The Petting Zoo by Peter de Niverville Coasting forward, Johnson scanned the road looking for the turnoff. About one hundred yards ahead, he saw a lane that intersected with the highway. Flicking on his turn signal, he shot a quick glance at his watch. Punching the buttons on the CD player, he stretched his arms, settling back into the soft leather seat. As the throbbing beat of Queen filled the Lexus, his mood lightened - an unexpected adventure in an otherwise boring day. Endless meetings with bad food and balding buyers. Too many drinks and too many hangovers. He was packing on the pounds, too. I have to get back to the gym, he reminded himself. Top sales rep for the last three years. I should have been an actor, he told himself. Instead I'm selling toilet paper and tampons to these turkeys. Mile after mile slipped by. Johnson felt that he and the car had become one, soaring along like a hawk on a summer breeze. The condition of the road deteriorated. Introduction: In 1890 AD, William Booth, church minister and founder of the Salvation Army, was influenced by Heinroth's 1818 AD book and adopted the view that men. Full online text of The Petting Zoo by Peter de Niverville. Other short stories by Peter de Niverville also available along with many others by classic and. The Conan Saga, by Robert E. Nothing in this article is to be considered as an attempt to advance any theory in opposition to accepted history. MING ©2005 by C.A.Smith. In collaboration with a real, live Ming. Was it bravery or boredom that had made her do it? Asphalt gave way to chip- seal, which gave way to gravel; and, finally ended up as dirt. Cursing the delay, he checked his watch again. Get an answer for 'In Lord of the Flies, what is the significance of Roger being described as a "hangman"?' and find homework help for other Lord of the Flies. The long drive down the country road had dulled his sense of time. I better turn around, he cautioned himself. An old farm house set back from the road. If it hadn't been for the pothole, he would have missed it completely. By the mailbox, a freshly painted sign read: ELSWORTH'S FAMOUSSPIDER PETTING ZOOOPEN YEAR ROUNDALL VISITORS WELCOME This must be the place, he concluded. Carefully turning up the heavily rutted lane, Johnson wondered what he would find. Perhaps one of the locals playing a joke on the tourists, he mused. In the untilled fields, scrubby bushes had sprung up like mushrooms. Johnson tried to imagine what the farm looked like in better days, but it was impossible. Blistered paint hung from the wooden shingles and there was a disturbing sag in the middle of the roof. What once had been the side garden was now occupied by tall thistles and a mass of tangled timbers indicated the former site of the main barn. In response to his question, an old woman dressed in a black skirt and a woolen sweater stepped out the side door. She was gnarled and withered like the lone apple tree that stood in the yard. An Inmate Who Escaped Tells the. Day-To-Day Facts of One Year of His. Torturous Experiences. THE DAILY STUDY BIBLE SERIES REVISED EDITION. THE LETTER TO THE ROMANS. Translated with an Introduction and Interpretation. Sir Walter Scott, Bart. Formerly Head Master of the High School. Homecoming Gallows Dance. Johnson guessed she must have been at least 7. He out back choppin' wood. Charming, thought Johnson. Despite the poverty, the farm had a certain rustic appeal which reminded him of the house that he grew up in in the country. On most farms the low buzz of the black swarms was constant. But here there was none. Except for the moaning of the wind, it was quiet. Or maybe it was the stiff breeze at the top of the hill that kept them at bay. It was after 5 o'clock. If he did not get back on the road soon, he would be late for his appointment. Either that or skip his shower. After driving all day, Johnson did not want to skip the soothing ritual. Just then the old woman reappeared and behind her an even more wizened up old man wearing faded blue overalls and a nicotine- stained undershirt. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he paused momentarily to study Johnson. Taking another quick glance at his watch, he said irritably, . But this better be good! Johnson did not like the old man's greedy look and hastily shoved his wallet back in his pants pocket. Looking it over carefully, he folded it up neatly, stuck it in his pocket and said, . Inside, the dim glow of fluorescent tubes highlighted the dozen plywood shelves that ran along the walls. In contrast to the rest of the farm, the shed was neat, almost antiseptic in appearance. Sitting on each shelve was a glass terrarium filled with twigs and rocks. In the case closest to Johnson, a small garden spider was spinning a web in the corner. Catch bugs, drop 'em in. How did he guess my secret? Johnson felt the warm rush of blood to his neck and ears as he started to blush. Most folks are scared of spiders. Me and spiders git along real good. Johnson looked down and saw that a streak of the sticky black tobacco had splashed on his shoes. Cows, horses, dogs - they're all the same. Breed the best with the best and you git the best. I keep her in the barn. She kinda makes these critters nervous. I can't say, I blames them. He wanted to say no, but he could not let the old man see he was afraid. A shiny new lock on a rusted hasp yielded to the old man's key. Inside it was pitch black. What was it that made him apprehensive? His mouth felt dry and he tried to swallow. At first, he could not feel anything. Then slowly groping the air in, he caught hold of it. Johnson's