his laptop and wandered into the kitchen. A cup of tea would not go amiss. His mother was cooking.
“Mother, you really look the part at the moment.”
She was dressed in black from head to toe, her soot-black hair pulled back into a ponytail. A real black widow. He laughed at his own joke. His first time in a while.
Thirty minutes later, as they sat down to eat, she quizzed him.
“Are you still angry about whatever you are angry about?”
“I am still angry, mother, but I am doing something about it. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
They consumed the rest of their meal in silence.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Eric did not expect Flyn to switch his camera on during the Zoom call. Sure enough, when he joined the meeting, there was no video feed.
ZOOM MEETING ROOM
FLYN
Sorry Eric, my camera’s playing up, so just my voice for now.
ERIC
Don’t worry. I know what technology can be like.
FLYN
So, questions about the contract? I can share my screen if need be.
ERIC
I have gone through the contract. There is one thing I want changing, but it’s not major. I’ve documented it for you so it’s clear, and I’m going to send over to you now–can you just open it up and check you have received it OK? Here goes… <document attached>
FLYN
Got it, Eric.
ERIC
Can you open it okay?
FLYN
I can. Your change seems perfectly reasonable to me, and I’m sure we can sort that out with the legal eagles on my side. If I can get this squared off and updated, I can probably get the contract out to you later today. Do you think you could get it back to me signed by close of business if I can do that?
ERIC
Yes.
FLYN
Brilliant. Just so you know, we’ll need to get the deposit from you–just to get things started.
ERIC
Remind me how much it is?
FLYN
We’ll need fifty percent of the editing fees, so if you could send us a thousand, that would be great.
ERIC
I can do a bank transfer as soon as you send me your bank details.
FLYN
It’s a lot easier if you can use PayPal. Will that be OK?
ERIC
I don’t use PayPal. Can we just do a bank transfer?
FLYN
Oh, sorry, Eric, but that’s head office telling us to only use PayPal.
ERIC
Can you tell me how to set up PayPal? I’m a real Luddite with technology.
FLYN
Will do. I’ll email instructions over. Thanks for making the call, Eric.
ERIC
I’ll look out for the PayPal instructions. Talk to you soon. Bye now.
END OF ZOOM MEETING.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The virus that Eric had embedded in the file he’d sent to Flyn had already begun its work. It spread through Flyn’s PC. The silky web of entrapment spun over everything. Eric knew how to write malware, and now Flyn had become the prey, not the predator.
Flyn realised something was wrong far too late to do anything about it. He was typing when his screen suddenly went blank. He watched as his screen turned grey. Red words scrolled across the screen.
YOU PLAYED WITH FIRE AND NOW IT’S YOU WHO IS BEING BURNED. ALL OF YOUR PC FILES ARE ENCRYPTED. AND THE ONLY WAY TO UNENCRYPT THEM IS WITH MY KEY AND THAT KEY IS GOING TO COST YOU. YOU WANTED TWO THOUSAND. WELL I WANT TEN. AND YOU WILL BRING IT TO ME TOMORROW. EIGHT O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING AND IF YOU DON’T PAY THEN WORSE WILL FOLLOW. I DO HAVE COPIES OF EVERYTHING THAT IS ON YOUR PC. THE POLICE WILL BE VERY HAPPY TO SEE WHAT I HAVE FOUND. BE ON TIME. WEAR A CAP. PUT TWO BOOKS ON THE TABLE IN FRONT OF YOU. SMILE. SEE YOU TOMORROW
An address scrolled across Flyn’s screen. He scribbled it down on a piece of paper.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Eric closed his laptop as his mother entered the room.
“Eric? I know the look on that face. What have you been doing? “
“Nothing that you need to concern yourself with, mother.”
Eric did what he always did when he was excited. He went into the kitchen and took a chocolate bar from the fridge. He was very predictable in his behaviour.
