Milton the Mighty

by Emma Read

  A MESSAGE FROM CHICKEN HOUSE

  Next time you see a spider, stop a moment before you scream, run, squash the poor thing or chase it out of the window, because this story shows how clever and heroic these little creatures can be. They’re funny too – and they can use the internet . . . yes, really! With a little bit of help from his house human, Milton makes his mark, saves the day and stops the bug killers. Emma Read launches a small series with a big heart – and you are going to love Alex G. Griffiths’s drawings too!

  BARRY CUNNINGHAM

  Publisher

  Chicken House

  Contents

  Chapter 1. Running and Screaming

  Chapter 2. Milton Sees the Light

  Chapter 3. BugKILL!

  Chapter 4. The Bunker

  Chapter 5. Perfectly Harmless

  Chapter 6. HELP US

  Chapter 7. Communications

  Chapter 8. Googling

  Chapter 9. Under Fire

  Chapter 10. Crazy Spider Girl

  Chapter 11. What Little Spiders Do

  Chapter 12. School of Dad

  Chapter 13. Not Alone

  Chapter 14. Professor Parker

  Chapter 15. Relatively Risky

  Chapter 16. Uninvited Guests

  Chapter 17. More Running and Screaming

  Chapter 18. ‘Hello, Milton.’

  Chapter 19. Squashed

  Chapter 20. The Spider Who Came in from the Cold

  Chapter 21. #NotScaredOfSpiders

  Chapter 22. The Greatest Showspiders

  Chapter 23. Bug Off!

  Chapter 24. The Biggest Little Spider

  Epilogue

  What Happened Next . . .

  Spidery Sciencey Stuff

  How to Speak Spider

  Copyright

  For my spiderlings,

  Elly and Alden

  Milton was strolling home after a weekend away in the downstairs loo, when he heard the scream.

  He froze. It was coming from the big house human, but it wasn’t an ordinary scream. It was an all-eight-leg wobbler, as his dad would’ve said.

  Surely he’s not screaming like that at me?

  As a tiny false widow spider, Milton was completely unscreamworthy, utterly unterrifying and occasionally mistaken for a raisin.

  Milton glanced up, and there was Mr Macey on the stairs, looking right at him. The human cleaned his glasses and checked again, and on confirming that Milton was actually there and not merely a dirty smudge on the lens, he took an enormous inhale, ready to let rip again.

  He is screaming at me!

  Milton’s heart beat faster as a second pair of footsteps pounded on the staircase above.

  ‘DAD?!’ Zoe called. ‘Dad? Are you OK? What’s happened? Are you hurt? Have we won the lottery?’

  Mr M was now cowering on the stairs, clutching the spindles like a prisoner behind bars.

  Zoe peered over the banister. ‘Er, Dad, please tell me you’re not screaming the house down because of that teeny spider.’

  ‘But it’s THAT spider – from the paper.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think it’s going to leap all the way up here and grab you.’ Zoe sighed. ‘What do you want me to do with it?’

  ‘Throw something at it. Kill it – quick!’

  What?!

  Milton suddenly remembered basic training: when humans scream, spiders should run.

  But Zoe said, ‘No! It’s not hurting anyone.’

  ‘Not yet. And it’s not going to get the chance. I’ve changed my mind. We’re evacuating. I’ll call Uncle Henry and we’ll stay with him. Go and pack a bag . . . and don’t go down there, whatever you do.’ Mr Macey’s gaze remained locked on Milton, as if he might indeed leap over a metre into the air and eat him for lunch.

  Zoe followed her dad upstairs, shaking her head as he crawled all the way to the master bedroom on his hands and knees.

  From Milton’s viewpoint, this was some very peculiar behaviour from his already baffling humans. Mr Macey was no spider fan, for sure, but that scream was something else. Milton set off towards the front door and his house under the skirting board, frowning and looking forward to a large glass of ladybird juice. But then he heard footsteps – fast ones. It was Zoe again. She was sprinting down the stairs (even though her dad always told her off for that), with the dreaded cup-and-birthday-card combo in her hand.

