The Secret Spider Sleepover

It was the morning after the night before.

The early morning sun rose slowly over the jagged Rocky Mountain peaks in the valley of Elmwood. From a crack to the east, where the mountain range splintered into two, it oozed its way upward, like the slow pouring of spilled honey, smearing its way across the clean, crisp blue canvas of the morning sky, eventually staining it orange.

It was late July and the air was thick with the sticky scent of rain-soaked corn, drenched from the previous night’s downpour. Tiny drops of rainwater still clung to the tips of their feathery tassels, refracting the golden light of the plump milky cobs, having burst long ago from the dark green canopy that had nurtured them, signaling they are ready for harvest.

Meanwhile, along the steaming asphalt curves of the road, the aspen and the box elders lay bent and weary, finally rested in the warmth of a slow morning, recovering from their frantic midnight dance to the endless songs of the buffeting winds.

The morning was a sharp contrast to the previous night's tempest. For hours, lightning had ripped its way across the sky, tearing angrily at the dark, menacing clouds that hung over the whole of the valley, demanding that they deposit their rain, ignoring their bellowing, thunderous cries for mercy as they limped slowly westward.

It was the calm after the storm and all around the farm, life continued. Early morning magpies chattered about the previous night's affair, unable to forget as they caw-cawed from their perch on the splintered barn roof. Below them a field mouse washed his face in a dripping puddle, its hands rapidly brushing its twitching whiskers, unseen from the canopy of piled wood, stacked in eventual preparation for the barn roof repairs. It twisted its white body, sniffed the air with its wrinkled nose before scuttling back into the barn and the safety of dry hay.

B-Jay the magnificent, red Beetle car, looked out of the garage window, taking a moment to wake up. It had been a restless night with all the commotion going on and he wasn’t sure whether it would be better to rest some more or get on with the day and whatever it had in store. He took a moment to decide while watching the world outside. His suspension creaked as he stretched, turning his wheels as the gentle hum of his engine rattled the dust across the window ledge.

After a few minutes he decided to visit the cottonwood tree, to check on his friends, worried that Digger Bo’s burrow might be washed out and flooded.

As he turned out of the drive, he swooshed through a puddle that stretched out across the entire width of the road, smiling like a mischievous child as he accelerated through it, forcing a wall of spray as high as possible, so that he could watch it crash back to the ground in his rearview mirror.

It wasn’t long before he arrived at the cottonwood tree and the temperature was quickly drying the rain-sodden land; another hour and even the puddles would be nothing more than a memory.

“Hey everyone,” he called out as he pulled up.

“Good morning B-Jay,” hooted Aruna the wise Great Horned owl, who was standing on one leg, pecking at the grubs that crawled along the tree branch, beside him; his head bobbing and twisting at all angles.

Cressida, the rather sassy black cat, looked up from the base of the tree and gave him a friendly squint of her eyes and a flick of her tail before continuing her morning wash.

“Morning B-Jay,” came the unmistakable voice of Zippo, the theatrical ant. “Can’t talk—busy.”

Zippo was at the rear of the tree, near the hedge line and was standing on top of a fallen branch that lay contorted on the grass; its fractured end revealing it had been a victim of the night before. Adjacent to the branch many other, similar branches, lay arranged in a pattern to suggest something deliberate was going on, which soon became apparent when the bristled body of Digger Bo, the tumbling badger, came leaping out from under a leafy branch, initiating a forward double tuck with a single side twist. He cleared the branch expertly before his landing took him toward the next branch where a different gymnastic maneuver was executed. As he did so, Zippo voiced commands between the loud blowing of a whistle.

“That’s it buddy—good hustle—you got this. Nice, nice, keep it going, one more lap and we are there. Don’t forget to breathe. Watch the landing, execute, execute, yes. That’s it, lovely, remember your training. It’s all you.”

B-Jay watched for a minute before turning to Cressida, unable to hold his thoughts in any longer and not wishing to disturb whatever it was they were doing.

“What exactly are they up to?” he inquired, giving his side mirrors a twitch.

“I think it is safer if you don’t ask,” replied Cressida, pawing at the despondent look on her face, trying to restore it to its normal disposition using cat spit.

