Original Fairy Tale Challenge: "The Spider and the Fairy" -- by Marlene Simonette

The Spider and the Fairy

There once was a spider so bulbous and large, that even the most short-sighted fool could see it coming. Because of this, the spider soon starved and shriveled til it was the size of a dime.

Intending to die, it found a small crack in the rocks, and crawled inside. There, it found an abundance of small beetles and insects. Soon, it began to grow again.

When it was about the size of a quarter, the spider moved house to a better crevice further up. The occasional fairy flew into this new crevice; the spider caught the occasional fairy. It began to grow quite fond of the sweet, tangy magic that flowed through their veins.

The spider grew bolder (or perhaps more desperate, for fairies came less and less often to its abode). Now the size of a half-dollar, it crawled from its crevice, and set up home in the trees.

The very first fairy it caught—near dawn, shortly after the dispersion of a nearby fairy ring—struggled and pleaded. Her delicate wings fluttered and tangled in the spider’s sticky threads. “Please,” she gasped. “I can grant wishes!”

Legs poised above the fairy’s head, the spider paused. Even the spider’s weak eyes could tell that she seemed fair; slim, with long dark hair, and a gown covered with things that glittered in the light.

Slowly, the spider set its legs by the fairy’s head. Resisting the urge to inject the fairy with venom, it asked, “Will you grant me the wish to always have prey available?” If the spider had been a bit clever, it would have specified what kind of prey, or at least said “desired” prey. But, alas, it was not (though this may have been because of its extreme hunger, for fairy blood leaves behind it a hollow emptiness.)

The fairy shied away from the spider’s touch as much as she could. Shivering, she shrieked, “Yes!”

The spider cackled as only spiders can: a rattling, hissing sound that sent nearby insects scuttling away, and even caught the attention of a few birds which quickly flitted to another tree. The spider began untangling the fairy, imagining the troops of food that would doubtlessly be forthcoming. When the fairy was almost freed (only one leg and part of a hand remained stuck), the spider noticed something.

Some of the glittering baubles were hard, like rock. Some were sharp, like broken glass. Some brushed away as soon as they were touched, like the morning dew.

Now freed, the sharp-featured night fairy (for that’s what she was) giggled deviously. “I’ll still grant your wish. Though you probably won’t like it.”

The spider was cursed to remain small—about the size of a pinhead.

More often than not, the insects that came by were large enough to break its delicate web. But it always had food coming to it.