There isn't anything creepier then sitting down on my favorite chair, setting my coffee mug down next to me and feeling the brush of a skittering little devil racing by my hand. Spiders seem to pop up when you least expect them: from under the covers, from behind the clothes you laid out the night before, from inside your shoe. They hide and nest where they can then spring out because you've invaded their home. If they were cute and fuzzy like a kitten or a hamster it would totally different. No, instead they're covered in legs, little jointed needles that snap and move in perfect unison. They scurry sideways, stop, rotate, then shuffle along bringing up images of alien creatures inhabiting hostile worlds. The damned things freak me out.

Most fears come from early childhood experience and mine isn't any different. When I was a toddler my father bought me my first big boy bed at a garage sale. It wasn't one of those cool race car beds that you see at Toys R Us or Sears, but an old full-sized bed complete with a deep headboard. I remember being excited about moving up in the world to a bigger bed. My first night was anything but bliss.

I woke my parents up numerous times from a rash that came out of nowhere. It persisted, getting worse each night. I remember writhing and itching from the stinging sensation. Then they took me to the doctor who told them it was spider bites. Lots of them. They went back home and started checking out the house for nests but couldn't track any down. Then my dad thought about the bed and popped open the headboard only to find a huge nest full of spiders! They spilled out and started on the run. We all jumped and danced, mostly my dad stomping the shit out of them. I got better but every time I see one of those little bastards my skin crawls from the physical memory. I know they provide a wonderful service to nature but just do it outside and out of view because me skin is starting to itch just thinking about it.