The Stench of Spiders

My flashlight illuminated my way into the dark opening. I stared blankly at the 1 1/2' by 3' opening into a crawl space. I began to hate myself for the sudden fear that instantly washed over me. The small space was dark and damp and I could only think of one thing. My stomach heaved as I recognized the loathsome stench. It was the stench of spiders. I could almost hear the sound of their legs as they crept toward me, their unsuspecting prey. I could almost feel their teeth sinking into my skin, releasing their venom. 

But I was prepared. I held the hammer high above my head ready to lash out at the first spider I saw. A few of their webs became entangled in my hair. I quickly brushed them away as best I could. The soldiers were coming, marching across the dirt and I couldn't become distracted with webs in my hair. 

"I need the hammer." My father's voice interrupted my thoughts. Reluctantly, I pulled myself half into the crawl space and turned my only defense over to my father. I was now defenseless and positive I had seen a brown spider retreating into the shadows, waiting for me. I looked down at my hands, which were now covered in dirt and grime. Perhaps this served as a form of camouflage. I contemplated this and decided (rather quickly) that the only answer to that question was a resounding "NO". They had seen me and they would be coming. 

Dad returned my only weapon to me. I relaxed as I became armed once more. The nightmarish battle field was soon over. I stepped out into the sunlight as the breeze tickled my skin. I wiped away imaginary spiders. "You can't smell spiders." Dad complained. I'm pretty sure he was wrong. In the end the only casualty came to an unsuspecting wood tick that had made it's way up my arm. But I'm still nauseated from the stench of spiders.