Itsy-Bitsy Spider

by Dale Mayer

  *

  “Interesting, interesting. Queenie’s talents are wasted here.”

  The Watcher stared at the woman in the amusement park tent. Every time she’d given a reading, there was this burst of light. He’d watched for the last forty minutes. Like clockwork, almost every five minutes, somebody came and went. That burst of light which flashed every time she gave a reading meant she had used her abilities to give the answers.

  “But, if that’s the case, why is she doing this here? Somebody with that level of talent could be doing this work anywhere.” He was alone so felt free to talk to himself out loud. He had to have someone to talk to about this, right?

  He watched for another few minutes.

  “Obviously she’s no good at business if she’s here taking five dollars for each message.”

  He chuckled. Not everyone was blessed to be in his position. The fact that he had learned to do what he was now doing, staring down into her world, attracted by these flashes of light, was amazing. But, of course, he already had a connection with her. A connection she didn’t know about.

  He’d been having fun with people for a long time. He could make them do all kinds of things. But not her. Not Queenie. And he had tried. He had tried very hard. And then he’d gotten bored. He’d walked away. He had found other things, other games, other people to torment.

  But then she’d crossed his path again. Now he was plain fascinated. She used to work with the cops, and here she was, doling out advice at an amusement park. There was another flash. Followed by another flash. He watched in amazement. If she knew how much energy she was losing every time she let it flash like that, she would stop. Because nobody could afford that much energy depletion. It was way too much. It would drain her. It would take her home at the end of the day, exhausted.

  But he wouldn’t tell her. That was for her to figure out. And, if she didn’t, well, that was the same as psychics all over the world. They had talent and ability but no brains. Whereas he had both. He led a blessed life with respect; he was highly thought of and had talent in abundance. In many ways.

  He smiled. “Look at her. There she goes again.” There was so much focus and determination as she went through that line of people. He could feel the window into her world closing. He tried to force it back open again. It was almost an instinctive reaction. He didn’t want to let go of this connection. There was so much she could see, and yet she hadn’t seen him. Why?

  Of course he was good. He knew that. He had deliberately kept his tracks hidden, and he had certainly led a convoluted past, just in case another psychic like him was out here on the ethers who could do what he did. And, as long as he kept shifting, he figured nobody could find him.

  Who wouldn’t want to look through a window into somebody’s life and watch them, knowing they didn’t know you were there? And they had no way to stop you from coming and going. As long as he stayed secret and silent, then he could do that. Still, it was lonely on this side of life. And would it really hurt if she knew he was here?

  Chapter 5

  Tuesday …

  Queenie had gone through the next few days in an almost numb state. She’d gone happily for years without having any contact with Kirk.

  But every year at this time, the memories overwhelmed her. Today was the day she’d woken up to be told her son had been taken from her and had already been cremated. It was bittersweet that Kirk had divulged the news to her.

  Having him show up again in her life had brought the memories from the past to the surface. Painful memories. She knew, in another few days, weeks, months, it would all fade again. Yet something was different this time. That voice in her mind, for one. She hadn’t heard it in these recent years, but she hadn’t gotten rid of its presence. And that spider with a message to share. Spiders didn’t talk. But she was psychic enough to realize the spider had given her a message of some kind. She just didn’t know what. And she was desperate to learn how and why. Did it have anything to do with that little boy being dragged along with the murderer? Should she ask Kirk about the missing boys’ cases?

  He’d told her to call him anytime. That he’d make time for her. Even after she had kicked him out of her life. Again.

  It was early for her to be up, much less already at her tent. Yet, for some reason, she couldn’t sleep again last night. Not that she needed to look too closely at the reasons why. But here she was, before eight in the morning, coffee in hand, standing in the dark shadows of her tent. She could still feel Kirk’s presence, the disturbing energy from the Watcher, even the energy from the man who had killed for property gain. Her heart wanted to grieve for the woman in the lake, wishing Queenie could help more. She wanted to cleanse the tent from all that energy too. There was no power in here. She turned toward the entrance, tied up the tent opening to let in as much light as she could, went to the back and rolled up what passed for a window covering. A large mesh area at least would allow some light in.

  Carlos wanted her tent to be in darkness, adding to the spooky, mystical element. But, for somebody who loved light, being in the dark all day was depressing for Queenie. She had a wooden floor and a broom in the corner; again Carlos had thought it was appropriate, one of those big old straw witchy-looking things. She grabbed it and gave the small space a quick sweep.

  As she did so, she kept a close eye out for any sign of that spider. She knew perfectly well everybody would say it was her imagination, and a spider was a spider, and hopefully it had died somewhere along its way.

  But something had been different about that one.

  After she gave the floor a good sweeping, she lifted the cloth off the table, took it outside and gave it a good hard snap to remove the dust that had collected. Then she went back and did the same with that little stand she kept beside her. It held her water bottle and a couple books underneath it, in case she got too bored waiting for customers.