“I believe,” responded Aruna, “or at least I heard them say something about the 'Guinness Book of Animal World Records.' Apparently Digger Bo is in training, which is why ‘coach’ Zippo is wearing that rather slim-fitting tracksuit.”

“Oh I see,” said B-Jay, who had no idea what a Guinness world record was. “And how long have they been doing this for?” he continued, wiping the last of the raindrops from his windshield with a double sweep from his wipers.

"Well, I know that infernal whistle has been ringing in my sensitive ears for around about an hour so far!" moaned Cressida, giving a sideways glance toward Zippo, her brow pinching in at the middle, suggesting she was on her last nerve.

Zippo gave his pocket watch a quick look before another long, ear-piercing whistle ripped through the air. "Two more hurdles and we are there buddy, finish strong, finish strong, you got this!" he continued as Digger Bo executed another triple tuck between branches. Zippo checked the pocket watch again and as the whistle settled back around his neck, he spun his baseball hat to its serious position, then proceeded to write something on his clipboard.

"Where did he get the tracksuit and the clipboard," said B-Jay, thinking that somehow Zippo had turned the back of the cottonwood tree into a magical wardrobe full of all manner of outfits. It seemed he had them for all occasions.

"Pandora's box," quipped Cressida without breaking stride from straightening her whiskers; a process that involved both paws.

"Oh," said B-Jay, not really understanding why, or even how he might have come into possession of Pandora’s box, so rather than appear stupid with another question, he just replied, "so that's what he keeps hidden behind the tree. I did wonder."

Aruna shuffled across the upper branch, his talons scraping along the wet bark as he came into view. "I think what Cressida is trying to say is that it is better not to know. Pandora's box is a box from Greek mythology, in that it is a box best kept shut. Once you open it and look inside, a whole box load of unwanted things can come bursting out, giving you a lot more problems to deal with than which you started with."

"Good job buddy, and another record time. A few more sessions and we'll be ready for that world record," said Zippo, looking at the pocket watch. "Now, let's get your warm-down going and don't forget the static stretches. We don't want your glutes tightening up.” He proceeded to scribble frantically on the clipboard as Digger Bo jogged around the tree, stopping between laps to stretch his hamstrings.

"Don't forget to hydrate!" voiced Cressida with her usual sassy wit, finding the whole thing rather excessive.

“Hi B-Jay,” shouted Zippo, jogging over, switching between high knees and butt-kicker exercises as he approached. “Sorry about that, I wanted to say hi earlier but didn't want to lose focus. An athlete is only as committed as his coach you know; anyway, can't stop, gotta change out of my trackie into something a little more sociable." And with a sharp turn around a loose training cone, he disappeared behind the tree shouting instructions to Digger Bo, who was finishing off with a few calf raises. "Can you clear the equipment away when you finish please buddy, then grab yourself a drink of water!"

As Zippo vanished out of view, a very tired, bedraggled-looking Maxwell, a rather large St. Bernard dog, appeared, head down, tail not wagging and dragging his forlorn frame from behind the makeshift assault course.

Cressida saw him first, shouting loud enough that he could hear her, "Oh look what the cat dragged in." It was a turn of phrase that she didn't really care for as it involved slandering a cat, but on this occasion she deemed it appropriate.

"Oh my," voiced B-Jay, looking at his friend's droopy-looking, bloodshot eyes, his horn echoing a little toot of concern. "What happened, Maxwell?"

"A ‘sleep-under’," replied Maxwell, collapsing at the base of the tree, resembling the battered branches that lay littered all around him.

"A sleep-under? What is a sleep-under?" inquired B-Jay further, thinking that today was turning out to be a rather strange day needing many questions.

"My youngest housemate, seven-year-old Charley with a Y, had several of her friends stay over for the night," Maxwell informed, his ears drooping low, settling each side of his resting paws.

"Don't you mean a sleepover?" questioned Aruna, who was bobbing his head up and down accompanied by several clicks of his beak, in what could only be construed as an owl chuckling.

