    But it was no use. The dried-out wooden door was like iron. Pausing to catch his breath, his fists throbbing, Johnson looked around. Slowly his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. What appeared to be a black chasm was, in fact, the side entrance to the barn. There must be another way out, he thought. But where?
    In the gloom, he could see that beyond the entry way there was a large open space. And beyond that a boarded-up window through which thin shafts of sunlight streamed.
    Great! All I have to do is cross the barn, pull off one or two of those boards and climb out, thought Johnson. Then I’ll show that old man. Fifty bucks! He’ll wish I had never stopped.
    Then he heard another rustle overhead and more straw floated down.
    “Who is it? Who’s there?” he called out.
    I’ll bet it’s that old man, thought Johnson. He thinks he’s going to scare me.
    “Sure! You just keep that up, old man,” Johnson called out again. “Let’s see how much laughing you do when I bash your face in.”
    But first, I’ve got to get to that window. Be careful, he cautioned himself. This barn must be full of junk. Don’t want to fall down and get hurt.
    Despite the heat in the barn, he shivered. Licking the sweat off his upper lip, Johnson slowly picked his way across the wide wooden-planked barn floor, being careful not to trip. Shadows of old machinery and tools loomed around him. A leather harness that hung from the wall looked like a hangman’s noose.
    There was a peculiar smell, too. It reminded him of a package of chicken that he once left in the trunk of his car on a hot summer day. It was the sickly, sweet scent of rotting meat.
    Oh, gross! muttered Johnson. There’s a dead animal in here.
    In less than a minute he had crossed the barn and was standing in front of the boarded-up window. Blocking his exit were three boards nailed haphazardly into the frame.
    Either the old man was too weak or too lazy to drive them all the way in, concluded Johnson. I can probably pull them off with my bare hands, he smiled triumphantly.
    The first board was half-rotted and fell apart in his hands. Light streamed in as it came away from the frame. Then he shifted his attention to the second one – the board in the middle. If he could get this one off, he could easily climb out.
    But this board wouldn’t be so easy. It was like the old door of the barn, dried out and as tough as steel.
    Gripping the board with both hands, he began pulling. The nails squealed in protest and the board started to move. Only a little bit further, grunted Johnson. The thought of throttling the old man excited him. Just a bit further….another half inch. He could almost feel his fingers closing around the old man’s scrawny neck…the eyes bulging…the tongue sticking out. Another half inch…!
    Then it stopped. Desperately, Johnson yanked at the board, but it was no use. It would not yield.
    I need more leverage, he said to himself. Balancing on one foot, he braced his other against the window frame and started pulling again. The muscles in his forearms and back bulged as he strained against the board. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes. Come on, he pleaded with the wood. Come on.
    In his frustration, Johnson did not hear the soft tap…tap…tap on the floor behind him. Tap…tap….tap. Like a blind man with his cane. Tap…tap…tap. Then it was too late. It struck.
    The force of the attack rammed him face first up against the wall knocking the wind out of him. Warm blood trickled from his nose and ran down his cheek.
    What was that?
    Turning around slowly, he could see, in the light from the window, his attacker. It was crouched inside an empty stall along the opposite wall. The legs tensed ready to spring. It was a spider. No doubt one of the old man’s experiments. But this was no ordinary spider. It was huge. About the size of a pit bull, with legs that extended out three or four feet on either side. Its eyes stared coldly at him.
    Johnson did a quick tally of his injuries. Except for his bloody nose, he was unharmed. Perhaps the large size of the creature made it difficult for it to mount an attack, he conjectured. Possibly it did not even recognize him as prey.
    Spiders normally eat moths and insects, he reminded himself. Not human beings.
    When he was a kid, Johnson liked to throw twigs into a web just to see the spider’s reaction. Invariably, after pouncing on the object, the spider would pluck it out of the web, turn it over and drop it on the ground. Johnson hoped this spider would show the same lack of interest.
    From its vantage point at the other end of the barn, the creature seemed puzzled – unsure of itself. Spiders are cautious, he told himself. It’s waiting for me to make the next move. Although every fiber in his body screamed run, his brain told him stay still. The spider was too big and too fast to out-run.
    I need a weapon, he told himself. Quickly looking about, he saw the rotten board from the window lying at his feet. It was about two feet long with a jagged point at one end. It’ll have to do. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up.
    The spider crouched low, like a sprinter, ready to strike again. Johnson froze – his fingers only inches from the board.
    “Easy girl,” he whispered softly. “Easy.”
    The spider relaxed, but not completely. Deliberately, it began to move forward. Tap…tap…tap. Johnson was amazed by the creature’s grace. Like a ballerina tiptoeing in from the darkened wings of a theatre, it was a marvel of beauty and design. The body, covered by fine grey hair, had the look of velvet, while the eight legs that extended from the thorax provided speed and balance.
    As it approached Johnson, the spider carefully extended one foreleg towards him. Johnson quickly knocked it away with his hand. The creature stopped and cocked its plate-sized head to one side. The eight eyes looked like black fists. Then the leg came forward again. At the tip, Johnson could see the spike-like claw for catching prey. It touched his left shoulder. Through his jacket he could feel the sharp point digging into his skin. Johnson winced and stepped backwards into the wall. But there was no place to go. Slowly, the other foreleg came forward. Johnson recoiled, trying to ward off the attack with his free arm. But the creature was too strong. It brushed his arm aside, as if it was a piece of lint, and planted a second claw into his other shoulder. Johnson cried out, “Help! Help!”
    Then the spider reared up on its hind legs, forcing Johnson to his knees. For a brief moment, he and the creature looked into each other’s eyes. It was almost like love. Then he saw the six-inch fangs that extended from the head. Drops of venom gleamed in the half-light. He watched in fascination as the cruel daggers arched high over him; then he screamed as they plunged deeply into his chest. Instantly, white hot pain ripped through his body.
    Then it was gone. The spider had retreated back to the stall. Johnson knew that he only had a minute or two before the poison paralyzed him.
    This is it! he said to himself. My only chance.
