***
Cobwebs
'I hate the cobwebs, Earl', Toll said.
'Yeah. So, what do you like to do about it', Toll said.
'I am being paid to do a job, and I'm doing it', Earl said.
'Look, if it's your wife is nagging you'.
'No'.
'Good. Because women nag, bitch, and piss you off'.
'That is why you're single, Earl'.
'Exactly. There's no marriage contract; there's no rose ceremony like on The Bachelor; there's all kinds of things like out of a horror story', Toll said.
Earl nodded, and checked the spiders.
***
The spiders were hatching.
'Jesus!', Earl shuddered.
He grabbed his favorite gloves.
He didn't like the 1930's-era house.
Spiders crawled in all kinds of spaces.
He ripped the webs with his hands.
The webbing came out, and landed on the soft, dark, ground. Toll was away. Maybe he is coming back, Earl asked himself. He remembered Olsen Patterson, the former owner, had committed suicide in the room upstairs in 1929. It was the year of the Stock Market crash, and the Great Depression of the 1930's, created job losses across America.
Earl looked at the cobwebs.
He backed away, and heard the sound of footsteps.
As he turned around, the shadows of the cobwebs caused him to yell in fright. 'Earl!', Toll screamed.
'I'm alright'.
'Good. Let's get the out of here'.
It was the best thing for the tradesmen to do.
Inside, the spiders still crawled on the walls.
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