Never been a fan of crickets. Always been a grasshopper man myself.

"So, as I said, it's been, umm, three nights and I really have to, ummm, get some, sleep," Henry said. The dark circles under his eyes attested to the truth of his words. Henry cast a sidelong glance at the exterminator next to him.

"I told you not to look at me," the exterminator, who had introduced himself as Thor, said in a stage whisper.

Henry immediately faced his eyes forward. "I know, I apologize, it's just, well, is the suit really necessary?" 

"Do I tell you how to do your job?"

"No, no, you're right, of course," Henry replied. Still, the giant foam antenna, the brown body armor with foam legs and plastic wings, the large goggles, he couldn't help but wonder if Thor wasn't taking his job a little too far.

As if reading his mind, the exterminator said, "The illusion must be infallible. Crickets are the Einsteins of the insect world. He must be convinced that I am his comrade. It is a chess match, with feints and double feints."

"In that case, won't the size difference tip him off?" asked Henry.

After a moment's silence, Thor replied, "Look, I can leave right now. I've got plenty of other customers who want to take advantage of my expertise."

"No, no, I'm sorry. You come highly recommended." Though, now that Henry thought about it, his friends really loved to play practical jokes.

"You say you've been hearing him behind the fridge?"

"Yes."

"Okay, you can leave, I'll take it from here."

Henry did a quick mental calculation of the pros and cons of leaving Thor alone in a room with access to knives and other sharp implements, but he needed the cricket gone.

Henry sat in his recliner in the living room and started reading the biography of Thomas Jefferson he had downloaded for his Kindle.

After a few minutes he heard the grating, nerve racking chirp of the cricket. Try as hard as he could, he couldn't stay focused on his book.

He sneeked a peek into the kitchen. The chirping stopped. The exterminator was sitting on the floor.

Henry was immediatly ashamed. "I'm sorry, did I scare it away?" The thought that the cricket had escaped because of him and the spectar of another sleepless night brought Henry nearly to tears.

"You didn't scare it away," Thor replied, obviously annoyed at the interruption.

"Oh, I thought I heard it."

"That was me," Thor said, refusing to look at Henry.

Henry was taken aback. "Really, it sounded very realistic. How did you do that?"

The exterminator finally looked at Henry. "Do you really want to know?"

There was something about Thor's wild, eager eyes that gave Henry paused. "No, probably not."

"Good, it's a trade secret anyway. If I told you I would have had to kill you. Now, if you don't mind, if he seems me fraternizing with humans he'll never trust me."

"Oh, right, ok," Henry retreated back to the living room. The chirping began again.

Henry wondered what the chirps really meant. He wondered if Thor remembered which side he was on. Henry had a vision of the goggled exterminator laughing as he rode a carpet of crickets to take over the world.

Henry shook his head. Madness.

Suddenly he became aware of an entire chorus of chirps coming from his kitchen. It sounded as if an entire army of crickets were in there.

Henry was tempted to go peek again. But then he remembered Thor's eyes.

He scribbled a note and left it on the coffee table. Had to go get groceries. Please leave a bill and see yourself out. Henry

Henry resolved to get a motel room and a good nights sleep.

THE END                                                                                                                                         copyright 2013 John Lance

A retelling of Little Miss Muffet based on the "Nursery Rhyme" writing prompt.

The spider was out for revenge.

Gazing at the ceiling corner where her web had been, tears welled up in all eight of her eyes. It had been a spectacular web spun with the finest silk. The main loop alone had taken a full day to get perfectly concentric. No fly had been able to resist its allure and she had eaten well. She had planned to raise a family in it, but that dream had been swept away along with the pearly white egg sack.

The only hint that her home had ever existed was the stain on the wall where her mate had been squashed. Sure, she had planned to eat him later that afternoon, but in way, that only made his death more tragic.

The spider dabbed her eyes with a furry leg. It was time to get even.

Below her was the perpetrator of the massacre. Missy "Spider Killer" Muffet bustled about her kitchen making herself lunch. In the corner leaned the murder weapon, a straw broom. Missy had long blond hair, a small upturned nose, and a splash of freckles on her cheeks. White flowers decorated her blue summer dress and her feet were bare. She hummed a jaunty tune, not a care in the world. Obviously her conscience was clean.

"Psychopath," thought the spider.

The spider wished she had poisonous fangs, like one of those cool Black Widows. But, as it was, she would have to be more subtle.

She followed Missy into her parlor. Missy sat on her favorite stool in front of a big picture window and began eating her cottage cheese and carrots.

The spider anchored a thread to the ceiling and began her descent. Her bulbous brown body soon dangled over Missy's head, so close that if she stretched out her fore legs she could touch a wisp of Missy's corn silk hair.

With a gentle push, the spider swung herself over the plate and cut the line. She landed in the cottage cheese and began to sink. Her legs flailed for a moment, and then her feet touched the firmness of the plate. The spider heaved a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, Missy's wide silver spun swept the spider up. Missy gazed out the window, not paying attention, and before the spider knew what was happening, she was in the killer's mouth.

Missy's tongue tossed and turned the spider and her teeth rose and fell, crushing and mincing the cottage cheese. Desperately, the spider jumped onto her uvula.

Missy stopped chewing. There was a terrible, glack sound and she spat the spider onto the plate.

