Théodora Armstrong - Clear Skies, No Wind, 100% Visibility

“Holy crap.” Ben’s face warped in the fire’s weird light as he stood and swung the torch around. “This is awesome.”

The cave was almost a perfect circle of smooth rock walls with a dusty, pit-marked floor.

“Awesome,” Henry said, but the knot in his stomach was still there as he watched the sharp shadows move across Ben’s face.

A couple metres away from the brothers, something fell from the ceiling and landed near their feet. They stepped closer, peering down at the dark lump before looking up to find a black quivering carpet above them. Before Henry’s brain could make sense of the sight, Ben dropped the torch and darted out of the cave. In the now-total darkness, the impression hit Henry like a knee to the stomach — the cave’s ceiling was thick with large black spiders. Henry scampered back through the tunnel, but no light appeared before him. For a second, he wondered if he’d gotten turned around and was actually going deeper into the cave. His arms shook as he clawed at the darkness, trying to get his bearings. He hit something soft, reached out, and felt the stiff fabric of Ben’s jean jacket, his bony shoulder blades. Henry pushed at his brother’s back, but Ben had dug in his heels, sealing the exit with his own body. Henry’s throat tightened and from him came a strangled moan — an animal-like noise. “Benny, let me out.” Henry’s entire body trembled now, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please.” His screams became frantic shrieks, echoing around the cave until they no longer seemed like his own. He thrashed around like one of the caged birds at daybreak. And then, all of a sudden, everything gave way — light poured around Henry’s body and he burst from the tunnel’s mouth, sprawling in the dirt, arms flailing over his body.

“Get them off me,” Henry shrieked. “Get them off.”

“There’s nothing there,” Ben said, doubled over, laughing so hard he was crying. He wiped at the tears streaking his cheeks, his dirty hands leaving behind bands of warrior dirt across his face. Even though Henry knew he was unharmed, he couldn’t stop screaming, his eyes wild and wide to the forest around them. Ben grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Shut up, already.” But Henry couldn’t stop. “Shut up. Shut up, you pantywaist,” Ben said, shoving Henry to the ground.

Henry sat in the dirt and tasted blood on his tongue. “You’re supposed to protect me,” Henry said, trying to swallow his sobs.

“You should learn to protect yourself,” Ben said. “Otherwise people are always going to say stuff about you.”

Henry was quiet after that and Ben left him sitting on the ground to walk home alone.

DURING DINNER BEN FIDGETED in his chair, almost knocking it over twice, until their father asked him if he had to go to the bathroom and their mother slammed her fork down on the table, making their baby brother, Eli, laugh. Ben then blurted out their discovery of the cave in great detail — how he had found the hidden tunnel, how he had fashioned the torch, how he had burned some of the giant spiders. He left out the part where Henry cried. In fact, he told the story as though Henry wasn’t even there and Henry had to yell over everyone’s voices, “I was there too, ya know.” Henry got a spanking for crossing the creek and Ben got one too for letting him cross. The next day their father asked Ben to show him where the spiders’ cave was, but Henry had to stay at home to wait as punishment. He sat at the window all afternoon watching the edge of the forest turn to shadows.

They brought one of the dead spiders back in a pickle jar. Their father said he’d never seen anything like it before, and the brothers fought over the jar all night, turning it round and round, pressing their noses to the glass, examining the bristles on the spider’s crooked legs, its leathery body, its wolfish eyes.

“It’s my specimen,” Ben said. “I collected it.”

“It doesn’t belong to you,” Henry said.

“Who does it belong to, then?”

“God,” Henry said.

Their mother wouldn’t let them keep the jar on the table while they ate dinner. “It’s a hideous thing,” she said.

After their meal, Ben brought out his magnifying glass and an encyclopedia from the set their father had given them. He made a drawing of the spider, labelling its parts — cephalothorax, pedipalps, chelicerae . At the top of the page he wrote ARACHNID in big, bold letters. Ben kept a protective arm around the drawing so Henry had to crane his neck to see anything. Eli pulled himself up and hung onto Henry’s chair, his chubby legs bouncing rhythmically while he sucked on Henry’s knee. Henry grabbed the spider jar and thrust it in his face, twisting his mouth and roaring at him. “I need to see it,” Ben said, grabbing the jar back and setting it carefully in front of his drawing. Henry watched Eli for a moment before reaching down to pinch the soft fold of skin behind one of his knees. When the baby cried and fell to the floor, their mother stuck her head out of the kitchen. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said, stroking the fine hair on Eli’s head. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

Later that night, Henry locked the bathroom door and took off all his clothes. In front of the mirror, he brushed his teeth vigorously until a thick froth poured from his mouth onto the counter. With his black eye he looked like a hideous thing. He snarled like a rabid dog then spit the toothpaste into the sink. He ran his hands over his skinny arms and legs and along the ribs jutting out from his chest, whispering cephalothorax, pedipalps, chelicerae .

There was a bang at the bathroom door. “Get out,” Ben yelled.

After Ben finished his drawing and the brothers were in their pajamas, they watched as their father packed the spider jar in a box and sealed it with loops of masking tape. Tomorrow morning first thing, he would send it off to a lab in Victoria for analysis. He posted Ben’s drawing on the fridge.

Later that night, Eli cried and slept in their parents’ bed, and Henry had nightmares, but he didn’t tell anyone.

WHEN HENRY WOKE THE next morning his first thought was, Today is Ben’s birthday . He kicked off the sheets but lay in bed watching the patterns from the curtain roll across the ceiling. The shapes morphed from fat triangles to skinny diamonds to long spears and then disappeared. Henry decided he would change himself today. He’d tried it before, but it never worked. By the time he was back in bed that night, he’d realize he was exactly the same. He was determined this morning, though, not to be the same old Henry. He combed his hair straight back instead of parting it in the middle and practiced speaking with the British accent he’d heard on the radio the other day.

The birthday party was at the lake and the day was sunny, but a cool wind skipped across the water, stirring up waves that lashed the shore. Fat picture-book clouds glided across the sky, trailed by dark shadows over the lake’s surface. Henry helped his mother tie blue balloons to the picnic tables, where they whipped around in the wind, competing for attention. Ben and his friends gathered to eat hot dogs then open presents. Henry’s father pulled the last gift out from under the picnic table, and in the frenzy Henry helped Ben rip open the package. Ben held the brand new BB gun — a pump-action Daisy Red Ryder with a solid wood buttstock — high above his head and everyone cheered, even Henry, because he was different today. After the gifts, all the boys went into the lake. Henry stood beside the shore at his father’s side for only a moment before running full tilt toward the water.

“Be careful, Henry. You can’t go in over your head,” his mother called after him.