His mother was curious. Who was her son snaring this time? There was no point in asking him–he shared nothing voluntarily, not since his father had died. Well, that wasn’t all her fault; he should have expected it. After all, she had her habits as much as her son did.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Flyn decided he needed help, so he called Green. Flyn only used Green when he needed to, but this felt like such a time. An hour later, Green turned up. He was a spectacularly ugly man; his face covered in acne scars, his complexion a shade somewhere between pink and light green. His yellow teeth were misshapen, crowded together in his broad mouth like a bunch of commuters trying to get onto a rush-hour train.
“Well, Buzz, how can I help?”
“It’s like this, my friend. I appear to have found myself compromised, and I would value your support in helping me out of my predicament.”
“For you, my friend, anything. At the right price, of course. What do you need?”
Flyn told him. Green laughed.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Eric are you going out again?” his mother called out as he opened the front door.
“Yes, mother.”
“Where are you going?”
Without replying, he closed the door behind him and skittered off down the road. From the bedroom window, his mother watched.
Eric had dressed with intent, as he always did when venturing out. After all, he rarely left the house–only when the occasion warranted it. He was top to toe in shades of grey. Drainpipe trousers, a loose-fitting hoodie, the drawstring missing from the neck, grey trainers. He would blend into the background dressed like this. In his hoodie pocket, he nursed a can of pepper spray.
He arrived half an hour late. He wanted Flyn to feel anxious, as anxiety often clouded judgement. He liked that. The venue had been hand-picked: a cafe in the concourse inside the train station. Lots of people moving around, concerned with their travel rather than their surroundings. He surveyed the cafe. There he was. Two books. Cap. No smile though. Flyn looked up as he approached.
“Flyn, I assume. I told you to smile.” He sat down next to him.
“I didn’t feel like smiling. Let’s get on with this.”
Eric placed a USB drive on the table. “You give me the money, and I’ll give you the password for the USB drive. You stick it in your laptop and sit back; let it do its work. Then we go our separate ways.”
“And if you are lying and it doesn’t work?” asked Flyn.
“Your risk, Flyn. Have you bought the money?”
“How do you expect me to get ten grand out in cash overnight? You know banks don’t work like that. I have a thousand. You’ll get the rest tomorrow. I will want an assurance that you will delete all the files of mine you stole, too. And you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life if I find out you lied.” He pushed an envelope across the table.
Eric picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. “You’re not really in a position to threaten me Flyn. Why don’t we go to the bank together now? They will be open soon.” Eric didn’t notice the man sidling up to his back–he’s been too busy watching Flyn. He felt a sharp pain in his neck; his last conscious thought was one of anger- he should have been more careful.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
When Eric awoke, he found himself strapped to a chair. He was blindfolded and gagged. He tried to speak, then felt a blow to the side of his head.
“Eric, you picked the wrong person to blackmail. You should have known I am not a nice man. And my friend here is even less so.”
Another explosion of pain. Then blinding light as his blindfold was removed.
Eric saw Flyn standing in front of him, holding the USB key in his hand. “You and I are going to use this little thing to get my computer back together. And I might let you go once I’m satisfied.”
Eric looked around. He was in what appeared to be an office. There were glass partitions obscuring his view. Then he glimpsed another man in the room, his face reflected in one of the glass partitions. The man was grotesque; his skin mottled, almost green in colouration, his features lumpen and disproportionate. For all the world, he looked like some sort of green goblin. The man grinned when he saw Eric staring at him.
Flyn’s mobile rang. He took the phone out of his pocket and answered it.
He turned to Eric. “I am going to leave you here with a friend of mine for a few minutes. When I come back, we will continue.” He turned on his heel and left the room.
Green came into full view, tapping a cosh in his right hand.
“I think I might knock your teeth out to pass the time,” said Green. “Let’s see…..”
Eric’s eyes widened. He prepared himself for the blow that would surely come, but even as he did so, he saw the man arch backwards, blood erupting from his mouth. A guttural moan escaped his lips as a blade appeared from the middle of his throat. The man collapsed backward onto the floor, blood pumping and spurting from his severed artery.
