Milton the Mighty

by Emma Read

  From the top of the stairs they could hear her dad and Professor Parker giggling like school-children, and Zoe made another face. ‘On second thoughts, let’s not go down there. I’ve got another idea, but you’d have to be brave. I’m talking superhero-brave. You up for it?’

  Milton and Audrey found One Short sitting on a damp clump of moss, issuing last-minute instructions by moonlight to the GS gang.

  ‘Don’t get hurt. Don’t get in her hair. We’re here to keep her contained while the other spiders do their work, not petrify her. Oh, hi, guys. We’re all set. You?’

  ‘Good to go. The homeless false widows are waiting for me on the fence, so I’ll see you later.’ Milton held out a leg to One Short.

  ‘Good luck,’ she said, placing her leg on top of Milton’s.

  ‘Good luck to you too,’ said Audrey. She placed a leg on top of the others, they all shouted, ‘Ho!’ and went off into the night.

  Audrey stalked into the next-door garden, gathering a following of spiders as she went, and Milton did the same with the spiders from the shed.

  A light November rain had begun to fall and Milton smiled.

  This is going to be perfect.

  Once in position, they began to spin.

  Two doors down, the garden spiders had shaken off their usual gang attitude and were taking their new role as Super Arachnid Squad very seriously.

  One Short led these elite spiders, via the darkest shadows, into the BugKILL! back garden. Felicity Thrubwell was upstairs, half-hanging out of her bathroom window, with a torch and a pair of binoculars.

  Keeping one eye on her at all times, the garden spiders crept along the paved-over garden and began looking for a way into the house of horrors.

  At first it seemed an impossible task. All Felicity’s windows were taped shut and had wire screens over them. A thick brush ran the length of the bottom of the door, and the sides were sealed by tight-fitting rubber edging. There wasn’t a single crack or crevice they could crawl through.

  ‘Come on, team, we have to get in. Failure is not an option for the SAS.’

  Then something caught One Short’s eye at the window. A spider! A tiny, exhausted-looking lace-weaver spider was inside the house, pointing desperately to a square of plastic on the back door.

  ‘The cat flap!’ They ran over, and with all their combined leg power they got the flap open wide enough for them to get in, and for the brave inside spider to get out.

  ‘You’ll get the Web of Honour for this, laceweaver,’ said an old GS veteran, as the frail, shell-shocked spider crawled on his last legs into the darkness and safety.

  Once inside, the team had to work quickly, under appalling conditions. The house reeked of citronella, conkers and Bug-Off spray, and there was not a dark corner to be seen. The whole house was white, and blindingly bright, with spotlights, strip lights and lamps angled into corners. Look-out spiders took their positions, squinting in the glare, as webbers spun lines of silk as strong as Kevlar, weaving them together until they were as thick as string. There were only a few places to attach their webs to, as Felicity had hardly any furniture and no cupboards, but working fast and using their super-sticky web, they got the job done.

  One Short had to admit, she’d never seen anything like it.

  The whole of Felicity Thrubwell’s house was criss-crossed with thick white lines, like laser beams in a bank-robbery movie.

  She wouldn’t be getting out of the house so easily tonight.

  The rest of Bramley Road was taking on quite a different appearance.

  Spiders of all species had swung up and down the back gardens of the street, making their connections, coming together with one purpose: to show the humans their splendour.

  And what they had achieved was more beautiful than they could have imagined.

  Delicate, patterned webs in the shape of hearts, flowers and early Christmas trees adorned the gardens. The spiders – garden spiders, crab spiders, jumping spiders, lace-weavers and false widows had decorated their creations with berry baubles and leaf garlands. As the full moon beamed through wisps of thin cloud, it looked like a magical kingdom. Silken threads ran from washing lines to windows, and from shed roofs to swing sets, with leaves hung like bunting. Autumn-bare trees were wrapped in silver. As gentle rain landed and clung to the webs, the whole neighbourhood shimmered and sparkled and, little by little, something incredible happened.

  The humans came outside.

  And instead of brandishing spray, or slippers, or frightened looks, or murderous glares . . . they came with their phones. Motion-sensing lights, torches and the occasional firework flash illuminated the scene, and they took pictures, the smaller house humans clapping their hands and jumping up and down, giggling.

