It Begins

The other day a small hole was observed in the Easter egg Lester kept on the top of his chest of drawers. It, the egg that is, had sat on a stack of papers, pressing them down and making sure none floated away, which were roughly divided into two stacks in an old fashioned public school In and Out tray rescued from a second hand shop for next to nothing. The papers were not separated into in and out. They were just kept there. Kept there to be gone thorough. Later. And to not be thrown away. Lester once found a cheque amongst his things, but it proved to be too old, and the bank would not honour it, despite the fact that it was legitimate, completely legitimate, and the effect of not honouring it was that money that should have gone into Lester’s account three years earlier disappeared into the ether. Or more accurately remained in the vast reserves of cash held by the company which had owed Lester, and thus issued a cheque to pay him, in acknowledgement of this debt, which it was now certain would not and could not be paid. Lester wasn’t pleased with the Australian banking system. It had let him down again, perhaps for the second time.

But the hole. The hole in the chocolate Easter egg – months old, and not first quality chocolate anyway, but good enough, if you’re a chocolate fiend, good enough to break up and shovel in in handfuls. Lester had done this when he was younger. Often. In fact Lester had done such a lot of shovelling that Easter had usually come as a bit of a let down because it was just more stuffing his face with confectionery and that wasn’t any different to thousands of other days over the course of his childhood.

But the hole. The hole was neat and smallish, not too small, and looked like it had been expertly drilled by a man with a very small implement. Or a woman with a very small implement. Like it had been drilled by a tine human with a very small drill-like implement, and for some reason Lester imagined the drill used to make this whole being one of those old-fashioned winding drills that turn the bit as you wind. He wasn’t sure why it made him think of this.

But this train of thought wasn’t practical and Lester didn’t break the egg open. He merely thought about small hominids wielding non-power tools on the top of his chest of drawers.

And so Lester was completely unprepared when cracks formed along the surface of the chocolate and splits formed on the foil packaging, and there slowly emerged an immature but sizable spider with red and yellow, and more red, markings.

Lester was taken aback.

They were here.

Published in: on April 6, 2011 at 8:06 pm  Leave a Comment  

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