Michael J. Piatt
The velvet black spider, confident of its lethal venom, crept silently closer as its microscopically perceptive eyes, glistening in the darkness, shifted like laser beams across the room, assuring a rapid precision first strike on the motionless hand extending over the edge of the bed. A slit of light through the door, a footstep on the oak floor hardened by the ages vibrates underneath, a dark shadow from overhead, collapsing like the lens of a high speed camera, first a light touch, followed by suffocating pressure, then all went dark with the sound of SPLAT.
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