  The tiny jumping spiders joined in, trampolining on the webs, making the raindrops dance and fall and the berries shake, and the leaves rustle and sway.

  On top of a leafless maple tree, Milton and Audrey hugged each other in the chill air as they waited for Zoe.

  ‘Whatever happens tonight, Milton, you’ve done us proud,’ said Audrey.

  ‘I hope it’s enough.’ Milton’s worrying was cut short as the back door opened and their house humans, big and small, appeared.

  ‘OK, do it now!’ said Audrey, and once Milton was sure the humans had their phones out and were filming, he cut the strand of silk he was standing on.

  With the moon behind him, Milton made his longest swing ever. As he soared, the line he was holding pulled on a series of web knots which undid in sequence, and as each knot came open, leaves unfurled and hung in their autumn colours, orange and red and brown, to spell Zoe.

  And of all people, it was Mr Macey who wiped a tear from his eye, and both Milton and Audrey knew then that it had been enough.

  Felicity slammed the window closed and snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. ‘We’ll see about this,’ she snarled and started down the stairs.

  In the kitchen, One Short was lining up the SAS team to leave, when the alert came from the look-out on the banister. ‘She’s coming! Situation critical. Abort! Ab—’ Felicity’s yellow-gloved hand gripped the rail and mid-yell the spider leapt into the air, abseiling safely to the ground. Felicity followed his descent with her gaze, which changed from disgust to horror as she saw the web maze filling her house.

  She was trapped on the stairs and her house was full of spiders!

  She patted her waist for the BugKILL! Belt, but it wasn’t there. ‘Stupid Buy One Get One Free offer,’ she muttered and called upstairs, ‘Flora, come on, puss.’

  One Short held up a claw to the team as a huge white cat appeared at the top of the stairs and began prowling down. ‘Kill, Flora! KILL!’ screamed Felicity.

  Flora clearly thought Christmas had come early and began chasing the spiders with abandon. One Short gave a signal and the SAS moved into formation. They led their feline foe on a zigzag route through the webs until she was utterly tangled.

  Felicity rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. I’ll deal with this myself.’ She tugged the hairnet securely down, climbed over the banister and jumped, landing softly in the middle of a triangle of web. It would’ve been a precision manoeuvre except her slippers skated on the uber-polished floor. Instinctively she reached out to steady herself, grabbing one of the web ropes which tangled around her wrist. She was snared.

  One Short breathed a sigh of relief and sent the garden spiders on a roundabout march towards the stairs, hoping to escape through the attic.

  Felicity screamed in fury, then spied her mobile phone on the other side of the room – she could call for help, but it was too far away to reach. No matter how hard she tugged and twanged at the web, it refused to break. Out of options, she took a deep breath and, gagging, she chewed through her bonds.

  Flora meowed pitifully.

  ‘Silly cat,’ sneered Felicity. Her quick little eyes darted from the spiders to the phone to the collection of Bug-Off cans on the windowsill. She had a choice – call for back-up, o
r handle the situation herself, and kill the spiders that had dared invade her pristine home. She hitched up her corduroy skirt, limboed under the nearest line and grabbed the spray can labelled ‘INDUSTRIAL’.

  One Short was watching her closely and gave a new signal to the SAS, who shuffled backwards exactly fourteen steps.

  Still surrounded on all sides by web, Felicity stared at the spider squad on her spotless, sterilized floor. A quiver of fear and revulsion shook her. ‘You won’t get out of here alive.’ She scratched at her hair. ‘I know what you’re doing. I’ve seen what’s going on in the neighbourhood and you won’t win. I’m going to put an end to this with the Maceys right now. I’m going to put an end to all of you!’ She reached forward as far as she could and sprayed a huge burst of Bug-Off in the spiders’ direction, which spat and bubbled in a toxic pool on the tiled floor. It missed – One Short had calculated the distance, angle and trajectory perfectly – important skills for a super-webbing circus spider.

  Felicity roared and shot them a venomous glare. ‘Why won’t you just DIE?’

  She took off her mousy cardigan and, clutching her hairnet, she log-rolled under the web-lines between her and her phone. Leaping up like a surfer, she sprayed again, but the spiders were too clever for her. Keeping their tight formation, in rows of eight, they scurried backwards, easily reaching minimum safe distance.