  Things once again cleaned and dusted, she sat at her table without its covering because she had a good forty minutes before the amusement park opened. She pulled out her books and took a look at what she kept here. One was on mediumship, which she’d intended to read, but her interests had waned in the last few months. She flipped through it.

  Her eye caught on the acknowledgment page. She never read pages like that. But this one gave credence to somebody named Stefan Kronos for his assistance and training. She frowned, remembering hearing that name from way back when, while she worked in the police department, but, just like so much of everything back then, she’d blocked it out.

  She brought her prepaid phone up to refresh her memory, and, as soon as she typed the name into Google, she was amazed at how many pages came up with information on Stefan. The man had a vast and checkered career. Everything she read was either about cases he had worked on or his artwork hung in galleries all over the world. Mostly in private collections, from what the articles said. As she devoured the information, she realized many people credited him for finding their lost ones and for helping them deal with a certain issue.

  His name was often linked with Dr. Maddy’s as well. There was no website; there was no contact information. She couldn’t blame him. Anybody who had talents like hers—or, in this case, like his, which were way beyond hers—the last thing they wanted was an outlet where the public could reach over and say, “Hey.” There was just way too many of the rest of the world and only one of them. Those knocks on their psychic doorways had to be monitored very closely.

  She sent out a quick message, saying, “Universe, if you want me to have any contact with Stefan, show me the way.”

  A weird buzz sounded in her mind. She laughed, knocked on the wooden table in front of her and said, “Hey, if that’s you, Stefan, let me in.”

  A voice boomed in her head. “Why the hell should I?”

  She froze. Then jumped to her feet and spun around. “Who are you?” Normally she only had contact with entities through people. Rarely through the dead … So she had to assume it was some
body alive and probably somebody with very strong psychic abilities.

  “You know who I am,” came the voice in exasperation.

  She stepped back, and the bond was broken.

  She stood there for a long moment, wondering what and who, and then realized she had felt no negativity in that message; there’d been no darkness in the contact. Instead a lightness has infused it, with a positive, almost loving aspect to it, and she’d called out to Stefan herself.

  She just hadn’t expected an answer.

  He didn’t know her, and she didn’t know him. She closed her eyes, opened her mind and asked telepathically, Stefan, is that you?

  This time there was almost a rumbling of thunder in her mind, as if she had disturbed him. Instantly she withdrew and winced. “Sorry,” she called out.

  For what? a male voice snapped in her ear. For disturbing me twice? Make that three times now.

  She smirked, marveling that the connection was so clear and crisp. Almost as if talking in person. Not in her head. Yet that was exactly what he was doing. “How can I be disturbing you? The only ones who can even hear this are you and me, and everybody would say I was crazy.”

  And you know that’s not true. So let’s not beat around the bush. You called me. What do you want?

  His response was so breathtakingly honest and direct that she was charmed.

  You know that makes you odd, right? But this time there was a note of humor in his voice.

  She belatedly realized that, not only was he talking to her but he was essentially reading her thoughts. That was so not cool.

  Then stop making them so obvious and out there.

  “Obvious and out there?” she said in wonder. “And here I thought they were in my mind.”

  And everything that’s in your mind, you telegraph outward.

  There was a fatigue in his voice, as if he was tired of having to say the same thing over and over again. She wondered if he was some beacon of energy that attracted this kind of conversation.

  Somewhat, he said. But that’s not why you called me.

  “Are you a medium?”

  And?

  He gave nothing away. His voice was direct, smooth, and yet there was almost a container around it. As if he had some sort of a defense mechanism.

  Don’t you think I would have one, given the type of work I do?

  “How do you get that?” she asked urgently. “I need better defenses myself.”

  Only silence followed.

  She winced. “Please? I’m not sure how to unlock this ability.”

  It’s not a case of unlocking the ability. You already have plenty of abilities, he said. What you don’t have is a constructive path for them. And what you do have is in many ways confused.

  She sagged in her chair. “Well, that’s one way to put it. The shrinks would say I was crazy.”

  You’ve done enough work with the police to realize you’re not, that your abilities have value, and you’ve helped a lot of people because of them.

  Her chest squeezed tight. “Do you know who I am?”

  Do you know who I am?

  She was left gasping at the speed of their conversation. She was speaking out loud, but he was talking in her head.

  It doesn’t have to be that way. Close your mouth and speak to me the other way. You’ll do it more effectively and, with time, less effort.

  Knowing it was almost a turning point in this conversation, and, if she wanted anything else to do with him, she needed to do this, she obediently closed her eyes, not sure why that was important, and said, Like this?

  Yes, just like that.

  She opened her eyes and realized she stood in a massive cave. Beside her was a glowing arc. Are you this ball of light beside me?

  I could be, if that’s what you’re seeing.

  She frowned. Meaning, I’m projecting something onto you, not that you are projecting this yourself?

  Correct. Now that you’re speaking to me this way, tell me why you contacted me?

  For several reasons, but the most important is to help build up my defenses. It came out in a rush, but she hadn’t intended that.

