Arachnophobia ⇒ Peter Parker

twenty eight: a match and a scorpion

      Peter woke up, groggily. His room was cast in a thick black sheet of black, and a bitter coldness edged below his covers, engulfing him. His throat stung of a rough dryness, and he quickly swung his legs over the edge of his bed. After rubbing his eyes, Peter began to shuffle towards the kitchen. The room was dark, dimly lit by distance street lights and the wide moon that hung over the night like a brilliant diamond necklace. Flippantly, he stumbled forward and grabbed the cabinet handle that reflected a cool white light.

     Before yanking the cabinet open, he called for his aunt. It was odd to hear shuffling in her room at this late hour. After waiting for a moment, he heard no answer. He found his head shaking, but he quickly brushed off his worry and grabbed an old plastic cup out of his cupboard.

    Hiss. Peter jumped back and yelped as he saw a wide scorpion hanging from the edge of his cup. He was dreaming, he must be dreaming. The animals plump body was a thick black color. Its tallon reached up, grabbing at the air, and it moved forward and backward in a quick dance. Peter began to shake. To think that he almost missed the scorpion. He backed towards the light, still locking eyes with the large creature. His finger flipped the switch up. To no avail, he was met with the same dark room. He flicked the switch downwards again, and upwards, then downwards again. Peter looked out towards his window, and his eyebrow lifted in suspicion. The pavement below his apartment complex was lit. His apartment was the only one without power.

    "Aunt May," Peter squeaked. His voice shook and his knees buckled. He said the same phrase, but louder. He wanted nothing more than to run into her room, but he knew that he couldn't let the monster out of his vision. Peter had fought raging battles hundreds of feet up in the air and he had plummeted into the ocean, but this moment was more terrifying than anything he had experienced before. Maybe it was the darkness that engulfed the room, or the subtle reflection of the poisonous scorpion that roamed freely, or the fact that his aunt said nothing. There was one thing that bothered him. Who or what was behind this? He figured that it was pointless to call out, partially in fear that someone would respond. A stone hung at the bottom of his throat. A single tear found its way down his cheek. His fingers grasped a ball of his shirt.

     Peter was paralyzed. A loud footstep, with a clicking sole, floated through the room. He frantically looked around for someone, but he didn't see anything. Then another step rang out. A whimper left Peter's lips. His heart stopped as he heard a cool laughter.

    "Please leave me alone," he cried out. Then, the scorpion disappeared under a cloud of darkness. This cloud covered the area that once reflected dim street lights, and the apartment went pitch black. Peter could only assume this to be the silhouette of a man.

    "I could," The man said, "but then all of my work would be for nothing."

    Peter saw a flicker of light, a flame. He ran forward, but soon the red disappeared and he was met with a familiar scent, one of tobacco. Clouds of smoke ran past the man, and his vision was blurred with tears. The man sucked in a thick stream of smoke and allowed his eyelids to drift downwards. The stinging scent of the cigarette overwhelmed Peter, and he found himself inhaling more and more. His throat became dryer, and he coughed out. The scent became thicker and thicker. The man was getting closer.

    Finally, the man opened his lighter again. He had a bald head and menacing eyes. His most prominent feature was a deep scar that cut from his forehead to his eyes. The two watched each other, faces a mere foot away from each other. Peter's tears caught the reflection of the flame, turning a deep shade of orange. The man smiled in joy.

     The man chuckled lightly and said, "It's gratifying. To see little Peter Parker in the flesh." He took another puff of his cigarette. "And to think, you're mine." Quickly, Peter watched as the cigarette dropped and the man stumped it out with his black leather shoe. A strong pair of arms held Peter back. Peter struggled, helpless beneath what felt like an iron grip. He gasped for air.

    "I've come for you," the man whispered into his ear, "and I have a feeling we'll be having a lot of fun together."

    Peter then feel into a fit of coughs, and he wheezed in desperation for an ounce of fresh air. His chest rattled, but he pressed stationarily against the wall. The most frightening part of it all was that he was alone. Tony couldn't come in with his iron suit and take Peter away. Peter was alone, and it was dark, and he was facing a stranger.

     "I'm not leaving this apartment," Peter stuttered. At this, the man let a booming string of laughter, mixed in with lingering smoke, to run from his mouth to the pit of Peter's spine. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbox. He took out a match, leaving it centimeters away from the checkered side of the box. He inched in closer until his lips almost grazed Peter's ear.

     Quietly, he whispered, in a tone so quiet that Peter's ear struggled to hear the message, "Follow me or I burn this apartment to the ground."

     With those words, Peter let a last tear slide down his damp cheek. He knew what he had to do. His aunt was peacefully sleeping in the next room. His footsteps were slow and deliberate, as he followed the man to the door. Peter was thrown a jacket and guided out of his apartment.

     With this, Peter left his only family behind. However, he left behind so much more than that. He left behind his safety and everything he had previously known. The sequential events that followed would change his life and the lives of countless others. But Peter didn't realize this as he was blindly led forward past the doorway etched in slashes and the creeks of floorboards. Through a match and a threat, Rose finally became the enemy. It was too soon, and too late. But one thing was for sure, it was all at the wrong time.

     They trudged through the corridor, the man walking with a bounce to his step. The patering of footsteps was interrupted, and the man's voice rang out, "In the future, you'll envy this moment. The moment before you learned the name of your worst enemy. Embrace it, you're last second of innocence..."

     The two walked forward until Peter finally summoned the courage to say, "One name can't take away something that I've had my whole life."

      The man turned on his heels and grabbed Peter's collar. Peter found himself trapped, facing the wide frame of a man he'd barely met. The man said in a monotone voice, "The name's Mac to you."

     "And to others?"

     "Isaac."