“Yes," retorted Maxwell without raising his heavy, tired head from where it rested, reclined on his paws, trying to find some small measure of comfort. "Normally it would be a sleepover with several screaming girls hurling pillows at each other while giggling incessantly, but last night the storm decided to change proceedings. Once the thunder started, we spent most of the night under the bed being guarded by yours truly. Hence, sleep-under. As they elected me as chief protector, they deemed it prudent to feed me with a bowl full of cheesy dog biscuits shaped like goldfish to keep me awake. Except they couldn't have been dog biscuits as they seemed to enjoy eating them too. 'Three for me, one for puffy wuffykins,' was all I heard all night, in between several strokes of my fur. I can still feel their stinky cheese-ridden hands rubbing my fur the wrong way, and as for how my coat smells..."

Cressida wasn't sure whether to laugh at what Maxwell had endured or at the fact that he had suddenly grown a conscience toward cleanliness; either way, she felt for his ordeal and decided to give him a break. After all, not even a dog should have to put up with being called "puffy wuffykins."

Seconds later Zippo and Digger Bo reappeared from the tree just in time to catch the tail end of the saga—no pun intended. Zippo had switched from his Nike tracksuit back to his much-preferred Jedi Master's robe, and Digger Bo was in the process of tugging stray balls of cottonwood from his ears and other various places it had lodged during his tumbling workout.

“So what did we miss?" inquired Zippo, pulling his baseball cap straight. “Anything fun?”

“Maxwell was just saying about a sleepover," replied B-Jay.

"Awesome—what time?" continued Zippo, giving Digger Bo—who seemed distracted by a rather evasive cotton ball lodged in his tail—a nudge with his elbow.

Digger Bo twitched, then after dislodging the irritation with a final, sharp tug from his teeth, asked, “What is a sleepover?"

Maxwell, being the expert with experience of such matters, simply replied, "it is where friends get together and spend the night having fun."

"Sounds to me like we have a new adventure planned," exclaimed Zippo, turning around as he spoke to give Digger Bo a celebratory high five.

"I'm game," said a tired Maxwell as he turned on the grass trying to find another comfortable position to curl up into. "I love sleeping!"

"Oh the fun never stops," voiced Cressida with a quick flick of her tail, "just when you think it cannot get any better, we get to watch the dog sleep."

Aruna clicked his beak sharply and stretched out both wings, giving them a sharp flap. "I think that might be interesting, but where would it be? It seems Digger Bo's burrow is too small. Maxwell's house runs the danger of cheesy goldfish being involved and I sleep in a tree."

Before Aruna could even question the possibility of Cressida's circumstances, a rather excited B-Jay blurted out, “My garage is large enough for all of us!" Then he gave his horn a little double toot of encouragement.

Nobody voiced any objections to B-Jay's garage, so it seemed like everyone was in agreement, although no one other than Maxwell knew what the sleepover entailed, so there was very little to object to. So the matter of the adventure was concluded. They agreed to meet up again at B-Jay's garage, later that night, at around 11 p.m.

B-Jay had just enough time to assess the garage, making room for his friends, not knowing what they would need to feel comfortable. He remembered how he felt when he spent a few nights in the auto shop recently, away from the familiar comforts of home, and reasoned that while he couldn't do much to assuage any feelings of trepidation they might have, he could at least make it more comfortable by tidying it and making as much room as possible.

He cleared a shelf up high for Aruna, figuring he liked being above things, and cleared the boxes from the corner by the door for Cressida and Maxwell, laying down whatever tatty blankets he could find.

He surmised that if that wasn’t comfortable enough, they could all sit in their usual seats that they enjoyed when driving, which then gave him a great idea involving the Pinocchio puppet that he had been left with from a previous adventure.

He took it from where it had ended up, crumpled on the workbench at the back of the garage, by the chisels and the saws, and placed it in a sitting-up position on his dashboard. Something familiar might help settle any nerves, he concluded, pleased with himself for having thought of it. Then, he watched the sun set and the moon rise, from the window, looking intently for any sign of the cosmic string that Aruna had said controlled the skies. It was so relaxing staring at the stars and the slow drift of an occasional passing cloud that he found himself thinking about B-Gray and the picture they had discovered when they had opened the time capsule, a few weeks earlier.