  Interesting.

  What’s interesting?

  The bloody amusement park would open soon, and she’d be inundated with people asking questions. And not that she meant to mock them—they were her bread and butter—but this was so much more important for her.

  You’re hiding, he said thoughtfully. Most people don’t hide in plain sight.

  Nobody would think to find me here, she said to him.

  And yet you’re still helping people? Still using your abilities to help others?

  I’m hoping that whoever needs my assistance comes to me. Besides, I learned at a huge cost what happens if I don’t use my abilities.

  That’s the way it works, but you were doing bigger things before.

  Bigger, yes. Better, I’m not sure about that. All things come at a cost.

  There was silence, and she could feel a surge of energy rippling through her. She frowned. It was almost like files flipping around her head, images, videos playing. She turned in a slow circle as if inside some massive memory bank. It took a moment for her to realize it was her own memory bank.

  Are you searching my memories? She was completely awestruck and horrified at his temerity.

  Yes, feel free to stop me at any time, he said smoothly. But, if you’re asking for my help, I have to understand what it is you’ve gone sideways on.

  Who says I’ve gone sideways? she asked, her hackles starting to rise.

  Good. Get angry. I’m taking advantage of you right now. You don’t even know how to say stop. You don’t even understand how to close the doors in my face.

  She glared.

  He said, Well, you’re getting there, but you still haven’t figured out how to do the rest of it yet.

  She reached out and swatted a door. It was a mental door, but she slammed it tight, pissed off at him and at herself. She’d asked for help, not to be taken advantage of. It was a simple-enough request; he could have said yes, or he could have said no.

  Yes, he said, chuckling.

  She gasped and bounced off her chair, realizing she was back in her small tent again. You’re still talking to me, even after I slammed the door in your face?

  I had to know if you were there or not or whether you were so far gone that you were past being able to use simple tools.

  She frowned, not quite understanding. Meaning, if I can’t manage a door to let people in or out, how will I defend against somebody insistent on getting in?

  Oh, somebody is already in, Stefan said softly, too softly.

  She gasped. “Can you see him?” she cried out fearfully.

  I can see his energy.

  Can you track it backward? Can you find out who it belongs to? This guy watching me is a killer. And he somehow connected to me, having fun in the fact I can’t stop him. But he can share what he’s done with me.

  Stefan’s lackadaisical attitude dropped away. How do you know he’s a killer?

  I don’t know for sure. She rubbed her face, then explained what had happened. Her shoulders sagged, and she added, Is there anything you can do to help me? Show me what direction to go in next?

  He sighed. If you have a killer attached to you, that makes you a very important connection to him.

  “I don’t want to be an important connection to him,” she whispered painfully. “I helped the police for years. It didn’t do me any good, except leave me broken and alone.”

  I can see that, he said cautiously. I myself went down that path. Now I selectively pick and choose those I can help who won’t destroy my hard-earned peace.

  I don’t know how to pick and choose, she whispered in her mind.

  And what was that about your son? he asked.

  She smiled. I was hoping you’d ask. She gave him what she knew. He’s all I could think about when I woke up in the hospital and found out he was gone. I tried so hard to cont
act him, and it took weeks, months even, but, even though I’m not a medium, I managed to connect. Although something is there, I only see energy and hear laughter. It’s the only way I found peace with his death, knowing a part of him lived on. She laughed at that. There’s always beautiful cascading colored energy accompanying his presence. And he doesn’t come often but enough to bring me comfort. But I wondered how to deepen the connection.

  There was a gentle disapproving tone to Stefan’s silence.

  She winced and stepped out of her tent. The morning sunshine hit her in the face. She backed up into the gloom of the tent. She wasn’t ready to step out there into the sunshine. She didn’t know why, she didn’t know how, but she needed to be inside the tent. And then there’s a spider.

  This time Stefan’s voice took on an odd note. What do you mean by a spider?

  And she could sense she was losing him; something inside of him was withdrawing.

  “Please don’t go,” she said urgently, out loud.

  What about the spider?

  She winced, knowing it would sound beyond stupid. But she told him what she’d sensed when the spider had been here with her. After hearing the spider, I heard the little boy crying out for his mommy. She took a deep breath. I have to tell you, that hurt.

  She could hear Stefan sucking in his breath, but she didn’t know what that meant. I need to connect to him again. If he’s in trouble, I need information to give to the police, so they can help him, she said, tears pouring down her cheeks. She knew she had a note of desperation in her voice. She knew it, but she couldn’t control it. Please help me.

  Having said that, tears clogged her throat, had her sobbing quietly. She clamped hard on her control, or lack of control, and tried to pull her strength together. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, she said urgently. I don’t want to be desperate. I don’t want to be clingy. I just don’t know what to do next. And then she heard voices. She groaned. The amusement park is about to open, and it’ll get busy in here today.

  You can do so much more. Don’t give up. We’ll talk later. And with that he disappeared.