  Thwarted again, Felicity hissed through her front teeth, ‘Fine. You win. For now. I’ll be back to deal with you later – you can’t get out, you know.’ She picked up the phone, removed one rubber glove and called her exterminators. ‘Wake up! You’re supposed to be on twenty-four-hour alert for emergencies. And this is definitely an emergency. Get to 40, Bramley Road RIGHT NOW.’

  They heard the BugKILL! van outside the house reverse ten metres up the road. ‘Right, gov. We’re here.’

  ‘Get your gear on. We’re going in,’ Felicity said, as she made one or two calculations of her own. Then she sprang into action.

  A forward roll over the first web-line, then a cartwheel, backflip, pirouette, Fosbury flop and a floor-slide to finish at the front door. Standing up, she dusted herself off (not that there was any dust to bother with) and turned to the shocked spiders.

  ‘You’ll have to try harder than that. I’m the BugKILLer – you can’t stop me,’ she said, smiling as she walked out of the front door.

  And right into the huge, thick, sticky mat of web that now covered the entire doorway.

  About the same time as Felicity Thrubwell was despairing at the uselessness of her cat, Audrey and Milton were scurrying to the sofa, where One Short handed them both a tiny tinfoil blanket. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, my webs, it was amazing! Better than amazing . . . what’s better than amazing?’

  ‘Spider-calla-friendship-istic-expi-arachnid-ocious!’ sang Ralph, rubbing his claws to warm up, making his own blanket crackle.

  ‘Your dad would be so proud, Milton.’ Audrey hugged her friends with her long legs. ‘There were spiders swinging everywhere!’

  ‘Well, it was certainly better than a flipping focus group!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I couldn’t see how far it went. Do you think we got the whole street?’ Once again, Milton wished for fingers so he could cross them.

  Then Zoe, who was uploading files from the tablet to the laptop, said, ‘Would you like to see your video, Ralph?’ She pressed ‘Play’ and the spiders stared, open-mouthed, at the screen.

  The footage was of Zoe, gently tying Ralph on to a small plastic soldier with strings attached to its shoulders. The spiders gasped as she picked him up and threw him out of the window! The view went a bit wobbly as Zoe filmed out into the night. A white parachute had opened above the toy soldier, and it and Ralph went flying through the air.

  ‘Ralph!’ squeaked Audrey. ‘That was so brave!’

  Milton was astonished. ‘You went Out The Front!’

  ‘I want a go,’ said One Short.

  ‘Yeah, it was OK,’ said Ralph, still looking a little pale. ‘Zoe’s idea – a sort of back-up plan. Me and a few mates gave Felicity Spider-Hater a new front door cover to keep her nice and cosy.’

  Mr Macey and the professor came in holding hands, Owen still dabbing at his eyes with a tissue. ‘What amazing creatures,’ he said. ‘Just say the word, Zoe.’ He took up his position as Chief Laptop Operator, hovered the mouse pointer over the ‘Tweet’ button and was just about to set the campaign into action when the doorbell rang.

  And then rang again, and twice more, accompanied by furious thumping.

  Zoe groaned. ‘Can we pretend we’re not here?’

  ‘The lights are all on. Give me a minute and I’ll get rid of them.’

  On seeing the creature in the doorway, Mr Macey gave a strangled cry. It was screaming and doing some kind of freaky dance. And wearing what looked like a onesie made out of spiderweb. ‘Halloween was last week!’ he squeaked.

  ‘GET IT OFF ME!!!’ shrieked Felicity, clawing at him.

  Mr Macey recognized the single rubber glove and took a step back, reluctant to touch the web, or Felicity Thrubwell, for that matter.

  Greta went to the front door to see what was going on.

  ‘This is your fault,’ screeched Felicity, poking a filthy finger through the web. She tore through the front of it until it was hanging off her shoulders like a supervillain’s cape. ‘My team are gearing up outside. Deadly spiders are swarming, they’re in the gardens, spreading like a disease! Owen, get away from this awful spider-woman and let me in. I can save you – there’s still a chance for us!’