heart leapt in relief. But there was something strange. The line didn't feel like string. Something rustled in the rafters above him and bits of straw floated down. The dried- out wooden door was like iron. Pausing to catch his breath, his fists throbbing, Johnson looked around. Slowly his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. What appeared to be a black chasm was, in fact, the side entrance to the barn. There must be another way out, he thought. And beyond that a boarded- up window through which thin shafts of sunlight streamed. All I have to do is cross the barn, pull off one or two of those boards and climb out, thought Johnson. Then I'll show that old man. He'll wish I had never stopped. He thinks he's going to scare me. You just keep that up, old man. Be careful, he cautioned himself. This barn must be full of junk. Don't want to fall down and get hurt. Licking the sweat off his upper lip, Johnson slowly picked his way across the wide wooden- planked barn floor, being careful not to trip. Shadows of old machinery and tools loomed around him. A leather harness that hung from the wall looked like a hangman's noose. It reminded him of a package of chicken that he once left in the trunk of his car on a hot summer day. It was the sickly, sweet scent of rotting meat. There's a dead animal in here. Blocking his exit were three boards nailed haphazardly into the frame. I can probably pull them off with my bare hands, he smiled triumphantly. Light streamed in as it came away from the frame. Then he shifted his attention to the second one - the board in the middle. If he could get this one off, he could easily climb out. It was like the old door of the barn, dried out and as tough as steel. The nails squealed in protest and the board started to move. Only a little bit further, grunted Johnson. The thought of throttling the old man excited him. Just a bit further.. He could almost feel his fingers closing around the old man's scrawny neck.. Desperately, Johnson yanked at the board, but it was no use. Balancing on one foot, he braced his other against the window frame and started pulling again. The muscles in his forearms and back bulged as he strained against the board. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes. Come on, he pleaded with the wood. Like a blind man with his cane. Warm blood trickled from his nose and ran down his cheek. It was crouched inside an empty stall along the opposite wall. The legs tensed ready to spring. No doubt one of the old man's experiments. But this was no ordinary spider. About the size of a pit bull, with legs that extended out three or four feet on either side. Its eyes stared coldly at him. Except for his bloody nose, he was unharmed. Perhaps the large size of the creature made it difficult for it to mount an attack, he conjectured. Possibly it did not even recognize him as prey. Invariably, after pouncing on the object, the spider would pluck it out of the web, turn it over and drop it on the ground. Johnson hoped this spider would show the same lack of interest. Spiders are cautious, he told himself. It's waiting for me to make the next move. Although every fiber in his body screamed run, his brain told him stay still. The spider was too big and too fast to out- run. Quickly looking about, he saw the rotten board from the window lying at his feet. It was about two feet long with a jagged point at one end. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up. Johnson froze - his fingers only inches from the board. Deliberately, it began to move forward. Johnson was amazed by the creature's grace. Like a ballerina tiptoeing in from the darkened wings of a theatre, it was a marvel of beauty and design. The body, covered by fine grey hair, had the look of velvet, while the eight legs that extended from the thorax provided speed and balance. Johnson quickly knocked it away with his hand. The creature stopped and cocked its plate- sized head to one side. The eight eyes looked like black fists. Then the leg came forward again. At the tip, Johnson could see the spike- like claw for catching prey. It touched his left shoulder. Through his jacket he could feel the sharp point digging into his skin. Johnson winced and stepped backwards into the wall. But there was no place to go. Slowly, the other foreleg came forward. Johnson recoiled, trying to ward off the attack with his free arm. But the creature was too strong. It brushed his arm aside, as if it was a piece of lint, and planted a second claw into his other shoulder. For a brief moment, he and the creature looked into each other's eyes. It was almost like love. Then he saw the six- inch fangs that extended from the head. Drops of venom gleamed in the half- light. He watched in fascination as the cruel daggers arched high over him; then he screamed as they plunged deeply into his chest. Instantly, white hot pain ripped through his body. The spider had retreated back to the stall. Johnson knew that he only had a minute or two before the poison paralyzed him. Grabbing at the board, he yanked and pulled, to no avail. Already the venom was having its effect. His hands were numb and his arms felt like lead. Gasping for air, he threw himself at the boards again and again. Great sobs shook his body as he slumped to the floor. What is she waiting for? Why doesn't she finish me off? Shimmering like a great overcoat, there was something on the spider's back. It moved and undulated like a small wave flowing back and forth. Then a piece of the wave pulled away and dropped to the floor.
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