(Finished) Jemima is a spider -- (Author) feetintrouble

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Author: feetintrouble
Timestamp: Sep 24, 2021 at 2:24 PM
Content: In this story, the fidgety, bug-loving six-year-old Jemima is given a sensory experience at school, made to use her imagination, and transformed into a scuttling spider, with the help of the unusual storytelling skills of her teacher.

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Every Friday afternoon, our teacher Miss Clark would give the class “magic story time”. We would all sit cross-legged on the floor in front of her while she told us a story, but the magic part was that she would choose up to three children to sit close to her: these children would have their eyes covered up so they couldn’t see, and they would be given things to feel which were part of the story. In one story about walking through a swamp to reach a treasure island, these children had to step barefoot into a tray of something gooey, and feel the treasure, which was actually lots of coins in a bucket. Miss Clark had not yet chosen me to have my eyes covered (she told us it was called “being blindfolded”), but she kept telling us that everyone would have a turn. I was a bit scared thinking about this: although I liked closing my eyes, I knew I could open them whenever I wanted, and I didn’t like the idea of my eyes being covered, so I wouldn’t be able to see anything even if I did open my eyes. There were two very strict rules for magic story time: those who were blindfolded must not peep and spoil the magic, and everybody else must keep silent and not spoil the magic by giving anything away.

Story time was not my favourite part of the day. Although it was supposed to “help us calm down before going home”, I was a very restless child: I loved to run, climb and move about, and I found it difficult to sit still and keep quiet for a long time, especially during story time. Miss Clark had often told me off for fidgeting and talking to myself during story time, and sometimes she had put me in the naughty corner with my back to the rest of the class while she finished the story.

Halfway through the term, it was my sixth birthday on a Friday. As birthday children often did, I had brought in sweets to hand round to everybody else, which Miss Clark had taken them from me in the morning to keep them safe. As the day went on, I wondered when she would ask me to hand them round. Just before story time, Miss Clark approached me with a massive smile, and I expected her to tell me that it was time to give them out. However, instead she took me outside to the playing field, away from the class.

“As it’s your birthday, it’s your turn for magic story time; and you’re going to have it all to yourself,” she told me, “and it’s about one of your favourite things of all: bugs.”

“Bugs?” I repeated.

“That’s right,” she said. “Bugs, insects, worms, mini-beasts, creepy-crawlies, all of those little creatures. You loved it when we learned all about bugs last week, didn’t you? You spent ages looking at the ones we collected, and you did a fantastic drawing of the spider spinning a web. And your special treat is that for your magic story time, you are going to be a spider.”

“But how can I be a spider?” I asked. “I’m a girl.”

“Magic,” she answered. “It is magic story time. And remember that there are boy and girl spiders: in fact, girl spiders are the best ones. Do you remember the story of Charlotte’s Web?”

I had loved that story when Miss Clark had read it to us, especially the idea of Charlotte the spider writing words in her web, and I tried to imagine myself as a spider. I found this really hard, as a spider is something much smaller than me.

“Where are the other children?” I asked, looking around me at the big empty playing field.

“Don’t worry about them,” Miss Clark said. “It’s your birthday, and your special day, so you’re having magic story time with me. So, the first thing I need to do is blindfold you."

“But I can keep my eyes closed!” I protested, watching with dismay as Miss Clark opened the canvas bag she was carrying, and tipped lots of bandannas of different colours on to the grass in front of me.

“That’s not enough, the magic only works if you are blindfolded,” she said, sifting through the bandannas. “With ordinary story time, you look at a book with lots of nice pictures, don’t you? For this, you make the pictures in your mind, but this only works if you don’t see anything else. If you opened one of your eyes a teeny tiny bit, this would break the magic spell. Now, I know that you don’t like sitting still,” she went on. “The good news is that for your magic story, you’re going to be moving about, and climbing, like a bug. You love climbing, don’t you?”

“How can I do that if I can’t see?” I asked.

