On the outskirts of a small city, there once sat a house along a desolate road. In this house, in one of its rooms, a spider made its home. One evening, the man of the house discovered the web. It was in his bedroom, high in a corner, a glistening lace that at its centermost held its maker, a gruesome bulbous spider. The man took a broom, and in one quick strike, tried to murder the spider.
The spider plummeted onto the wood floor and just as the man was about to strike again, he heard his dog bark, from outside, followed by the ring of his doorbell. The spider vanished somewhere unknown.
At the door stood a man with dark glasses and a handlebar mustache, bearing a grin. "Good evening, sir. Forgive the intrusion, but I'm here to offer my tailoring services. May I come in?"
"I'm sorry, but I need no tailoring," said the man.
"I see. Well, I was the King of Denmark's tailor, sir. I believe you'll find my work impeccable," said the tailor. "May I come in?"
"Like I said, I don't need any tailoring--I'm sorry." The man began closing the door.
"Forgive me, sir. I'm groveling. I'm far better at being the king's tailor than a door-to-door salesman. Perhaps you will do me a kindness and welcome me back another time?"
The man glanced at a lime-green book peeking out from the front pocket of the tailor's impeccably tailored suit. "You're more than welcome to return, but not now," said the man. "The stars are out, and that means it's time for bed."
The tailor flashed his teeth and said, "Indeed." He bid the man farewell and vanished into the lightless evening.
That night the man fell asleep quickly but dreamt of terrible things. He awoke several hours later, unexpectedly, his room quiet and dark. As he went to roll onto his side, though, he discovered that he was incapable of movement.
Panic did not immediately take hold, but as he began to understand his predicament, terror enveloped him. He screamed, but his cry for help was muzzled. His lips were stitched shut. He realized then that his inability to move was also as the result of stitching. His body had been stitched to the mattress. His eyes darted around the room and in the darkest realm of the room, appeared the tailor.
"I apologize," said the tailor, with a look of disappointment, his fingers running along the hem of the man's skin. "I promised you impeccable work, but my eyes are not what they once were."
The tailor sat on the bed and inspected the hemming along the man's neck and head. "I like to think of myself as a man with an eye for exquisite work," said the tailor. "Do you consider yourself an aficionado of fine work?"
The man tried to speak, but only murmurs came. The tailor placed a finger on the man's stitched mouth.
"Yes, well, we all believe we have a discerning eye."
The tailor stood from the bed and walked to the corner of the room, groping for the strands of the web that remained. A frenzied expression came over him.
"It's a shame that, so few recognize the exquisite work these remarkable creatures create."
Outside, the man's dog began barking again. The tailor's face went grim. "Your dog has an irritating bark," he snapped. He turned as if to strut out the room but then his face went calm again. Even happy.
"But what are you to do?" said the tailor. "Pets are like family. I think of my Miss Muffet in that way."
Just then, the door pushed open and in came a spider the size of a baboon. It crawled along side the bed, its legs effortlessly shifting the bed to one side. The man screamed a muted scream.
"Greetings Miss Muffet," said the tailor.
The spider pressed its feet to the walls and then walked upward, onto the ceiling where it circled, like a shark, from above.
The tailor opened his lime-green book, in reality, a container for sewing supplies. He pulled out a pair of gilded scissors and returned to the bed. "The trouble with eyes is that they fool you into believing that you can see," said the tailor.
The tailor pinched the man's right eyelid and snipped the corners of the delicate skin. The man wailed.
"The truth is exquisite work is generally greeted with closed eyes," said the tailor as he repeated the incision on the man's left eyelid. He pulled both eyelids back, now flaps of skin, over the man's eyebrow and took a golden needle and began sewing the folds securely to the man's eyebrow ridge until both eyes were forcibly opened.
"But if your eyes are open you can discover remarkable work even in the most benign of places. Even in the corner of a shabby room," said the tailor. "Do you see now?"
Both of the man's eyeballs were entirely exposed, bright white globes shuddering in their sockets.
"Or are you still blind?" asked the tailor as he removed his dark glasses to reveal a set of mangled empty eye sockets. The man's eyes dilated, and he began choking on his screams.
The enormous spider began to descend slowly down a line of silk, moving over the man's face. The tailor walked to the corner of the room where he discovered the web artist back at work, reassembling his home. This sight delighted him, and he began reciting a nursery rhyme.
"Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
When along came a spider
With an avid desire,
to devour her eyes away."
The enormous spider landed on the man's face while the tailor continued to admire the tiny eight-legged creature that threaded and spun a miraculous pattern. It was a feast for the tailor's eyes. A feast as exquisite as the eyes of the man relished by the enormous spider.
Created: Apr 05, 2016Document Media