Dear Spider That Lives in My Room: I Regret to Inform You That I Will Kill You

Dear spider that lives in my room:

How are you? Have you been having a good life, living in the corners of the room that I can’t see well without my glasses? Yeah? Good. Good. You know what I was thinking about today? That time you dropped down on my face from the ceiling right as I was waking up, and I screamed and tossed my head to the side like a bull as you flew off toward the window. Haha, remember that? Good times, good times. Anyhow, I’m just writing to let you know I’m going to kill you.

I know this may come as a shock. I mean, we’ve spent a lot of time together and it must have felt like we were building something. At least, I think we’ve spent time together. You don’t live only 24 hours like a fly, do you? Because in that case it’s just been me and a series of cold, interchangeable interactions (much like my dating life). No… no, I know it’s been you. I’ve definitely gotten to know you and what you’re about. I’d be sitting there, on the couch, watching Game of Thrones and eating dinner, and you’d be all stringing things together and catching food, crawling around my apartment looking for flies. You cutey. Which just makes it all the more difficult that one day I’ll have to murder you in your sleep.

Should you receive this letter before I’ve killed you, and should you know how to read human letters, please flee for your life. Don’t wait. Don’t hesitate. Don’t wonder if I’ll do it, because I will do it. So many times before I’ve snuck up on an unsuspecting victim… grabbed a tissue or a piece of toilet paper... heard the squish of tiny exoskeleton as I exert that last, lethal bit of pressure… then wrinkled my nose as I quickly calculated the distance to the nearest trash can or open window. A lot of times I’ve even flushed the kleenex down the toilet. Disposed of the body, so to speak. I’m not sure why I do it. Some ritual I have with myself around my killings, maybe? Some vaguely remembered line about dead spiders attracting more spiders? It’s funny how you do things in life and you’re not so sure why, you just go on doing them out of habit. Not ha-ha funny, obviously.

You have to believe that I don’t want things to end this way. But I know who I am, and I know what I am capable of. As much as I’d like to picture you living a long (or possibly short, I don’t really know) life, slowly turning my apartment into cobwebs and half-eaten bug guts, I just know that one day I’ll see you skitter by and I’ll think, “Ew.” And then I’ll crush you. I’m sorry — I don’t want to be this person but you make me this way by existing and being gross. So please, don’t take any chances. Get out while you still can. Because I’m a monster.

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