In angel's room, part 2
by Jed, JedVenturer@yahoo.com
He has come to talk; can he escape being crushed and eaten alive?


The house was dark and silent as I ascended the stairs. They were carpeted,
with high-quality padding; my footfalls made not a sound. On the top landing,
I oriented myself and headed for the door leading to the left-front bedroom -
Angel's room.

I eased open her door and slipped inside. She sleeps without a light, but it
took only a moment for my eyes to acclimate themselves. I sat down on the
floor across from her bed. I waited, watching the easy rise and fall of her
breast as she slept.

By the time she awoke, I could see very well in the dark. I had been watching
her sleep, marveling at her innocent beauty and youth, and reconciling her
appearance with what I knew of her. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she was
completely awake and alert. She lay there, her head still on her pillow,
watching me calmly.

"Angel," I said. "My name is Jed."

She said nothing in response.

"You killed a boy today," I continued. "Or rather, your familiar did. Do you
remember?"

Angel sat, pulling her sheets to her chin, her big, liquid eyes on me. She
nodded, gravely. "It was me - all of me," she said.

"The boy was Terry," she continued softly. "He came up here to have sex with
me. Even though he knew it was wrong."

"Does that make it okay to kill him?"

"No." She looked down, biting her lip, and she looked so forlorn I wanted to
go put my arms around her. 'Careful,' I told myself.

"I'm not here to judge you, Angel. I was there - I know what happened, and I
know what Terry wanted to do."

She looked at me quizzically.

"I was - along for the ride," I continued lamely. "Inside his head. It's one
of my talents. I couldn't have effected his behavior, but I could see, hear,
taste and feel everything he did. And his thoughts were fairly screaming
forcible rape."

"Still," she said, "he wouldn't have been up here if I hadn't called him up."
She moved to the edge of her bed, dangling one leg over the side. The sheet
fell from around her. She had been sleeping in a white T- shirt..

"Why are you here now?" she asked. It was a fair question.

"Would you believe I want to help you?" She shook her head in the negative. I
wasn't surprised; Angel has never been given a reason to trust a man. Since
she hit puberty, men have been predators, or prey, or at their best,
betrayers.

"I'd like to help you, if I can," I said. "But my primary reason is to
understand. I'm an historian's assistant and I recorded Terry's death. Do you
know what historians are?"

"Off-limits," she answered, and this is correct. She dropped down to the
carpet, kneeling within arm's reach of me and leaning forward. She looked
vulnerable and small, kneeling demurely with her smooth thighs together,
pulling the hem of her T-shirt over her knees. She studied the carpet before
her knees.

Then she looked up at me appraisingly. "But you're not off-limits, are you?"
she asked. Her voice had suddenly changed, become deeper, sounding now as if
it is coming from the bottom of a well. She leaned forward, pulling her
T-shirt back to her hips, her knees apart, her back arched. In an instant, she
had gone from grief-stricken little girl to assertively playful nymphet.

"No," I agreed, "I'm fair game." The fact is, the number of historians -
people who record the stories of the beings who pass between the worlds - is
very limited, for several reasons. Finding someone willing to watch and
record, without acting, is not easy. Finding such a person with the talent to
travel among the dimensions making up the known Reality, narrows the field
still further. Me - my talent for riding along, and my well-documented
penchant for risk-taking, suit me for the job, but my talents don't include
interstitial travel. So, no Historian status for me, and no Historian's
protection from violence and predation, either. The best I can do is to record
where I can, and offer my captured moments to the "real" Historians for their
records.

"I'm talking to Angel now - not the spider who shares her," I continued.
"You've fed your familiar today. You should be able to hold it off from
attacking me. I think you want your story to be told."

"My story is that I called him into my web, and I broke him and ate him," she
replied, her voice still deep and husky. "My story is that I'm a hunter, and
you're a prey animal, and you just poked your head into my web, too." She
looked at me slowly, eyes traveling up and down. I was suddenly painfully
aware that, from my sitting position, I was not terribly mobile.

"Your story is also that you share your body with a girl named Angel," I said
softly, "a girl who almost lured the only boy who has ever been decent to her
into your web. What would she have done then - if Jeff had been the one to
answer your summons, rather than Terry?"

The spider started to reply through Angel's mouth, then stopped. There was a
brief internal struggle, in which Angel turned and twitched, and then returned
her gaze to me. "It's not Angel or the spider," she said softly, again in her
girl's voice. "There's just me, Angel/Spider. I don't like having to kill, but
I do have to, so I kill, without remorse. You can't talk me out of it, Jed,
and you can't 'cure' me."