“Just trust me, Jemima,” she said. “I’ll be with you all the time, you’ll be able to hear me, and you’ll be quite safe." Miss Clark pulled two bandannas from the pile: a dark red one, and a black one. She folded the red one into a rectangle, then placed it inside the black one, which she folded into a strip.

"Why are you using two bandannas?" I asked; usually she only used one for each child, or sometimes she a colourful sleeping mask on each child.

"Because it's your birthday, and I want to be absolutely sure there is no cheating," she replied, with a tiny smile.

“I’ll still be able to see, by magic,” I said cheekily.

Miss Clark did not reply, but raised an eyebrow before she walked behind me. I kept looking at the canvas T-bar shoes on my bare feet, thinking that if I gazed hard enough, I could use the power of my mind to keep on seeing, no matter what. I saw the bandanna appear in front of me, getting bigger and bigger, before everything vanished; everything before me turned black as my eyes were covered; I could feel the blindfold being pulled snugly round my head, and tied with a good tight knot.

“I can’t see anything, I’m scared!” I protested.

“Yes, it is a bit scary being in the dark,” she said. “But you’re a brave girl.”

I shuddered a little at the words “brave girl”: such words usually came before something nasty happened, such as going to the dentist, or having a “little prick” in my arm. I tried to open my eyes as wide as I could, but it was no good: I was well and truly blindfolded, and I could not see a thing, no matter how hard I tried.

“Now I want you to stand up, so we can complete the magic, for you to be a spider,” she told me. “I need to spin you round, like a spider spinning a web.”

I got to my feet nervously, and I felt her hands on my shoulders turning me slowly round twice; I had often seen her spinning the other children after she had blindfolded them, and I was not sure why she did this. Then she told me to take two steps forwards, before spinning me again in the opposite direction; then she told me to step to the side, and she span me yet again. By now I felt completely lost in the dark, I didn’t know where I was; and I began to tremble with fear, like I did when I had once wandered off in a big shopping mall when I was little, and was separated from my mum.

“Let’s get down on our hands and knees, and think about being a spider.”

Feeling a little dizzy from being spun round, I got down on all fours. I tried to imagine Miss Clark doing the same, and listened as she spoke in the special soft voice she used for telling stories, different from her brisk teaching voice.

“Once upon a time, Jemima the spider made herself a lovely web, under the school where it was all dark, to catch flies, and to sleep in at night. But one day she went for a walk across the field, and couldn’t remember the way back. Darkness fell, and poor Jemima scuttled around, lost and alone. But then, in the darkness, she suddenly found the entrance to the tunnel which led under the school.”

There was a pause as Miss Clark stopped speaking; I listened, but I could only hear the distant sounds of other children in the school.

“So now, Jemima,” said Miss Clark in her normal voice, “you are going to find the tunnel, and crawl through it, like a spider. You can’t see me, but I’ll be right beside you, and I’ll tell you where to go. Crawl slowly forwards.”

“But I can’t see!” I moaned.

“Just trust me, you’ll be absolutely safe.”

I gingerly crawled forwards, as Miss Clark kept telling me I was going the right way, and I began to relax a little.

“The tunnel is right in front of you,” she went on, “keep going.”

As I crawled onwards, I suddenly felt something different under my hands: it felt like the plastic play tunnel which we sometimes used for obstacle courses. I wondered how it had got there, as the field was completely empty when we first went out. I loved obstacle courses, and this made me feel happier. I kept on crawling, following the curves of the tunnel, and when I came out of the other end, it no longer felt like grass underneath me, but something soft, springy and slightly scratchy, almost like the bouncy surface in some playgrounds.

“You are now under the school, where it is all dark,” she told me. “And your web is in front of you: crawl forwards, reach out, and feel it.”

As I put a hand out in front of me, I touched what felt like a scratchy rope stretched across my path. I felt along it, and felt the coldness of metal followed by more ropes, all going in different directions. It felt like a rope climbing frame in the school’s outdoor gym. We little children weren’t allowed here; normally only the older children were allowed to use this equipment, and I reached up a hand to uncover my eyes; but before I managed it, I jumped as I felt my wrist being grasped, and lowered back down to my side.