A familiar face came into view.
“Mother,” said Eric. A broad smile crossed her face.
“Honestly, Eric, you are such a careless boy. Thank your stars your mother is always here to look after you.”
She cut through the rope binding his hands. “Perhaps we should hurry away before your other friend returns.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“I followed you to the station. I knew you were up to something. Now come on. Let’s go home.”
Before they left, she bent down next to the prone body. A knife flashed.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
When Flyn saw the office door open, he knew something was wrong. He entered to see Green lying next to the chair, blood still pooling around his body. Kneeling beside him, he noticed that two fingers had been hacked off Green’s left hand.
Eric and his mother prepared for what must surely follow. They knew Flyn would not just walk away - after all Flyn still needed to retrieve his computer files. He had Eric's address and it just a question of time before he re-appeared. They did not have to wait long.
It was two in the morning, and the street-lights outside Eric’s house had long since been extinguished. Flyn had been watching the house since early evening, and had come prepared with a handgun, tucked away in his coat pocket. He intended to make Eric pay for his actions, and not just with cash this time. The house was detached; one side had a sturdy gate, and the other was fenced. He approached the gate and turned the handle. It was unlocked. He pushed the door open and entered the side passage, using a small pocket torch to light his way. A few metres along the wall was the back door into the house. This door was locked, but there were glass panels above the door handle. He took a small tool from his pocket and tapped out the pane above the door handle. If an alarm were going to be tripped, it would probably be now. Nothing. He reached inside through the broken glass panel and felt for the lock. The idiot had left the key in. He turned it, and the door swung open. He flashed the torchlight around the kitchen. It was filthy with dirty crockery piled in the sink and on the work surfaces, unwashed pots stacked on the oven hobs. A large kitchen table was covered with more dirty plates, some of which were covered with uneaten food. One plate had what appeared to be two chewed bones swimming in liquid, maggots writhing in the leftovers. Something glistened next to one of the bones. It looked for all the world like a fingernail.
He stepped into the kitchen and crossed to the door on the other side. He paused for a few moments, listening out for any signs that he had disturbed anyone. He switched the torch off and took the handgun from his pocket, flipping the safety catch off as he did so. He gently pushed the door handle down and swung the door open. It was pitch black in the house, but he resisted switching his torch back on. He took two steps forward and felt something brush his head and his hands. What felt like gossamer threads stuck to his face. He tried to brush them away, but they stuck to his hand instead. Taking another step forward, he felt more strands sticking to his body. He tried to sweep them away with the hand holding the gun, but more stuck to his arm. He stumbled forward and felt a multitude of threads wrapping themselves around him. Some threads stuck to his eyes, attaching themselves to his eyeballs. More covered his mouth. He could feel the threads pulling at his legs and panicked as he tried to twist his body around. This only entangled him further. The more he struggled, the more he became trapped. His breathing sucked threads into his nostrils, blocking his nose even further. He muffled a yell, but barely a sound came from his sealed lips. He tugged and pulled, but like a fly trapped in a spider web, all he did was entangle himself further. Minutes later he was completely immobilised, unable to even move a finger. He would have screamed if he could only have opened his mouth.
By the time the morning sun seeped into the house, Flyn no longer moved, his body suspended and motionless. A day later, his breathing was sporadic. By the evening of the second day, he was dead.
When Eric and his mother finally descended the stairs, the lifeless corpse of Brian Flyn greeted them, suspended by the gossamer threads dangling from the ceiling. The flies buzzing around in the air were already feasting on the fluids that had leaked from his body.
Eric’s mother turned to her son.
“Do you want him raw or cooked, Eric?”
“Raw, like father was. I believe that a dish such as this is best served cold.”
"Good. I'm starving," replied his mother. She began drooling, her sharp teeth chattering together with relish.