An arachnid focused its four pairs of eyes, including a large, forward-facing principal pair, on a fly’s erratic motions.
Those large eyes gave the jumping spider exceptional vision. It had been tracking the fly ever since the insect had blundered, over and over, against the glass window pane. The spider’s pair of central eyes fixated on the winged bug like a pair of tiny binoculars.
The patient stalker perched on the rim of a disposable cup that had been abandoned on the window sill. It hadn’t attacked when the insect had flung itself vehemently and repeatedly against the glass. But it kept its eyes, all eight of them, on the fly.
With a furry body and almost comically inquisitive expression conveyed by the impressive eyes, the spider might have struck a human observer as similar to some shaggy, friendly Muppet.
Brad, clueless to the proximity of the motionless predator, turned back from the edge of the window sill, having decided not to fling himself to the distant floor. Without the capacity for flight, the floor was definitely the last place he wanted to be.
The spider tensed as Brad wandered closer to its location. It didn’t move, although the fly was almost within reach. The spider could easily have leapt halfway across the windowsill, but it was a creature of precision.
It would wait.
Brad listlessly returned to some of the fly corpses littered over the terrain of the window sill. Why had so many fellow flies perished here, seemingly as dry husks of their former selves?
He buzzed his wings, a distracted response to the puzzle.
A thread of silk trailing out behind as an emergency lifeline, the spider leaped.
Brad’s vision was also excellent, but not in the same league as the spider’s. But he did instantly detect the leaping, furry monstrosity.
“Fuck!” Brad screamed silently.
Unfortunately, it was far too late to evade the terrifying creature.
Two fangs pierced through the fly’s thorax right behind the head and huge eyes.
The stinging sensation from the double stabs lasted only an instant, but he felt almost instantly sluggish as the venom enfeebled him farther.
Too late, he realized why the other flies littering the windowsill had been sucked dry. As his eyes communicated a multitude of images to his brain, Brad saw nothing remotely cute about the arachnid.
Two tufts of stiff, dark hairs gave the spider’s face a horned look, which easily conjured darker, diabolical connotations. The four large glossy dark eyes expressed no emotion as the spider worked its mandibles and injected more venom to liquify its prey’s insides.
Brad’s six legs crumpled and twitched. He was lifted off the counter by the spider.
His eyes kept communicating to his brain, which was having trouble accepting that the dime-sized spider, something he could have crushed beneath the pad on a single fingertip, had so easily conquered him.
The cooperation between eyes and brain had almost, but not quite, collapsed by the time the spider began to actively feed, sparing Brad most of the sensations from the gruesomely neat process.
A short time later, the spider tossed aside the sucked-dry corpse and went off to find a new hiding place for its next ambush, leaving Brad one more empty husk on the window sill.