An hour or so must have passed as he dreamt about the possibilities of B-Gray being his grandfather. Swirling, hazy thoughts entered his mind, fragments blending together in a strange world where even the craziest of objects and thoughts belonged. Images spliced together in a stuttered film, charging to the final scene as if that was all that mattered, the rest being just misplaced furniture in the mind. And in that final scene, just before the loud knocking that interrupted him, he found himself driving along in the sun, as B-Gray was just beginning to reveal the story of his life.

B-Jay turned, his thoughts vanishing, as his sleepy eyes focused on his friends as they entered the garage. He let out a yawn, which sounded like air escaping slowly from his tires.

"Hi everyone, sorry about that, I must have fallen asleep while I was waiting for you. Is it 11 o'clock already?” he asked rhetorically.

Aruna flew up to the shelf that B-Jay had cleared, near the garage roof, as Maxwell made a beeline for the tatty blankets in the corner. Cressida slunk in slowly, looked at the dog, who wasted no time in getting comfortable, before looking for a space for herself. Zippo, seeing the Pinocchio puppet, leaped onto the dashboard, giving his puppet a hug, and Digger Bo rolled over to the corner near Maxwell, intent on using his friend's so-called "fluffy wuffy" frame to stay warm.

Cressida spoke first, saying, "Before you ask, B-Jay, he wears that ridiculous sheepdog outfit to bed now, apparently. Thankfully Digger Bo resisted the urge to wear his disco ball outfit, so things could be worse."

B-Jay laughed, his side mirrors flicking back and forth as his windshield wipers joined in with a few enjoyable swooshes.

"While I am not too sure what we have planned for our sleepover tonight, I hope I have made things tidy enough for you to feel comfortable," voiced B-Jay. "I was worried that some of you might feel a little nervous being away from familiar surroundings. Although, it does look like Maxwell has come prepared in his Halloween outfit."

Aruna gave out a hoot of satisfaction at the adequate nature of the shelf, pleased that there was enough room for him to stretch out his wings, as he shuffled his taloned feet, gripping the edge tightly. "I think you have done a splendid job, B-Jay; most comfortable."

"So what do we have to entertain us on this rather unusual adventure?" questioned Cressida, sitting upright on her haunches. "I know this is called a sleepover, but surely we are not going to just sleep. Although, watching Maxwell sleep in that big cotton-wool-looking outfit is somewhat amusing to me, just not quite an adventure to rival our previous ones, I feel!" As she finished her question, she jumped onto her seat and reclined for a wash, starting with her left paw.

The crescent moon sat high above the garage, casting long rectangular shadows across the walls. In the distance, somewhere near the woods it seemed, came the unmistakable howls of prowling wolves.

"I have an idea," said Zippo, wishing to take advantage of the ominous, atmospheric conditions. "I think it is time for another tale."

"I'm not sure we have or even need, for that matter, more scary tales, Zippo," said Aruna. "That ship has already sailed. Unless you have another tale as equally as riveting as the one you told about the alien invasion."

"Exactly," replied Zippo. "But you are right, this tale is not a scary tale. It is a tale of liberation. It is a tale about a ship, a puppet who dreamed of becoming a real boy, and the day he met the pirates."

"That sounds intriguing," voiced Cressida, pausing from her grooming for a second, thinking that it might be worth listening to. "It sounds like we are going to hear Pinocchio’s side of the Halloween adventure."

Zippo grabbed the Pinocchio puppet with his tiny ant hands, before declaring in a very theatrical voice, his facial expression matching the drama of the moment. "This is the tale of Pinocchio and his quest to travel the world as a real boy, by smuggling himself aboard the pirate ship."

And so, Zippo began to tell the tale.

“A short time ago in a land, not so far away, lived a puppet. A puppet who dreamed of being a real boy. Now the puppet had a conscience—that’s me—but he didn’t listen to his very wise and wonderful conscience; his head was turned by the blue fairy—who for the sake of argument was Cressida—and she told him: 'Prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish, and someday you will become a real boy.' And then, with a swish of her magical fairy wand, she sent him tumbling off into the world."