"I know." And I did; I had seen what happened to human/spider symbiotes which
failed to integrate their two persons. They quickly went mad and fell prey to
other predators, or ripped themselves apart, two dissociated entities battling
for control of the same body. The only way to survive was to cooperate and,
over time, become one Person. An entity with the shape and form of the human
host, and the talents and appetites of the spider interloper.

But I had hoped there was enough of Angel left separate to allow me to pull
this off.

"Now you want to hear my story? Do you want to know how I/Angel met my
familiar in my dreams, and she followed me back to the corporeal world? How
she patiently hemmed me in with her webs while I dodged her, slipped her
noose, and thought I was free? How I danced in the sunlight while she set
snares for me in the shadows of my dreams? Do you want to hear how she finally
caught me into her web - how she broke through and dragged me in? Or do you
just want to know what it's like to stalk, and capture, and slowly kill, a
helpless victim?" All the time she was speaking, low and fast, Angel had risen
to her knees and slowly advanced on me, until at the end she was leaning over
me, my feet between her knees, her hands low at her sides, semi-clenched.

"Why are you here, Jed?" she whispered hoarsely. "Because, if you're here just
for you, I'm going to make you die slow and painful. Now tell me - why are you
here?"

"I just wanted to understand," I said softly, though this was only part true.
"I wanted to bring your story back to my Historian - your story, and Jeff's."
And I had wanted to face the spider in her lair, and come out again to tell
about it. I had wanted to push the unknown to the point of Singularity - not
point beyond which there is no return. But I knew admitting this would get me
killed.

She sank back to her knees, ending up inches from me, and sitting on my feet.
She leaned forward as if exhausted, resting her forehead against my shoulder.
I self-consciously patter the back of her head; her hair smelled clean,
just-washed. In that instant, she was a girl, and nothing else.

"You're a nice man," she said, raising her face to mine. Her eyes were soft
and liquid, entirely human and vulnerable. "The second nice man I've met." She
settled down next to me, laying her head on my shoulder chest, curling her
legs up beneath her, against my thigh. I put my arm around her shoulder, in
what I hoped was an avuncular way.

"I don't know what I would have done if Jeff had come up," she went on. "I was
glad Terry came instead, because I hadn't fed in a long time and I was very
hungry. I don't know if I could have kept from taking Jeff." She shuddered
lightly, and I felt her breast against my side. I hoped she wouldn't notice my
natural, gallantly male reaction to proximity of her body - this was great
stuff, and I didn't want her to break it off.

"I would have taken Terry easy," she said, "if he had been a gentleman. But he
wasn't a gentleman - he was all hands, and then he wanted to - what he wanted
to do to me isn't right. So I punished him. I broke his bones, and crushed his
manhood, and ate him alive. Maybe I should have drained him, but I couldn't
bear the thought of looking at him for as long as that would take."

"Does Jeff know who - what - you are?"

"Yes, he knows. He cares for me, and he feels responsible for what I've
become. He thinks he could have saved Angel from me. He's sweet, and I love
him for that."

"And I'm afraid," she whispered, "that one day I'll kill him."

She was still for a long while then, and I wondered if she had fallen asleep
in my arms. I sat in the dark of a teenaged girl's room, holding her
half-naked body against mine, trying to will my erection down. I was in danger
of discovery by her mother, and in danger from the unpredictable
spider/creature from another dimension which inhabited her body and which gave
her superhuman strength and otherworldly appetites. In my own mind, I had
amply fulfilled my goals in invading this little girl's bedroom, this
were-spider's lair.

It was time to skedaddle.

Gently, I slipped my free hand beneath her knees and rolled forward to a
kneeling position. Then I stood and quietly carried her to her bed. Her eyes
were shut, her breathing even. I could not help admiring her firm, curved body
as I lay her down, her long and elegantly-muscled legs. I pulled the bedsheet
up to her shoulders, tucking it in around her.

I briefly considered kissing her before slipping out, when her eyes opened and
she grasped my arm. "You have to help me," she whispered.

"Of course," I said. "What can I do."

She pulled herself up to her elbow, her eyes searching my face. "You have to
help me save Jeff," she whispered, her face not inches from my own. "Help me
save him from me."

"How," I tried to ask, but then she pulled me close and our lips met. I
surrendered to the velvety softness of her touch for just a moment, a moment
in which she pulled me into bed with her, turning me expertly so that I lay on
with my back on her mattress, my legs still trailing on the floor. She lay
over me, her hands grasping my head, lips still locked to mine. Reflexively,
my hand went to the smooth, sensuous curve of her hip. 'Need to regain
control,' I thought - nearly my last lucid thought.

