By Larry Hodges

“Greetings, hallowed visitor,” I say as the housefly in shiny silver armor buzzes about my web. “What may I do for you?”

The fly lands on a nearby tree branch and stares at me with its compound eyes. How rude. 

“Bzzzzz bzzzzz?” it asks.

“My apologies, I don’t speak fly,” I say.

“Uneducated, huh?” the fly says in an ironically prissy voice. 

I rise up on all eight hairy legs. “I graduated top of my class at Spider Academy.”

“And I went to knight school,” it says. “Whoopie.”

I sigh. “My name is Prissy. Who are you?”

“Like all my kind, my name is Fly. I come in peace.”

“Then why are you holding a sword in your front-right tarsus?” 

“My what?”

Talk about uneducated. “Your hand.”

“Oh.” It looks down for a moment, which is awkward and comical-looking for a fly. I withhold my laughter.

“Okay, you got me,” says Fly. “With my sword, Pincushion, I’m here to kill you.”

“Wouldn’t it be a pincushion that gets stabbed?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Why do you want to slay me?”

“Slaying giant spiders is what knights do. Plus, I want your sh—”

“Language, please,” I interrupt. “Let’s keep a modicum of decency. There are damsels present.” I gesture with a leg toward the damselfly struggling in my web—lunch, assuming she dies on time. “So, you are not here to rescue this damselfly in distress? You only want my dung?” I gesture with another leg toward the huge pile behind my web, a fine variety from numerous forest creatures.

“Yes, I am here for your…dung.” 

“You can’t have it,” I say. “I used to collect coins and stamps, but they aren’t very good at attracting meals. You flies aren’t much into numismatics and philately.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” I say. “Should we get started? I have a busy afternoon. Dung piles don’t organize themselves.”

Fly raises Pincushion and spreads its wings. “Charge!” it cries as it swoops at me.

“A bit cliché, I say. Balancing on my belly, I raise all eight legs toward the incoming hero, shiny black obsidian blades clutched in each. 

“I’ll chop off your legs!” cries Fly.

“Actually, as soon as you go for one of my legs, I’ll pull that one back and chop you up with the other seven. It’s the standard Shelob-Charlotte Octo-One Maneuver. Surely you learned that in knight school?”

Fly swerves away just in time. It retreats to its original perch.

“Woe is me,” it says. “I didn’t know that maneuver. I haven’t actually graduated yet. I’m working my way through knight school night school as a lounge musician.”

“What instrument?”

“I’m the buzz section. Okay, I obviously can’t defeat you in mortal battle. But there’s something I know that you don’t know.”

“Let me guess. You’re really front-left handed?”

It tilts its head. “Whatever gave you that idea? No, I’m also a powerful sorcerer.” 

Another? I sigh. “What kind of sorcerer?”

“The usual sword and sorcery kind.”

“Okay. Then use your sorcery. Let’s get this over with.”

Its wings droop. “Actually, I only have one spell.” It looks up. “But it’s a good one!”

“Well, whatever it is, please bring it on. I’m getting hungry for lunch.” I glance at the still-struggling damselfly. “My lunch is hungry too. I forgot to feed her. Sorry!

“No problem,” the damselfly calls back.

“Okay,” Fly says, “but I warn you I have mighty magic!”

I shrug my eight shoulders. “Do you mind if I attack you while you cast your one spell?”

“Actually, that would complicate things. It’s a rather tricky spell, so if you could hold back.”

“We’ll compromise. I’ll charge you slowly.” I calculate Fly is four steps away.

“That sounds fair. Um, let’s begin. Let’s see—”

I take the first step of my methodical charge, one slow-moving leg at a time. Now, if you’ve ever seen video of a hairy brown spider like me stepping one leg at a time, you know it’s chilling. We practice this in front of mirrors at Spider Academy. 

“Hocus Anura, something or other,” Fly says. 

I take a second step.

“There’s a longer word next, let me see, it starts with t, rhymes with bus…hmm.” It grabs a pamphlet from a belt.

I take a third step. 

“Could we take a short break?” Fly asks as it furiously pages through the pamphlet.

I take my final step and reorganize my meal plans, fly for lunch, damselfly for dinner. I reach toward it with four armed legs and my fangs.

“Aha! Fly cries. “Hocus Anura Triadobatrachus!” 

I feel a familiar tingling. Four of my legs fall off; the hair on the other four fall off as my body grows smooth and green. The two legs in back are now huge. My mouth grows wide and my fangs fall out. 

“I have turned you into a frog!” cries Fly, gleefully darting about. 

“Indeed, you have,” I say. Here we go again…

“And now that my sorcery has turned you into a helpless, fangless amphibian, I shall cut you to pieces, and then I shall have your dung!” It raises Pincushion and flies at me, screaming, “Bzzzzzzzzzz!!! 

“You’ve made a grievous mistake,” I say.

“Huh?”

I flick my sticky tongue out, hitting the side of Pincushion and tossing it aside. A second flick captures the fly and I have lunch. It’s yummy, though a bit greasy. You’d think they’d teach a better spell at knight school. 

“Want some?” I ask the damselfly.

“Love to,” she says. I regurgitate a couple of still-quivering legs and feed my lunch to my dinner. Damselflies are the beauties of the carnivorous insect world. She’s two weeks old and will die of old age later today, after which, I’ll eat her too. 

Then I’ll hop out to the countryside, and for the umpteenth time, find a human princess to kiss me and transform me back into a spider.