“No peeping, you naughty girl!” came Miss Clark’s voice. “Don’t spoil the magic now. Climb your web like a spider,” Miss Clark said. “You’re good at climbing. I’m right beside you, and I’ll guide your hands.”

Feeling nervous because I still could not see anything, I stretched up my foot and mounted my web. The web wobbled as I got onto it, but Miss Clark assured me that a spider’s web is very strong, and I would be quite safe. After a minute or two of climbing, with Miss Clark moving my hands to help me find the ropes, I began to relax, and I was now actually starting to feel like a spider, and I was almost forgetting that I was blindfolded.

“I think there might be a fly in your web,” Miss Clark said. “Remember that a fly is about the same size as you. Listen for some buzzing, and you might feel where it is: you go and catch that fly.”

To my right, I could feel the rope I was on vibrating, and I heard a faint buzzing sound. I climbed in that direction, and suddenly I touched the fly. I wondered if it was actually one of the other children holding on to the web, but I was relaxing and enjoying being part of the story.

“Can I eat him?” I asked, naughtily. “Who’s pretending to be a fly?”

“Nobody is pretending,” Miss Clark said. “And you had lunch not long ago, it’s too early to be eating again now. Climb down from your web, back to the ground.”

I did as I was told, moving downwards, until I felt the ground underneath me.

“Now there’s a single thread going from your web, reach up with your left hand and feel it.”

As I did so, I felt what must have been string tied to the web, heading away from it.

“You are going to be a spider crawling along your thread. Crawl and follow it.”

By now I had got used to the idea of not being able to see, and finding my way by feel. As I crawled, I felt the surface beneath me change to grass again. Sometimes the string I was holding on to seemed to change direction as I ran it through my fingers, but I kept crawling.

“Stop crawling for a moment,” Miss Clark ordered. “Now, it’s time for you to meet a new bug,” Miss Clark told me, “and it has a very long name: a cen-ti-pede. Do you remember what a centipede is?”

Although we had not found a centipede when we had hunted for bugs, she had shown us a picture of one, and I remember it as being very long, very scaly, and with lots and lots of legs.

“You are a very tiny spider, and as such, you can crawl between the legs of a centipede,” she went on. “But you have to be very careful: a centipede is also a carnivore. Do you know what that means?”

I shook my head.

“It means that it eats meat; and that means you,” she said, with a hint of a laugh in her voice; then she dropped her voice to a loud whisper. “The centipede is asleep, and standing in the way of where you need to go. So you are going to have to crawl very carefully between the centipede’s legs, and you have to whisper, because if the centipede wakes, it might eat you all up.”

I wondered if Miss Clark was pretending, but not being able to see was doing funny things to my mind, and I felt a little afraid again. However, I also trusted Miss Clark, so I nodded, and waited to be told what to do next.

“Keep crawling forwards,” she whispered, “you are about to enter the centipede’s legs.”

As I crept onwards, I felt my shoulders brush against something; was it a child standing with legs apart for me to crawl through, or was I really under the school and actually crawling between the legs of a centipede? Immediately after that, I felt myself passing through another pair of legs, and another, and another; I remembered a time when some of us had formed a “spanking tunnel” for the birthday boy to crawl through, and we had all patted his bottom; I suddenly remembered that it was my birthday, and I wondered if the same was about to happen to me. Then I realised that I couldn’t be crawling through the legs of people, I was underneath a centipede. Each pair of legs seemed to become smaller as I went on, and I kept my head as low as I could to be able to pass through. I wondered if the centipede was wearing boots, like they do in stories; I put my hands out to the sides, and I did indeed feel some shoes or boots; so perhaps centipedes do wear boots after all.

“Careful, Jemima, don’t wake the centipede, you don’t want to be eaten!” Miss Clark whispered. “You’re nearly there.”