Bruised and soaked, the spider looked up at Missy. Their eyes met.

Missy screamed and hurled the plate across the room, but the spider leapt onto Missy's hand. Dodging a slap, she ran up Missy's arm and under her sleeve.

Missy jumped off her stool and flailed like a drunken dancer. After a minute she stopped. Panting, she checked her arms and legs for any sign of the spider.

Clutching onto one of Missy's bangs, the spider suddenly dropped down in front of her face.

Missy shrieked and swatted the spider away. She ran screaming from the house, never to return.

The spider surveyed her hard won domain. She spotted a lovely corner, dry, with plenty of light. Climbing up into it, she started  spinning a web.

THE END

                                                                                                                                                      Copyright 2012 John Lance

Inspired by a recent electronic purchase.

"Good morning, welcome to the Integrated Systems store, how can I help you this morning?" asked an impossibly perky sales clerk. She had bouncy blond curls and her chin was losing the acne war. The name tag pinned to her neon orange shirt read "Candi." There was a heart over the "i."

Vern felt an immediate, boundless loathing for Candi. "I'm having some trouble with the chip I purchased two days ago. I would like it uninstalled."

Candi pouted. "Oh, that's a shame. Let me see if I can get someone to help you." She looked around the crowded store. It seemed like everyone wanted to purchase the latest, greatest, bio-integration systems.

Vern shook his head. He could remember the days when a computer actually sat on your desk and a smart phone was the height of convenience. But now, well, why type an email when you could have a chip implanted in your skull and do it with a thought? The procedure took two minutes and was done right in the store. And that was only the beginning. Want to start your car, or the blender, just by thinking it? There was a chip for that. Be able to sing like a pop star? A chip for that. Need to be stronger? Able to tell better jokes? Thinner? Chip, chip, chip.

Vern had resisted for years. He was a programmer, dating back to the days of those sit-on-your-desk computers, and while he loved technology, he knew a little too much about how the sausage was made to actually have a mini-computer inserted into his body.

At least until last weekend, when he had gotten a basic General Memory Chip 4.0 implanted. While he was on the back nine of his career, the truth was Vern wasn't ready to retire and all the damn kids coming out of the universities already had chips. They could remember more, in more detail, and calculate better and faster than he could. If he wanted to stay employed, he needed a chip.

But he hadn't counted on the side effects.

"Here's Geri," Candi said. "He can help you with your issues."

Geri smiled. He was blond, with braces. "Hello sir, how can I help you today?"

Vern looked at Geri's name tag. "You have a heart over your i."

"Yes sir, I do."

"You are a boy, aren't you?" Vern said, and immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry, that was impolite. I've been having a hard couple of days since I got my chip."

"Don't be concerned sir. I have a special emotion enhancement that allows me to ignore negativity. Every employee at ISS does. It keeps us smiling," Geri smiled wider to emphasize his point.

"That sounds like hell," Vern said.

Geri continued smiling. "If you would tell me your problem, perhaps I can help resolve it."

"My problem, Geri, is that I want the chip your company installed in my head, removed."

"Hmmm, interesting, and what is causing that feeling?" Geri asked.

"If you must know, the damn thing made me get up and go for a walk on Saturday during the Red Sox game. And, in case it needs to be said, Geri, I would have preferred to have remained on my couch, drinking my beer, and watching the end of the game."

"Ah, well, the chip operates best when your body is in peak condition and, I apologize for saying this but my honesty enhancement requires it, your body is about fifty three pounds over its ideal weight. The chip is programmed to identify self destructive behaviors and avoid them, as well as encourage positive behaviors, such as exercise. If our chip is to be successful, you are going to have to work with it."

"It made me walk 5 miles! I almost had a heart attack!" Vern shouted.

"The chip monitors your heart rate at all times and is well aware of its limits. You were in no danger of having a myocardial infarction."

"Oh really? What else does your omniscient chip know cause it sure as heck doesn't know anything about the area I live in. It marched me through a very, very, bad neighborhood," Vern replied.

Geri's smile flickered. "Sadly, there have been some issues reported with the GPS function of the GMC 4. But rest assured, our engineers are working on a fix and we expect an update to be downloaded any day now."

Vern was actually speechless. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Finally he spluttered, "An update? I was almost mugged by a drug dealer with a smart gun."

"Almost?"

"Well, he wound up shooting himself in the head."

Geri shook his head and tsked loudly. "How unfortunate. Must have been that nasty Hemingway virus that's going around. Anyone who owns a smart gun should really run a virus scan."

"Look, that's irrelevant, I just want the chip out,"

"Just a moment sir," Geri cocked his head to one side, as if he heard someone calling his name. "Good news, there is a patch coming in the next five seconds that will address all of the issues you've been having."

"I don't want a patch, I just want..." Vern suddenly stopped and a smile spread across his face.

"How do you feel now sir?" Geri asked.

"I feel wonderful," Vern replied. "I love my chip. The only thing that could make my life better is if I lost fifty three pounds and 6 ounces. I'll get started on that right away.": He turned and marched out of the door.

"Have a pleasant day, and be sure to come back for the upgrade. You'll be due in just about six months," Geri called.

THE END

                                                                                                                                                      Copyright 2012 John Lance