Arachnophobia Vs. Nyctophobia

I started exhibiting symptoms of a science-oriented curious brain at quite a young age. My parents have always been proud of this exceptional quality of mine, although the treatment I got at their hands in response to my scientific endeavours on home appliances often rendered their vanity suspicious. I even, instinctively, began to adhere to the traditions set by some of the greatest scientists in history during early boyhood. Like Archimedes, I once ran naked straight out of the bath into the street; the reason for this though, was not any significant scientific discovery, but the god-damn power shut down! It went pitch black in the bathroom all of a sudden, and I used to be acutely scared of darkness in those days. Fortunately, this act of mine did not receive a great deal of resentment from my neighbours, since unlike Archi, I hardly had any hair-growth on my chest by then. Nevertheless, this incident reinforced my faith in my divine bond with the scientific community.

Over the years that fear of darkness has died out eventually; so much so that now I don’t like even a single ray of light in my room when I go to bed. Another reason for this behavioural transformation is the myopia that has irked my vision since the last few years. In the zero-powered nightlight, every object around me seems to be casting itself into a horrific silhouette, so I prefer no light over little light to be at ease with my surroundings.

But last night was one of those when the bladder starts confusing itself with the heart, and so pumps at the speed of the latter. (Luckily it doesn’t happen vice versa, or the heart will extrude all the blood out of the body; spooky!!) Consequently I had to pay frequent visits to the toilet. And so it happened that when I felt the need to answer the nature’s call for the gazzillionth time, I pulled the string to turn on the little lamp perching on the wall above my head. Lo and behold! On the bit of wall right in front of my nose, adjacent to my pillow, sat a gigantic black spider staring at me in the most seductive of fashions deemed permissible for an atrocious arachnid!

Terror-struck, I could neither move nor take my eyes off that thing, as if this was the moment I had longed for all my life; as if I had always been keen to be this close to an eight-legged freak! (Not to mention, I have had closer encounters with two-legged freaks innumerable times!!) When I finally regained my senses after this brief eye-to-four-eye contact with the creature, I shuddered. Now several thoughts raced through my mind in that ghastly aura. What if it were some extra-material creature, a ghost disguising as a spider, just to be as close to a human being as it could for some, say, scientific research motives? After all it would take nerves of steel for an ordinary mortal being to take on all the stink of my breath while I am asleep. I myself have to plug bits of cotton into my nostrils to avoid nausea. With that thought the scientist in me started adoring the poor creature’s venture, its transcendence of unphysical boundaries, all in the name of science. But something made me sure if that was the case, it was now begging for emancipation from the ordeal it had impelled itself into, with the most erroneous and remorseful choice of a specimen.

The next notion to hit me was that of it being actually a mechanical object devised by some researcher for spying purposes. I remember I once shared a double room in a hotel for a night with a robotics’ expert. Early next morning a team of some members of a wildlife preservation organisation raided our room, having been called in by my room mate, reporting a skunk sheltering in the room. They found nothing. It was only later that he realised what the real matter was, upon watching me unplugging my nose. Leaving, he had remarked that he had learnt a crucial lesson last night; that human body still needed a lot more dedicated research than robots did. He also said that I would make his ideal exemplar for undertaking of such a research. I wondered why he had said so until last night. It could be his pursuit to solve the mysteries of nature that haunted the far depths of my lungs.

Another perception to cross my mind was that it could be a saint, who had reached such epitomes of spirituality that he was granted the power to take on whatever form he wished, in order to meditate serenely. He could have well, been in a state of nirvana! But then, why would a saint encroach into a person’s rest place, in order to practice spirituality? And that too, in font of a person even the looks of who would not only put him off his meditation but also make him doubt God’s aesthetic sense, and thus commit a terrible sin.

A slight dislocation on the wall made me jerk off all the speculations and I had to resort to the conclusion that it was a living entity, neither a robot nor a pretentious poltergeist. So naturally the next thing to worry about was how to endow its ultimate destiny upon it, which it had asked for by that vicious act of trespassing. A desi-style wild blow of slipper should do the job, I thought, but only if it were a living creature, while I was still a bit sceptic about it being one. What if it pounced back on me, and clasped my face? But that wasn’t a big threat; I knew I had enough oil in my skin to even make a star-fish skid off. But the real fret was that of effectively hitting it, for its escape would result in many more such nights of bladder-heart juxtaposition.

I have been doing plenty of target-practicing recently. The very last time I did that was at a local club, on a dart board. Spent a good hundred Quids in that session, thirty of which went to buying the games, and the rest were all used up in replacing the chipboard sheet behind the dart board. My sensational target-hitting spree had carved out a circular piece in the chipboard along the circumference of the dart board, and both eventually fell off the wall. The astounded spectators as well as the manager of the club highly appreciated my immaculate consistency. The recollection of that experience helped me muster up my courage and I immediately decided to act quickly in accordance with my earlier resolution.

So I sneaked out of my bed, as smoothly as I could, so as not to unveil my intentions to the unfortunate brute. I grabbed my slipper, walked up to it and banged with as much force as I could. To my surprise, as soon as I removed the slipper from on top of it, it raised its hand and gave me a wicked grin. To be honest, that was a solace to some extent, for there was at least one soul on earth that had an uglier set of jaws than I did. My earlier doubts started to revive - it wasn’t a living creature! A wave of fear ran through my body, and in sheer anguish I gave it another, stronger blow.

I heard a squeak and, to my relief, this time I had managed to stomp it flat against the wall. Strange as it seemed, how could it survive the first blow? Unintentionally my eyes wandered to the sole of the slipper, and I found a big hole in it - the result of a similar attempt at a little splodge out in the lawn of my house, assuming it to be some hideous creep. But that was while wearing the slipper in my foot and the blot turned out to be a hose-pipe joint protruding off the ground.

And so, I ended up triumphant in my effort but, I couldn’t sleep the whole after that. Not that I was afraid anymore, as the fate that victim had met should have taught a vital lesson to all the members of its species. The reason was, again, the Methodist in me! Just as a precaution, I thought I should leave the light on, and as an experiment I spent hours trying to sleep with open eyes - if a little worthless creature could defy its limitations, why couldn’t I?