A blank white void, growing and swelling until it filled the entire world, heedless of the endless concentration thrown and dashed upon its blank surface. Victor rubbed his eyes, slapping the table and leaning back, tearing his eyes away from his computer screen and letting out a sigh.
The screen stared at him, ticking cursor flashing on and off, on and off, like an observer reminding him in the most passive aggressive way possible that he had written nothing yet.
“Come on man, think!” he muttered to himself, spinning around in his swivel chair distractedly, casting his eyes about his dorm room in vain hope of some inspiration to be found among the clutter.
His blank wall, webbed with cracks and water damage the school had assured him was minor, offered no help. Neither did his bed, thin frame and crumpled bedding covered in loose papers and empty coffee mugs he kept telling himself he’d wash tomorrow. A poster on his wall showing a rendition of his favorite scene from The Two Towers in watercolor he had paid way too much money for came away from the wall slightly, one corner bobbing up and down in the air; he would need to replace the masking tape on that one too.
But first, he’d have to come up with an opening hook for his Entomology paper. He laid his hands on the keyboard and started to type out a title.
Effects of Temperature Exposure on Northern Orb Web Weavers- An Analysis by Victor Der-
A crack sounded outside, causing him to start slightly in his seat. He peered outside his window at the wind-wracked trees outside his dorm, bare limbs thrashing the evening air in a futile attempt to resist the intense autumn wind. Victor leaned forward, puzzled. He thought one of the tree branches might have struck the pane, but they seemed much too far away. He edged the window open, wincing as a blast of freezing air rushed into his room. Shit. He’d forgotten how cold it was; it felt like it was nearly winter already.
The small patch of grass in between the front of his dorm and the sidewalk was empty, as was the sidewalk itself, the walkway, the street, and seemingly the entire city beyond; every living thing seemed to be hiding away from the cold, hardly seasonable weather.
He absentmindedly glanced down at his windowsill, reaching his hand towards a crumpled dead spider and flicking it out into the empty void. He watched it fall, losing sight of it among the pavement and brown grass. New finding: spiders don’t like the cold. Case closed. Paper completed, you can all go home now ladies and gentlemen. He chuckled to himself. If only writing his paper was that easy.
He slid the window shut and turned back to his room, frowning as he saw his coffee mug had fallen onto the floor. That was strange, he figured he would have heard it. At least it was empty, he didn’t need the nightmare of cleaning up spills added to his already infuriating workload.
A motion, at the corner of his eye, near the door to his closet. He glanced over, seeing the slightly-ajar door moving slightly on its hinges. He frowned again, moving towards it and looking inside. The closet was unlit- apparently in addition to fixing water damage functioning lights were too much for one of the nation’s top technical schools- but he could see at a glance nothing was awry. His two extra pairs of shoes, one for running (he figured he’d start that after he washed his coffee mugs) and one for dressier occasions. The long, brown, fuzzy bottom of his bathrobe shifted slightly as it peeked out from behind the eight gleaming buttons of his blazer, both hanging on the hook on the backside of the door.
He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Nothing was amiss. He eased the door shut, hearing the click as the knob turned, and headed back to his desk. No more distractions. From now on it’s just you and the spiders.
---
Six hours later, Victor slammed his laptop shut with a triumphant shout, heedless of the others sharing the dormitory building with him. I’ll deal with them later he though, rubbing his eyes and sinking in his chair with a contented sigh. It had taken him the better part of the month to gather the research for this project, and now that he had finished the final report, he would have little to do for the class for at least a week before he was given a new assignment. After three restless nights, now he could finally sleep.
It was too late to go down to the dining hall, but he wasn’t particularly hungry anyway. He pulled a few granola bars out from a box underneath his bed and laid them on his desk. That would tide him over while he slept.
He did, however, need a shower.
As he slung his crumpled bathrobe from where it was draped over the foot of his bed, he couldn’t help but feel a nagging sensation, as if something was off. He shook his head to clear it, opening the door to the empty hallway and beginning the too-long walk to the floor showers.
It was over half an hour before he returned. The warm water and steam of the showers had made him drowsy, and it took him several tries to turn the lights of his room on. Tossing his robe on the floor, he quickly undressed and crawled under the leaden covers of his bed, in the small area still capable of being slept in. He had forgotten about his previous plan to snack before bed. It wouldn’t have done him much good anyway; the granola bars were gone, and only a small trail of crumbs leading back to the now-open closet door would have told him he hadn’t simply imagined getting them out in the first place.
Victor dreamed he was standing on the edge of a precipice, staring out into the blank void before him, blinking in and out in a rhythmic, silent dirge. He wasn’t alone in the void, no, his bathrobe was there with him, eight gleaming buttons arrayed on it’s brown hairy front and eight long arms wrapping around him, desperate for his warmth.
He awoke to a pressure on his chest. At first he thought he was still dreaming as he gazed up at the eight black buttons arrayed before his face, and the twin pair of gleaming needles held poised, just beneath them.
Spiders really do hate the cold.