  Milton liked Zoe, the smaller of his two house humans. She wasn’t the running and screaming type at all. She’d occasionally ‘eek’ at him if he appeared suddenly (like from under the sofa while the telly was on). But even she was behaving strangely now. Her eyes narrowed like a cat, and locked on to him as she reached the bottom step. At best, being trapped under a cup meant a quick trip outside, which Milton frankly didn’t have time for. At worst . . .

  Milton ran in the opposite direction as fast as his eight little legs would carry him, towards the dining room and the relative safety of the dark and dusty space behind the radiator. Scuttling at top speed across the wooden floor, he risked a quick look back and saw Zoe getting closer, the cup looming large in her hand. ‘Be still, little spider,’ she whispered.

  The radiator was still miles away!

  He remembered a TV show he’d watched, late one night with Mr M (well, maybe not with him – Milton had been hiding under the rug: it was a pretty scary show). A boy was being chased on the TV and Mr M shouted at the telly, ‘For goodness’ sake, zigzag!’ Zigzagging apparently made you more difficult to catch.

  So Milton zigzagged.

  The zigging was fine, but as he turned to zag, he tripped over a gap in the floorboards and went flying.

  Halfway through an impressive loop the loop, he saw his friend Ralph on the far side of the kitchen.

  ‘Watcha, Milt. Out for a bit of keep-fit?’ he called. Then he saw Zoe. ‘Oh!’

  Milton sailed through the air, then bounced off the cupboard under the stairs like a shiny brown pinball, rolling to a stop against the radiator pipe, which was hot and singed his leg hairs.

  ‘Yikes, Milt, you OK?’ shouted Ralph. ‘You need me to pee on that?’

  Milton grimaced, his world spinning. ‘Eww, no. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Sorry, I thought that was what you did for burns. Anyway, what’ve you done to upset Zoe?’

  Milton righted himself.

  If Zoe sees Ralph maybe she’ll turn her attention to him.

  Big and hairy, Ralph was definitely scream-worthy.

  Just then, Zoe’s giant feet crashed between them.

  ‘Come on! Behind the radiator,’ called Milton. But it was too late, Zoe saw Ralph and screamed.

  There we go.

  Ralph knew exactly what to do when humans screamed – he screamed too, and ran around the kitchen, where he and Zoe did a sort of scream-and-dance number together, like a Strictly Halloween special.

  Milton used the diversion to drag his bumped and bruised body to safety behind the radiator. He knew he should fold up his legs, thank his lucky webs and wait until dark to emerge, but Milton was his father’s son and couldn’t help feeling curious. Something strange was going on and . . .

  Oh, there’s her Blue Peter badge – I knew she wouldn’t have lost it at school.

  Concentrate, Milton!

  Peeking above the top of the radiator, he saw Ralph charging out of the kitchen towards him, waving his legs. Zoe was rummaging in a cupboard behind him. Then, Zoe spun around on her heels to face Milton.

  ‘Right, you.’ She glared at him, cup in one hand, feather duster in the other.

  Milton fell down the back of the radiator in fright.

  Why are they so interested in me all of a sudden?

  ‘Milton, you lunatic! What are you doing?’ yelle
d Ralph.

  Milton had slid almost to the floor and was hanging upside down by a thread. A ball of dust stuck to his head like a fluffy grey wig.

  ‘Come on, run – the radiator’s not safe from that feather duster.’ Ralph brushed Milton off and the pair dashed along the skirting board towards the bookcase.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Milton, stumbling behind Ralph and trying to keep up. ‘I’m not big and hairy. I’m not used to this kind of attention.’

  ‘Stay alive first, ask questions later. Honestly, Milton, you’re the cleverest little spider I know, but sometimes common sense ain’t your strong point. Now run faster!’

  The pair scurried to a towering stack of books beside Zoe’s dad’s desk, and clambered to the top. Books made for a decent hiding place but they were not to be trusted. Many a spider had been turned into a small brown splodge by the thwack of a good novel.

  They made themselves small(er) and tucked into a gap to catch their breath.

  Milton felt for vibrations in the air with the hairs on his legs. ‘Where’s she gone? I can’t hear anything.’

  ‘Let’s get away from these books and head for the fridge, to be on the safe side. No one ever dusts behind there.’

  One leg at a time, the spiders crept on to the dining table and made a dash for it. Except halfway along Milton caught sight of something out of one of his side eyes . . . something was glowing on the laptop screen. He stopped, then ran off towards it.