Cressida looked up with a rather large twinge of surprise showing across her face before blurting out, "It was an accident, I swear! I didn't mean it and there was no harm done."

Everybody turned toward her, stunned by her sudden confession, which forced a further response, her face twitching with uncomfortable guilt. "You should be thanking me; if it wasn't for me ACCIDENTALLY knocking him to the curb we would not have had such a great adventure. Really, I get no thanks for all I do!" She then turned away quickly, washing her tail for the fourth time.

Despite the nature of this sudden interruption, Zippo continued...

"As Pinocchio finished tumbling, realizing he was free at last, he began to sing a happy song: 'I've got no strings to hold me down, to make me fret or make me frown. I had strings, but now I'm free, there are no strings on me.' When he finished his song, he noticed that there was another boy, quite near him. He thought to himself, 'Maybe this boy could help me,' so he approached him. As he got closer, he noticed that he too was a real boy, just like him, but with ginger hair and a rather chubby-looking carved body. He was certainly not something Geppetto had made, but he spoke to the boy nonetheless. Now Pinocchio was eager to set off into the world; he had no time to make friends, so he asked the boy if he could help him on his way. He turned around, pointing out the pirate ship, which was about to set sail, and said to the boy, 'I need to get aboard that vessel if I am going to be a real boy. I need to sail the seven seas. Could you help me? Could you help me get aboard?'"

"Well, the boy seemed only too happy to help Pinocchio get aboard, so he reached out and, with a mighty thrust from his stocky arms, launched him forward into the night air. Now Pinocchio was carved very well and Geppetto had given him such good aerodynamics that he sailed up and up, before grabbing hold of the ship's rigging, hauling himself into the covered safety of the crow's nest, where he sat, watching the world go by, dreaming of some far-off shore and the adventures that awaited him."

"The pirate ship was busy with pirates tugging at the sails to keep the boat from flipping over as savage waves lashed across her bow. But Pinocchio wasn't scared; he just remembered the words the blue fairy had said about being brave if he wanted to become a real boy. So brave he would be as he stared up at the full moon and the land he had left behind—feeling free for the first time in his life."

"Then, when all seemed calm inside of him, despite having lost the conscience he so relied upon to keep him centered, he heard a cry. A scowling voice from the depths below."

"Captain, we have a stowaway. There, up there in the rigging!"

Zippo took a moment, a slight pause in the tale to let his friends consider the predicament that was about to unfold. Seeing that they were all sitting still and listening attentively, he continued.

"All went quiet aboard the pirate ship as they all turned toward him. The only sounds other than his rapidly increasing heartbeat were the sounds of hungry seagulls, waiting to pick the flesh from his real-boy carcass."

"As all eyes looked up, Pinocchio felt scared, frightened by the sounds of razor-sharp swords being drawn alongside the tap, tap, tap noise, as a rather fearsome-looking Captain Grogbeard shuffled across the deck, his wooden leg tap-tapping as he muscled his way toward him. Pinocchio trembled, being scared as a real boy was scarier than anything he ever imagined as a puppet. He had no conscience to guide him or to help him out of his predicament and he swallowed, gulping down his fear, just as the burly Captain cried out... 'Who are you?'"

Suddenly a strange voice hollered, its tone tinged with more than a touch of incredulity. A strange voice that no one recognized.

"What? The fearsome captain said... 'Who are you?' No, no, no, that will not do. Come on laddie, you had the audience in the palm of your hand. Amateur, so very amateur, who wrote this script? You need to make it sound believable; your delivery definitely needs more work. You have to say it like you believe it. Deliver it with a sense of tension. Nay, a fearsome pirate king would never say that. He would say something like, 'Come down you landlubber, this is my ship and you either come down straight away or we will come and get you. Either way, you are going to end up swimming with the sharks and the fishes.' And then maybe he might give out a fierce bloodcurdling laugh. Let's try that again, this time say it with more gusto."

"Wait, what?" exclaimed Cressida, who for once was actually entertained and not grooming.

"Who said that?" asked Aruna, his head spinning in all directions, unable to understand why his superior eyesight could not locate the voice.

