So I spent almost all night experimenting.
Yup. Great choice. And it's noon right now, and I just woke up with neck pain, drooling on the window. I must have spent so much time puppeteering that mass of spiders that I turned into a deranged Disney emo princess.
Oh, well, I mean I did cut myself a bit yesterday, so I guess it wasn't that big of a leap.
But anyway, I've got to get this on the page now, cause I was too lazy to do it yesterday.
At first, I stuck to shapes. Circles. hearts. Then I showed them the middle finger. The spiders responded every time, swirling around my front yard like I commanded them to. And I swear they were getting better at it by the hour, like they were learning from me. Or I was learning from them. I don't know.
Then I started testing commands.
I haven't really gotten it down yet, not with a notebook and hypotheses or whatever, but I kind of get it.
"Stay still." Worked. Kind of. They twitched a lot, like they really had to go pee. But they did sort of stop moving.
"Go over there."
They did move. Not sharply, not in unison, not very far, either, but still … they did what I said. Awesome.
They made the shapes I showed them, and they listened to me when I told them to get away from me, even though they're all supposed to be mindless and just wanting to eat me … it's like we're best buddies!
Well, it was.
Until about 5 a.m.
Then it all changed.
They started panicking in an instant, full-freakout mode. All the billions of them started falling over and scattering in every direction. They forgot all about me and ran. Some dove into storm drains. Others actually tried digging into the dirt—but most of them didn't make it. The sun got them.
My poor little murder friends. RIP in peace. May the afterlife be forever dark and slightly moist.
Anyway, I guess I fell asleep just a bit after that. Probably the adrenaline crash.
Terry's blown me up on WhatsApp. Looks like he stayed in Reception until two in the morning, poor guy. And since it's… twelve fourteen… I've ghosted him for roughly ten hours. Oops. I'll pretend I was unconscious from menstrual pain. He won't question it.s
But I've got to get ready for work. I've got the night shift.
***
There's three of us working in Reception this evening, so I'm teaching Terry how to stop sweating on the job and chill the hell out. God, he looks nervous. He keeps shooting me these side-eyes like, 'Why are you writing in your diary again? We're on the job.' Despite what's written on his contract and what Cara thinks, he's still the new guy—and I'm still his senior and mentor—so he doesn't dare question me. Yet.
So, Angelica is sitting at the front desk, waiting for people to show up, while Terry and I are supposed to be finishing up a couple of rooms following last-minute reservations.
In reality, we finished doing that five minutes ago, and I'm lying on the freshly made bed, writing this with my shoes still on like the classy bitch I am. Well, I can't take them off, can I? I'm on the clock. I need the downtime, though.
I feel like there are spiders still in my head. I haven't seen any since last night, obviously, but I can still feel them; it's like a humming behind my eyes. And the whispering has been going on all day, too. That's from them, I'm sure of it now. I guess the reason I've been hearing them from my feet is because they're all underground during the day. God, I really need to figure this stuff out. What if I've got like a fatal disease or something? I've never heard of anything like this.
But anyway, Terry is pacing around in front of me like a nervous little Roomba. Oh no, maybe he's somehow found out that I can command murder spiders ... Nah, he's probably just all uptight because he's still on his trial period here at his job. I told him to help himself to the Cokes we brought to stock the minibar, but he's too stiff to actually do it.
I wonder if I can trust him not to snitch to Cara that I've been chilling on the bed, actually. He needs me right now, but what about when he's fully trained up and capable of logging into the PMS on his own? I think I'll spin this as a drill: 'Fix the bed before the guests show up. You've got ten seconds! Go! And make that towel look like a swan! '
Haha. Yeah, I'm gonna do just that. I'm such a good mentor. See you later, Diary.
***
Welp, I'm alone at the front desk now. It's eleven forty-three, my eyes are drooping, and I'm writing this just to keep myself awake.
Everyone else has already gone home. Pierre from F&B was the last to stay with me, cleaning up the bar and everything after last call. The kitchen shut down way before that, and We-need-to-cut-unnecessary-expenses Cara made sure to get rid of both Angelica and Terry even earlier, leaving me to handle the last late check-in all by my lonesome.
The guests called ahead, said they'd be here by now, but clearly, that was a filthy lie. Who could have possibly foreseen such a thing? Anyone with a brain, honestly.
But it's not so bad. I'm getting paid to sit on my ass and wait. So technically, I'm winning. However, winning does not necessarily mean staying awake; ergo, my latest contributions to you, my diary.
I cleaned up the desk and got everything neat and tidy for the morning shift, even though I know I won't be thanked for it. I swept the wine cellar and all the cupboards for spiders a second time. I … oh, wait, I actually didn't do that yet.
I forgot to turn off the sauna. I'll get to that now.
***
It's eleven fifty-nine … the guests are still yet to arrive…
I turned off the sauna, and now I'm patrolling around the LED light strip around the hotel. There are spiders all around it, obviously, skittering just along the edge of the light. They're making this shk-shk-shk sound, I can hear it over all the little skittery noises of them crawling over each other. There are way fewer of them around here than there usually are around my house, I'm just noticing. The pile isn't even half as tall as I am—if I stepped into it, I'd probably only be ankle-deep. This even though yesterday, at my place, they got all the way to my second-floor window.
Seems unfair.
Oh, well. Life is cruel. Even just one of them things is lethal, so I guess it doesn't really matter, anyway. Maybe the hotel has some extra protection or something because its high-end.
And least there's enough of them so it's not quiet, and I've still got my freaky little superpower (just tested it again—I'm still the reigning Queen of Murder Spiders, thank you very much, provided I'm not crazy and hallucinating). Maybe I should actually be happy my house is a spider hangout spot.
But yeah, the guests still aren't here. I'm bored. And it's cold out here. I've got goosebumps all over. I'm going back inside and to the front desk.