    Stopping at the corner of the house, the old man spat out a long jet of chewing tobacco on the ground. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he paused momentarily to study Johnson.
    Speaking to the old woman, he said in a low tone, “Thought I heard a car come up.”
    “Wants to see yer spiders,” she said before she turned away and went back into the farmhouse, letting the screen door slam behind her.
    “You wanna see my spiders, young fella?”
    “Sure if you’re open. How much?”
    Looking over the Lexus, he scratched his ruddy face and said, “Fifty bucks.”
    “Fifty! That’s ridiculous!”
    Shrugging his shoulders, the old man said, “Take it or leave it. I got work to do.”
    Then he spat out another long jet of chewing tobacco and turned to go.
    I can’t leave now after coming all this way, thought Johnson. Taking another quick glance at his watch, he said irritably, “All right, all right. But this better be good!”
    The old man smirked and licked his lips as Johnson whipped out a crisp fifty dollar bill from his wallet. Johnson did not like the old man’s greedy look and hastily shoved his wallet back in his pants pocket.
    “Thanks,” said the old man sarcastically, snatching the bill from Johnson’s hand. Looking it over carefully, he folded it up neatly, stuck it in his pocket and said, “Follow me.”
    The old man led Johnson down an overgrown path to a shed at the back of the farmhouse. Inside, the dim glow of fluorescent tubes highlighted the dozen plywood shelves that ran along the walls. In contrast to the rest of the farm, the shed was neat, almost antiseptic in appearance. Sitting on each shelve was a glass terrarium filled with twigs and rocks. In the case closest to Johnson, a small garden spider was spinning a web in the corner.
    “That’s an orb spider,” said the old man.
    “I know,” said Johnson, annoyed by the interruption,
    “You know spiders?’
    “A bit,” replied Johnson. “I used to study them when I was a kid.”
    “I bet you’re the type that liked to feed ’em, eh? Catch bugs, drop ’em in. See what happens. Fun, ain’t it?”
    Suddenly Johnson was uncomfortable. How did he guess my secret? he wondered. Johnson felt the warm rush of blood to his neck and ears as he started to blush.
    “No need to be ashamed, young fella. All kids do it. It’s natural.”
    Trying to change the topic, Johnson asked, “You been at this long?…keeping spiders?”
    “Yeah, I been at it awhile. Most folks are scared of spiders. Not me. Me and spiders git along real good.”
    Johnson turned back to watch a large black spider in another case sucking up the half-digested slurry of its latest victim.
    Trying to be polite, Johnson asked, “Bet you don’t get many visitors here…being so far from the highway.”
    “Don’t need ’em,” said the old man. “This is just a sideline.” Pausing for effect he added, “I breed ’em.”
    Johnson looked puzzled.
    “For the college,” explained the old man. “They use ’em for research.”
    “Does it pay well?”
    “Good ‘nuf…Ah, they don’t know squat ’bout spiders!,” said the old man, spitting on the floor. Johnson looked down and saw that a streak of the sticky black tobacco had splashed on his shoes.
    “I been doing research of my own,” said the old man proudly. “Spiders are jes’ like any other critter. Cows, horses, dogs – they’re all the same. Breed the best with the best and you git the best…Or the…,” the old man’s voice trailed off as he started to laugh.
    There was something about his tone that made Johnson uneasy.
    “You wanna see my prize winner?”
    Johnson looked around.
    “Oh, she ain’t here. I keep her in the barn. She kinda makes these critters nervous. I can’t say, I blames them. Wanna see her?”
    The way the old man said it, the question sounded more like a challenge.
    Johnson hesitated. He wanted to say no, but he could not let the old man see he was afraid.
    “Sure,” answered Johnson. What could it be? he asked himself. A tarantula?
    With the old man in front, they went down a lesser-used path to a small barn behind a stand of trees that made it invisible from the farmhouse. A shiny new lock on a rusted hasp yielded to the old man’s key.
    “I don’t like kids messin’ with my stuff.”
    The ancient wooden door swung open. Inside it was pitch black. Johnson hesitated. What was it that made him apprehensive? His mouth felt dry and he tried to swallow.
    “Go on in!” taunted the old man as he shoved Johnson through the door.
    Stumbling on the raised sill, Johnson fell to one knee ripping his pants. Damnit, he cursed.
    “There’s a light switch ahead of you,” the old man reassured him. “Jes’ pull the string.”
    The stench of moldy hay made Johnson gag.
    “Where is it…the spider?” he called out.
    “She’s in the back. You can’t miss her.”
    “Where’s the light?”
    “Right in front of you. Can’t you see it?” mocked the old man.
    Johnson stretched out his hand. At first, he could not feel anything. Then slowly groping the air in, he caught hold of it. Johnson’s heart leapt in relief. But there was something strange. The line didn’t feel like string. It was sticky like a…
    Pulling the line, Johnson knew he had made a mistake. Something rustled in the rafters above him and bits of straw floated down.
    Johnson bolted for the opening.
    “Enjoy yourself!” cackled the old man as he slammed the door and locked it.
    “Let me out! Let me out!” shouted Johnson, pounding on the door. “Let me out, you old buzzard!”
