Author: AJ Mullican

Beaming with excitement, I took my brand new Huggy Bear stuffed animal from my father. I had been begging for weeks to get one.

Huggy Bears were the bestest. They were teddy bears that hugged you back. Imagine that! A stuffie that gives you hugs. I loved hugs.

Daddy didn’t give many hugs. He was pretty busy with work and all. Mommy only hugged her special bottle. I wasn’t allowed to touch Mommy’s special bottle–or Mommy–but now I could get as many hugs as I wanted from Huggy Bear. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present.

I carried my Huggy Bear everywhere. I named him Winston, and Winston became my bestest friend. He wasn’t much of a talker–he didn’t talk at all, actually–but I didn’t care. I chattered on about my day and told him all the stories that were in my head. There were a bazillion stories swimming around in there, and Winston listened to all of them. Mommy usually told me to go away, and Daddy said he was listening but I knew it was just pretend; he never even looked up from his newspaper.

One day a week after I got Winston, I accidentally dropped Mommy’s dinner plate when I was setting the table for our Louisiana Baked Chicken dinner. Mommy got really mad. She even threw her special bottle at me; she missed, but I had to clean up the glass.

Then Mommy got scary. She screamed at me and took Winston from me. She blamed Winston for distracting me from my job of setting the table. I watched in horror as she pulled Winston’s head off. Mommy killed Winston!

I cried myself to sleep. Poor Winston.

The next morning, I woke to Daddy screaming. I tiptoed to their room, scared, and saw the strangest thing.

Winston’s head was back on. His neck was all red, but his head was back on, and he was hugging Mommy’s neck. Why was Daddy screaming? Winston was back and giving hugs again. He should have been happy.

Daddy rushed me back to my room and told me to stay put. After a while, I heard sirens and lots of people talking. When they left, Daddy opened my door and told me that Mommy had been really tired and had gone to sleep forever. I tried to reassure him that Winston would make her feel better with his hugs, but he didn’t listen. He never listened.

Daddy got mad at Winston. Just like Mommy, he ripped his head off, then he ripped off his arms. His arms! How was Winston supposed to hug now?

Two days passed. Daddy didn’t say a word, and I didn’t either. Who did I have to talk to? Winston was gone.

On the morning of the third day, Daddy didn’t wake me up for kindergarten. That was strange. I went to his room to check on him.

Winston was back, and he had given Daddy’s neck the biggest hug ever.

The Spider and the Fly

by AJ Mullican

Richard strode up the walkway, rife with anticipation. The ad online had been enticing, and he couldn’t wait to meet the woman of his dreams.

As he drew nearer and more details of the house’s décor registered in his mind he thought, “This must be one freaky chick!”

The house was dark and could only be described as “gothic chic.” Black turrets and grey scrollwork accents stood out in the quiet suburban neighborhood. In place of a picket or chain link fence was a neat row of polished iron chains connected by iron stakes topped with fleur de lis.

When he reached the front steps, he was greeted by an ornately-carved front door with a stained glass window patterned after a spider’s web. In place of a light next to the door, spindly iron fingers extended from the wall and grasped a lifelike carving of a skull. Red light bulbs illuminated the empty skull, casting an eerie glow over the black widow carapace that, judging by the size and location, must be the doorbell.

Pressing the red hourglass, Richard heard a scream of ecstasy inside the house. He grinned, thinking to himself that any woman with that kind of a doorbell must indeed be just the kind of companion he was looking for.

Through the stained glass he saw the voluptuous silhouette of a tall, curvy woman approach the door. When the door opened, he was not disappointed.

Standing just under his six foot height in her stiletto heels, the woman from the ad was everything he could have hoped for. Not too skinny, not too fat—just enough curves to look delicious. She answered the door in a racy negligee, its black leather straps matching the pattern in the stained glass, and he could see long nail caps on the ends of each of her delicate fingers, adding to the dramatic look. The ensemble was accented with carefully-applied spiderweb eyeliner on her upper lids.

“You must be Richard Fly,” she purred, her voice both soft and husky. “Welcome to my web.”

Richard smiled and stepped inside the door. As she closed it behind him, he removed his hat and trench coat. The woman turned back to him and screamed in terror.

She was even more stunning when viewed with all eight of his eyes. He grabbed her waist with two of his arms, pulling her in closer. Two more arms restrained her struggling arms, and the last pair caressed her cheeks.

“And you must be Ariadne. Pleasure to eat you.”