Maxwell, not quite grasping what was going on, scratched at his hindquarters with a front paw before speaking. "Wow, I didn't even see your lips move, Zippo; that was incredible. I didn't know you knew how to be a ventriloquist."

"Err—I didn't say that,” exclaimed a rather worried Zippo, his hands trembling so much it looked like Pinocchio was dancing.

"Well who did?" questioned B-Jay joining in. "Is Pinocchio haunted?"

Again the strange voice spoke out. "Nay haunted, moreso inhabited."

As he finished the sentence, a small spider crawled out from Pinocchio's left ear wearing a tartan kilt around his waist, with a matching Tam o' shanter that adorned his head while speaking in an unmistakable Scottish accent.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly," he said, his eight legs carrying him forward as they negotiated the dashboard with unusually impressive coordination. "My name is Thaddeus McTweedy." He then took a bow before saying, "Thespian of the stage, specializing in musicals mostly."

No one spoke for the next few minutes. Cressida, who always seemed to have a comment prepared, sharpened by her sassy wit, just sat there. Grooming, for once, seemed unnecessary due to this such unexpected turn of events. Even Maxwell was wide-awake, although he was starting to get restless, feeling hungry.

It was Aruna who broke the silence a few minutes later by responding. "Well, it is very nice to meet you, Mr. McTweedy, even if the circumstances are a little, shall we say, unexpected."

"What, nay squishing of my poor wee body, nay screaming and nay running around shouting, 'spider,' 'spider,' 'spider,' 'eeeooooowww.' Well I must say I am rather a little taken back by your hospitality. What a pleasant response. That more than makes up for the extremely bad acting, I can tell you! Especially as I'm used to dealing with a much tougher audience—aye!"

Aruna continued, being the more composed of the group. "Well, good Sir, we place a high value on friendship and helping people, so squishing would certainly not be our first thought or a good reaction, don't you think. Surely, if we were to get to know you better, then we might find you to be quite a friendly spider. And, last time I checked, friends do not squish friends."

"I agree!" said B-Jay. "We have made many friends on our adventures and it has proven to be very helpful under certain circumstances. Especially those adventures involving lost rabbits, traveling toads, kidnapped Pinocchios, and missing wheels!"

“What kind of musicals are they? I don’t think I have heard of any of them. Perhaps you've heard of some of the ones I have been involved with. Maybe 'Cats' by Andrew Lloyd Webber. That's my favorite—I love Cats!"

"Oh I love this guy!" shouted Cressida, showing a completely different attitude than her normal sass. Her tail flicked backwards and forwards at least three times.

"Well," said Aruna, shuffling his body across the shelf, giving a little hoot as he felt it shift under his weight a little, "I hate to break up the party, especially as we all seem to be getting on so well, but as you can see the sun is coming up and some of us sleep during the day, you know, being nocturnal. So, may I suggest, assuming you are staying in town a little longer, that we get together again to continue this fascinating, if not unexpected, conversation. And, maybe we could revisit the Pinocchio tale under your expert direction."

"I agree," said Maxwell, his stomach making a hollow, echoing noise as he rose. "I am feeling more than a little hungry and I normally go straight to sleep after breakfast, so I really should make my way home too."

"Well, it was very enjoyable making all your acquaintances. Not often I get to meet a new person without having to make a mad run for my life to some dark corner of a room. So, yes, I would really like that. Maybe some other time then. Aye!"

As they all said their goodbyes, Maxwell, Cressida, Aruna, and Digger Bo all left together. As they exited the garage and began walking along the drive, Thaddeus gave them a bow, tipping his hat with one leg while waving profusely with four of his other legs.

Zippo had decided to stay with B-Jay, who could drive him home later that day, and as B-Jay shut the garage door, turning off his lights, the last words he heard were those of Zippo saying to Mr. McTweedy:

"So was it my outfit, or does my acting really need work? Give it to me straight—I am an ant and we have a tough skin. I can take criticism. By the way, I love your outfit. It is tartan, is it not? It looks to me like we are about the same size—I don't suppose you have a spare outfit for my wardrobe, do you?"

As they sat on the dashboard together, speaking like old friends, the sun started to rise behind them.