by Wiebo Grobler

They’re all around the house. In the shower drain, up against the tiles even the bedside cabinets.
Hair spiders. Long, dark, bits of Drew’s hair. Rubbed together between her hands and left discarded like a mangled daddy longlegs.
Dave bent over the sink to spit out his tooth paste and found himself staring at another hair spider.
“Drew! Do you have to leave bits of yourself everywhere?”
“It’s so you can clone me when I’m gone!” she answered from the bed.
Dave gingerly picked up the hair spider between his thumb and forefinger and dropped it into the toilet. He shuddered in revulsion. The clumps of hair gave him the heebie-jeebies.
Dave switched off the en-suite light and climbed into bed. Drew snuggled closer rubbing a leg against his.
“I think you have more hair on your legs right now than your head,” Dave said giving her a hug.
“Shut up,” she replied, putting her face into his shoulder.
Dave smiled and promptly fell asleep.
In the quiet and the dark, the hair spiders started to move. Slowly at first, inching their way out of the shower drain and sliding down the tiled walls like tiny eels. The spider Dave had dropped into the toilet earlier plopped onto the floor. The hair spiders came together, forming a living, writhing mass that scuttled towards the bed.
It dragged itself up the bed leaving an oily, greasy stain on the duvet and onto Dave’s chest.
Dave’s eyes flew open and he sat up with a choked scream.
“What’s wrong?” Drew mumbled.
“Nightmare.” Dave lay back down, staring at the ceiling.
Underneath the bed, churning like molasses, a swirling mass of hair waited its turn.

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