  Back on the sofa, the spiders screamed and ran to Zoe for protection. Through the window they could see three figures in white suits approaching the house. The exterminators strapped on their Bug-Off backpacks, raised their killer Super Soakers in unison and took aim.

  The spiders held claws on the sofa and whimpered, and Zoe whispered to them reassuringly. She had an idea, and quickly tore a small piece of paper from a notebook. She wrote on it, picked up Milton and joined her dad and Greta by the front door.

  ‘I’m sorry you had a bad experience when you were little, Ms Thrubwell. But just because you’re scared, that’s no reason to spread lies and try to frighten other people.’

  Felicity ignored her and carried on pleading with Mr Macey. ‘Your poor child is delusional. She needs my help. Imagine her with one of those things crawling on her head, imagine the screaming.’ She scratched at a thin patch of hair under her hairnet. ‘Stand back. I MUST stop them.’

  ‘I think it’s you who needs our help, Ms Thrubwell,’ Zoe said, one hand behind her back. ‘I’d be happy to teach you how amazing and cool spiders really are. You just need to get to know them.’

  ‘It worked for me,’ said Mr Macey, smiling proudly at his daughter. Zoe held out her hand and gently uncurled her fingers to reveal Milton, sitting in her palm. Scared as he was, he smiled with all his might, and held up the tiny piece of paper Zoe had given him.

  It read:

  Hi, Felicity!

  Felicity Thrubwell and Milton blinked at one another for a moment and then Felicity grabbed her hair and screamed.

  Zoe put her left hand over Milton to protect him as he cowered from the noise.

  We’re going to need an extra leg on the scream-ometer for her.

  ‘Get away from me!’ cried Felicity. She turned to her lead exterminator and grabbed his spray hose. ‘Give me that. Does this stuff work on people?’

  Felicity was so furious that she didn’t notice Mr Macey filming her with his phone.

  The exterminator tugged the spray hose back. ‘You can’t spray them!’ he said. ‘This stuff is poisonous.’ He motioned with his head towards the big orange warning label on the backpack. ‘Look, it says “Dangerous to the environment, toxic to all living creatures, highly flammable. May cause irritation”.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ screamed Felicity, tussling with him for the hose. ‘I don’t care about the stupid environment and I
’ll exterminate as many living creatures as it takes to get rid of those deadly spiders. It’s worse than I thought – they’ve somehow infected those humans and persuaded them to teach them English. That spider just tried to hand me a message!’

  The exterminators looked at each other with concern. The leader, still struggling with Felicity, pulled hard on the spray hose, yanking it from her grip. ‘Sorry, guv. I think you might need to go home for a lie-down.’

  ‘I can’t go home!’ she wailed. ‘The spiders tried to trap me in my house. They’re out to get me, they always have been.’ And with that she ran down the street, tearing at the webs in front gardens, swiping the long loops between lamp posts and sheet webs on box hedges. It didn’t take long before she was as wrapped up in silk as a tasty bluebottle supper, and stuck to the Bramley Road street sign to boot.

  Her lead exterminator put his arm around her. ‘Come on, love. Let’s get you out of here.’ He rolled her along the pavement and into the van, being careful not to bump her head on the kerb.

  Greta stood on the doorstep, so astonished she seemed unable to close her mouth.

  ‘Some people just take longer to convince,’ said Zoe, shrugging. ‘I take it you’re going to put that video you just took online?’ she asked her dad.

  ‘It seems only fair,’ said Mr Macey. ‘She does like a sensational news story, after all.’

  Humans and spiders returned to the sofa and Mr Macey silently resumed his position at the laptop, avoiding the thirty-three eyes he assumed were glaring at him.

  Greta nudged him gently. ‘You can’t choose your neighbours.’

  Zoe put Milton down with his friends. ‘Do you think she’ll be back?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Professor Parker. ‘And if the campaign works, that will be the end of BugKILL! too. So, where were we?’ She smiled and began filming Zoe as she spoke into a plastic microphone.

  ‘And so begins the campaign to save the false widows from the cruel fate of this classic case of mistaken identity. Welcome, everyone, to the #NotScaredOfSpiders challenge. Tell us something amazing about arachnids. Go on . . . I dare you.’ Zoe gave her dad the thumbs up and Mr Macey clicked the mouse. #NotScaredOfSpiders was GO!