Erin Calamari-Kirwan
Webs in the Forest
Acrylic and Colored Pencil
Widowed Noir​
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The walk from my web to the city did a number on my hindlegs. Pausing for a breath, I adjusted my trilby so it covered most of my eyes and headed into the police station.
When I got past the receptionist things were already in motion. Wings buzzing, arms waving, cricket-legs chirping, and at the center of it all: Mayor Bumble. Not actually a bumblebee but a bee fly. He’d been in charge for the last 12 years. An impressive run, if he weren’t lining crooked bureaucrats pockets to maintain it. And here he was screaming red in the face of Officer Stag about “clearing the scene up”.
“I assume this ‘scene’ is the one I was called to investigate.” The room stopped dead. Nobody but Officer Stag moved a wing.
“Detective! Just the man I’ve been looking for! Come join Mr. Mayor and I and I’ll give you the lowdown.”
Now the patrol vehicles, though large still, weren't designed for spiders like me so I crammed into the backseat. He parked the car out front an exotic dancing parlor and my heart skipped a beat. In my younger years , a dance here from Anastasia was my Friday night. She was the only one in this damn city that wouldn’t look at me like I was about to eat them. I missed those days.
Officer Stag took us to a back alley while Mayor Bumble continued shouting about this and that. He even threw out a few terms that are - shall we say - less than polite in reference to spiders. I let it slide. As we approached two more beetle cops blocking a right hand turn in the alley Officer Stag explained the situation. Said one of the dancers was - according to the Mayor - involved in a trafficking ring and had stolen his newborn baby. He chased her back here when some big spider came along and…
I rounded the corner and there she was. The prettiest moth I’d ever laid eyes on, dead on the ground. She was wearing furs torn so bad you could hardly call it an outfit anymore. And her body was all…dessicated. Like someone had come along and sucked all the life out of her. I took my hat off and closed all eight eyes in prayer. But heaven doesn’t solve crimes, so I got to work. Back in the day the boys at the station would call me the Hurricane PI because once I started investigating a scene it was a mess of limbs. Chalk in one hand, camera in another, evidence bag in another, and so forth. But this time was different. This time I moved slowly, with a respect and care I maybe should’ve had for all those previous cases. I picked my way through everything and finally, tucked under the small of her wing, I saw traces of a larval pod and yes, spider silk.
“You see, detective! It was a spider! Better hurry and find the culprit before it eats my poor poor darling, dammit. The life of my child and your job are at stake here.”
“Not to worry, Mayor. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
I wasn’t happy about it but I had a lead and there was only one place it led. To the gates of hell, somewhere I vowed never again to go, the place with the only other spider in the whole city.
I stepped into the lobby of my ex-wife’s apartment and buzzed her room. No response. I flashed a badge at the front desk aphid and made my way to the third floor. Knocking on door 301 didn’t get much response so I knocked again, this time with twice as many hands. I heard a few muffled bumps and shouts.
“Hello, who’s in there?” I knocked one more time. That’s when I heard the cry of an infant. Now or never. I braced my hind legs along the rear wall and ceiling and bashed my full body weight into the doorframe, sending it buckling off of its hinges. I coughed and waved dust from my eyes to see her. Neither of us said a word for an eternity. She stared at me. I stared back. And the larval bee fly in her arms babbled away.
“Hey Billie-Jean.”
“Hey Detective.” That was cold.
We stared a while longer as the past poured over us.
“I…I had to do something. The things he did to that poor girl. I showed up too late but when I saw him reaching for the child I just…I couldn’t.”
Suddenly a gear clicked into place in my head. A bee fly larvae. Of course. I picked up my plaster dusted trilby from the ground and pulled it low over my eyes.
“Here,” I placed some bills on a counter, “For the door. Don’t let anyone see the baby until it's grown, you hear me? And take good care of it.”
She nodded.
“And Billie-Jean…I’m sorry. For everything. I still love you.”
“I know. You take care out there B.”
And so I did the only thing that felt right. I tracked the Mayor back down to an expensive cafe on the south side of town.
“A fine evening Mr. Mayor.”
“You know I don’t like it when you call me that, Mr. Bagheera.”
“Well, Mayor Bumble, you know nobody is gonna like it when they hear you laid your parasitic larva on an innocent citizen.”
“Innocent! Please, she was a harlot. Besides I needed an acceptable host and all of the legal pathways were simply taking too long. I’m an important man Mr. Bagheera, I require an heir.”
My thoughts flashed back to poor Anastasia. Before I knew it, I was hauling a wriggling bundle of silk back to my web. And I ate him.
I cleared town shortly after. I wasn’t made for the city and the city wasn’t made for me. But I’ll live. At least I have that privilege. A privilege I tried to give to so many others. Maybe it's bad karma to have my last job end with taking that away from someone. Ah well, a spider’s gotta eat. I’ll just weave another web. Somewhere far off in the forest.
~ Valerie Maino
Meet the Creators
Erin Calamari-Kirwan
Erin Calamari-Kirwan is a Boston-area artist, photographer, and educator. She finds beauty in the world around her and uses art as a form of expression, communication, mindfulness and play. Although her diverse body of work spans multiple mediums and themes, the commonalities are clear. Erin often experiments with color, mark and composition to develop unique perspectives and visual narratives. Her acrylic paintings, in particular her landscapes, demonstrate a fascination with color harmonies and the connection they have to the human psyche. When painting, Erin often flirts with the overly representational and the abstract, choosing specific areas to simplify and make ambiguous, leaving moments for the viewer to create their own connections and assumptions about the space depicted.
Valerie Maino
Valerie Maino is an Ipswich based writer and poet with a focus on fiction and surrealism. This is her 2nd time submitting pieces to Verse/Visual and she is looking forward to celebrating other local artists.