Finally, I crawled through the last pair of the centipede’s legs, and Miss Clark told me to sit cross-legged.

“Now you’re going to play a game with other spiders. You’ve collected a lot of flies, which are all in a pile in front of you. Don’t say anything, but put your hands out, and have a feel.”

I did as I was told; and as I touched them, I realised that they were actually the sweets I had brought in for my birthday. Had the magic turned them into flies?

“Other spiders are all around you, and they are going to try and steal your flies,” Miss Clark told me. “But you are a spider who can spray venom: you are going to listen very carefully, and spray venom towards any spider that tries to creep up.”

I felt her putting something in my hand, and realised it was a plastic spray bottle, with a big lever, which Miss Clark used for watering plants.

“How can I spray venom at spiders if I can’t see them?” I asked.

“You have to use your ears and listen, as you should always do during story time,” she said. “Listen for any sounds around you, and if you hear it, spray it. Spiders creep very quietly, so you have to listen as hard as you can.”

Everything then went quiet, and I listened. Once again, I tried to open my eyes as wide as I could, as if I could somehow break the magic and see through the blindfold over my eyes, but it was no good; all was black. I heard a sound of grass on my right, and I quickly sprayed – I heard a little shriek as I did so. Smiling that I had caught something, I kept on listening. Sometimes the sounds came from behind me, sometimes in front, and sometimes to the sides. After a while I put a hand out to feel the “flies”, and I realised that most of them had gone: it was really hard to catch these spiders when I couldn’t see!

“That’s it Jemima, they’re all gone!” Miss Clark said eventually. “Now, it’s almost time for you to turn back into a girl.”

I almost felt a bit sad to hear this: although being blindfolded was scary, I didn’t want my adventure to end, I wanted to be a spider for ever.

“You’re going to go back through the tunnel one last time, out from under the school into the open air,” she told me. “The tunnel is just in front of you, off you go.”

By now I felt that it almost did not matter that I could not see, and I scuttled through the tunnel without a care in the world, hearing the plastic crinkling under my hands and knees, following the curves until I reached the end.

“Stand up, Jemima, and I will turn you back into a girl.”

I did as I was told, and once again I felt myself being spun round, first one way, then the other, as if I was about to pin the spider on the web.

“Now, I’ve put you in a shady part of the field, near the school,” she said. “Because you’ve been blindfolded for a long time, everything will seem very bright at first. So, before I take your blindfold off, close your eyes, and when I tell you, open them slowly.”

I closed my eyes, and I felt the bandanna being loosened. As it fell away from my eyes, I saw redness through my eyelids; slowly I opened my eyes. Everything seemed fuzzy before my eyes at first, but then I could make out the school, and Miss Clark smiling at me. Then suddenly she looked past me over my shoulder, and said “one… two… three…”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JEMIMA!” said lots of voices at once, from behind me.

I turned round, and there was the whole class, standing in a line looking at me, eating the sweets which I had brought along.

“Put your hand up if you got sprayed by Jemima!” Miss Clark said to the class, and about half of the boys and girls did so.

“Thank you all for giving Jemima a wonderful magic story, she will remember it for a long time!”

I just stood there, feeling a bit dazed, looking at the other children in my class who were talking and eating all at once. I looked around for the tunnel, and the web, but there was nothing to be seen: only the empty field. Perhaps I had imagined them.

As my mum took me home that afternoon, once more I was in a dreamy state, happily thinking of my adventure as a spider. I knew a lot of what had happened was pretend, but while I was blindfolded, it had felt so real, and I could actually imagine myself as a tiny spider, crawling through the legs of a centipede. As other children in the class had their magic story time, sometimes I helped to be part of things they would feel. Miss Clark told me that if was an especially good girl, she might blindfold me again for story time, although only after everybody else had had a turn. I was much less scared of having my eyes covered after that, and if Miss Clark needed a volunteer to be blindfolded for a class activity, my hand was always the first to be up!