  ‘Milt?’ Ralph said in an urgent whisper. ‘What are you doing? Come on, you’re asking to go under that cup.’

  But Milton wasn’t listening. ‘There’s something on the screen. Just a bit closer . . . need to have a have a quick . . .’

  Ralph looked on, helpless, as Zoe reappeared from behind Milton. She had swapped the cup for her dad’s mobile phone.

  ‘Gotcha!’

  The phone made a crunchy sound, and flashed as bright as the sun, momentarily blinding Milton’s sensitive front eyes. He froze again. With his side eyes, he saw Mr M tearing down the stairs with a holdall. ‘Come on, Zoe, get your coat on. Uncle Henry said we can stay until we know what to do about that . . . insect.’

  ‘It’s not an insect, it’s an arachnid,’ called Zoe. ‘Seriously, Dad – I’m not moving out because of a spider. I’ve got school!’

  Mr Macey gave her a panicked look as he grabbed a bunch of keys and made for the front door. Milton’s vision was starting to return.

  ‘Zoe. Get over here right now. We’re not staying. It’s not safe.’

  Zoe moved slowly towards her dad, hands outstretched, taking care not to spook him. ‘Come on now, it’ll be fine. You go upstairs and I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea. I’ll take a look in one of my books, see if we can’t figure this out without running away.’

  Zoe went into the kitchen again and, once her back was turned, Ralph sprinted to the laptop. ‘Milton, what the— oh!’

  Milton was staring at the screen.

  On Zoe’s laptop, the web page of a well-known tabloid newspaper glowed brightly.

  The headline read, in enormous letters:

  KILLER SPIDERS ON THE RAMPAGE

  And under the headline was a picture of Milton.

  Zoe herded her dad upstairs with tea and biscuits and assurances that her school work would suffer if they left home. The spiders were left alone.

  Ralph looked from the laptop to Milton, and back again, then the screen went black. Silence followed and Milton wondered if he was simply having a bad dream. He had eaten seconds of woodlouse before bedtime.

  Eventually, Ralph gave an impatient cough and said disapprovingly, ‘Milton? Is there something you’d like to say?’

  All Milton could manage was a quiet: ‘That wasn’t me.’

  Another voice – a sweeter, more gentle voice, joined in from above. ‘But it is a false widow spider? Like you.’ Their friend Audrey, a spindly cellar spider, hovered over them, her long legs billowing out below her like a parachute.

  Milton nodded as Audrey floated down to the table on a wispy strand of silk. ‘Yes, it’s the same species as me, but it’s not actually me.’

  ‘Friend of yours, then, eh?’ Ralph frowned.

  ‘No, I don’t have any friends except you guys.’ Milton struggled to supress a sob. ‘Did you read it, Audrey?’

  ‘Not all of it, I was on the ceiling, but I could see the big words. I was having a nap, if you must know, but then all the screaming and stomping started. Shame about the zigzagging, Milton. I’ve heard that really works.’

  ‘Hey, Audrey,’ said Ralph, smoothing his leg hairs. ‘I weren’t really screaming, you know.’

  ‘Ralph, sweetheart,’ Audrey said, patting him on the abdomen. ‘The woodlice in the garden heard you. But don’t worry, I don’t think less of you. Now, back to the matter in hand.’ She pointed a leg at the laptop. ‘We ought to take a closer look. Can we get it back?’

  Milton made himself very small. ‘I think I’ve seen enough. Do we have to?’

  ‘We need to figure out exactly what it is we’re dealing with,’ Audrey said gently.

  ‘I know what to do,’ said Ralph, jumping on to the keyboard. ‘Look away, little buddy. Zoe sort of tickles this square bit here to make it glowy.’ He rubbed his body on the touchpad and the screen lit up again.

  THE DAILY LIGHT (Online Edition)

  KILLER SPIDERS ON THE RAMPAGE

  Underneath the picture of the false widow was this:

  Is your home infested with these vicious spiders?

  These terrifyingly toxic ‘widows’ are the most lethal of the UK’s spider species and they are spreading like a plague. Victims across the country have been hospitalized by this vile creature’s deadly bite.

  Then there was a link to a video of a human who claimed to have been attacked.

  Warning: this video contains shocking scenes which some viewers may find disturbing.

