The Spider and the Fly: An Apologue.
A New(er) Version Of An Old Story.

Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there."
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

---

He licked his fingers with some glee, making sure to tease off every bit of flavor that lay on his skin. Such a messy business. Still, it needed to be done. They gave him orders, and he obeyed. That was the way of it. Take the first two. He had.

---

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

---

Sometimes, he watched from the spyhole in the kudu’s eyes as new guests spoke to Sarah and checked in. He always knew then, before he got the note from the man he knew as Mr. Dandi, who he would be visiting, knocking on their door after a drink at the bar, perhaps, or dinner in the restaurant.

---

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

---

He wondered, sometimes, if the Aarons knew he was there. There was a kind of synthesis between them, weaving, cutting, choosing. His blades were sharp, as were their words. He sometimes thought it must be something big, that The Mc Gaa needed all of them there. Four of them. Four corners: East, West, North, South.

---

"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

---

There was a charge in the air that morning, and the book sat on the table beside him when he awoke. He flipped to the end, and was surprised. That was new. That was very new.

---

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,

For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"

---

There was a sense of presence, of something about to happen. They were coming. All of them. And he would have a job to do. Something more to while away his time that fruitless games.

---

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue --

Thinking only of her crested head – poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den?,
Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

---

Everything was coming together. By blood and struggle and sex magic, they were being drawn together. Each piece, even the miniscule ones, traveling across the board in carefully orchestrated moves. To The End.

---

by Mary Howitt (1821) and ktbuffy