She broke our kiss, whispering urgently as she pulled me bodily onto the bed
in jerks, with each yank on my head dropping to smother me in her breast, "I
have to feed; I have to gorge myself. I can't be hungry tomorrow or I'll take
him. I won't kill you - I'll just feed until I'm satiated and then I'll let
you go."

So compelling was her body against mine, so sweet were her lips, that I
considered idea - that I should be the sacrificial lamb that would save
Jeffrey for another day. But then I remembered my research, the images of
were-spider victims drained to a shriveled husk (those that weren't broken and
swallowed alive, as had been Terry). She was pulling me onto the bed to bind
me in her web, and I knew once I was completely in her power I was dead.

"No," I said, pushing her off me, "you won't be able to stop feeding, no
matter how much you'll want to." I rolled to my side, struggling to climb off
the suddenly too-soft, quicksand-like mattress.

She grabbed me by my shirt-front, pulling me back into her arms; her legs
wrapped around my waist and scrambled to capture both my hands. "It's my only
chance," she hissed. Her voice was going throaty and deep.

I grabbed her hand and turned it, twisting her fingers to the breaking point
as I once again rolled toward the edge of the bed. I looked back at her - even
in the darkness I could see she was nearing a hunting rage, the face that
Terry had seen as she had wrapped him tightly in her web, brutalized his body
and then swallowed him whole and breathing.

Now I was in a fight for my life, and I calmed and focused. I knew thoughts of
her lost love were completely out of her mind, and that she was in a pure
spider's blood-lust. Her long legs lashed out, wrapped around my head and
fastened as cruelly as whiplashes. She rolled back and I flew in her hold to
slam against the wall on the other side of her bed. I fell dazed to the
mattress, her muscular calves clamped vise-like around my head. She backed
herself to the head of her bed, pulling me along with her, with each twist of
her sleek hips tightening her hold on me.

My skull creaked from the pressure, but I knew this wasn't my real danger. She
pulled her knees up close, then straightened, quickly shifting her grip so
that I was held higher between her calves. The smoothly bunched muscles bulged
against the sides of my neck, cutting off my air and blood to my brain. I
pried at her legs, barely buying enough space to breath. She twisted, pulled
and shifted again, and her smooth rounded knees were clamped to my neck, her
calves now twined around each other to give her leverage to crush me between
her knees. Twist, shift, and my head was captured between the powerful muscles
of her thighs. I knew now she was pulling me down to sink into the musky
softness between her thighs, the perverse maw of the spider. My hands clawed
at her thighs - the muscles were rock hard as she bore down on me - and then I
remembered.

I dropped my hands to my crotch, and her hand was already there, slipping
inside my jeans to crush my testicles and render me helpless. I grasped her
wrist, slick with sweat and inching toward my manhood, as she continued to
twist her hips, working her thighs to bring my face down to smother in her
womanhood. She would not even need her web, and I knew all thoughts of letting
me go had vanished. I was to be eaten alive in the spider's blood rage, my
body disappearing into whatever dimensional midden accepted the crushed
corpses of were-spider's prey.

The pressure on my head was immense, I was awash in a blood-tide that tinged
everything red and drowned out the sounds of our struggles with the labored
rush of my pulse. My face touched the soft flesh of her labia, as my mouth and
nose were pressed against her and I started to suffocate in her fecundity.
Still her hand clawed at my crotch, as I struggled to keep her from crushing
me in one convulsive grip. With my hands denied me, there was no way to keep
myself from sinking into her, and I felt her lips part to receive me, grasping
incredibly on either side of my face as she pulled me in to the spider's long
gullet.

I struggled to draw air, but my lungs labored in vain to draw air past her
flesh. I looked up the length of her body, to see her eyes tightly shut, the
girl/spider intent on some inward process as she inexorably drew my body
inside hers. Then darkness; and I held my breath as had her first victim of
the day, and I waited for the slow slide into oblivion to begin -

And then I was on the floor, gasping for air, the only other sound the weeping
of the girl, Angel, crying out "go! Just go! Go before I come to my senses and
kill you like you deserve!" She fell to her face, her body wracked by
convulsive weeping. I hesitated for a moment and she looked up, her face
tear-mottled, and said quietly and with great heaving breaths, "please go - I
can't exercise such control for very much longer." Then she dropped her face
into her hands again, and I bolted for the door.

Kalil, the Historian, chided me for such foolish and ego-driven risk-taking,
but he was glad to have the transcript of an interview with a were-spider. I
have not returned to learn if the were-spider Angel has managed to keep her
claws off her one true love Jeffrey, or if she went out that very next day,
wrapped him in her entangling web, and sucked him dry of all his bodily
fluids. My next quarry is another young were- creature, an amalgam of girl and
constrictor . . .