  (Article sponsored by BugKILL! For all your spider extermination needs. Call one of our dedicated spider experts on the number below – Monday to Friday only, not bank holidays.)

  ‘Oh, Milton, that’s awful.’ Audrey searched for comforting words but couldn’t help reading ‘infested’. Milton began to tremble so Ralph and Audrey hugged him with as many legs as they could, without tumbling over in a pile.

  ‘Why would they write such terrible things about you?’ asked Audrey.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Milton’s voice cracked. ‘I’m nobody. I’m a tiny, insignificant spider. We’re an entire species of tiny, insignificant spiders. Why would I hurt a human? Guys, you know I’ve never bitten anyone, right?’

  Ralph and Audrey rubbed Milton’s abdomen reassuringly.

  ‘Of course you haven’t, sweetheart,’ said Audrey. ‘So what’s this all about?’

  ‘We could watch the video?’ suggested Ralph.

  Audrey gave him a somewhat deadly glare and Milton looked like he might be sick.

  Milton breathed deeply, forced himself to concentrate and realized something was wrong with the article. ‘Audrey, read the bit about l-l-lethal species, would you?’ He listened closely as she read. ‘There! It just says widows. I’m a false widow. Maybe there are dangerous “widows” out there, and these so-called spider experts have got us mixed up? I bet that’s why Zoe took my picture – she’s going to send it to the paper, along with an explanation, and they’ll print a correction tomorrow and it’ll all be fine.’

  The others didn’t seem convinced.

  ‘I don’t know, Milton,’ said Ralph. ‘No offence mate, but you’re pretty small and I don’t think house humans have got very good eyesight.’

  Audrey nodded. ‘Whatever these widows look like, what if the humans can’t tell you apart? They’re a long way up.’

  ‘And with such tiny brains,’ agreed Ralph. ‘And funny heads. I’ll never understand how they don’t fall off those little stalk-necks. What they need is a good solid head and body combo like us – a kefalo-whatsit. Maybe then they’d b
e smarter, like me.’

  Audrey tapped her claw on the desk and frowned. ‘You mean cephalothorax. This isn’t helping, Ralph.’

  ‘Yeah, kef-a-low-thor-axe. That’s what I said.’ Ralph shuffled about on the desk.

  Milton slumped. ‘At least it explains the screaming – the humans have mistaken me for a something else.’

  Audrey nodded sympathetically. ‘I was worried when I saw the feather duster.’

  ‘Be cool though, wouldn’t it?’ said Ralph cheerfully. ‘To be Terrifyingly Toxic. Do a bit of rampaging. You sure you’re not, Milt? Just a smidge?’

  Audrey shot him a stern look.

  ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Ralph, shuffling. ‘I mean, most spiders are a little bit venomous, right, but I didn’t think any of us were, you know . . . human killers.’

  ‘Me either,’ said Milton. ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing. Apparently my cousin Melissa bit a house human once, but that was understandable – it sat on her. But deadly? No.’

  ‘Of course you’re not deadly! Look at the size of you!’ Ralph slapped Milton hard on the back and Milton fell over, landing on a coaster.

  ‘Size isn’t everything,’ said Audrey, helping him up. ‘Humans reading this could think you’re dangerous. You’d better watch out, I don’t think Zoe’s planning on hanging that picture on the wall, unless it’s on a wanted poster.’

  Milton wailed. ‘But it’s not fair. What am I going to do? This is my home too, I don’t want to leave. Where would I go? Outside?!’ He put his head between his front legs and sobbed.

  ‘You don’t need to leave, Milton,’ said Audrey. ‘You just need to take care. Do like your dad said and stick to dark corners. Come out at night.’

  Ralph nodded. ‘Yeah, it’ll be OK. Look on the bright side – the sun’s gone down, the lights are off and I don’t expect the house humans will be down again tonight.’

  Milton’s expression changed from woeful to indignant. ‘I can’t spend my whole life hiding in the dark.’

  Ralph stared at him with all eight eyes. ‘Sure you can – you’re a spider, Milton. Deal with it.’

  The next day was Saturday and, as Zoe struggled to get out of her bedroom (Mr Macey had stuffed a line of socks along the bottom of her door to prevent spider access), Milton was hiding in his hole.