Chapter Eight: It’s a Trap!

*Bang*

I jump. Oops. Shut the door a little too hard.

Shaking my head to settle my nerves, I start towards the small shack in the far corner of the clearing which surrounds the wooden mansion. The clearing is about the size of a football field, though it looks a lot smaller with the mansion taking up a large part of the space.

My feet crunch over the overgrown lawn. The grass almost waist-high in some places and it brushes against me as I walk through. At one time it had been a neat and lovingly maintained yard, but after two years of neglect, the only difference between it and the rest of the forest is the lack of trees. I don’t mind too much, though. It’s more fun to play hide and seek in the long grass anyway.

The grass brushes against my legs and makes me happy that I’m wearing pants, but… couldn’t I have changed before heading out to defend my house? I mean, lots of things can look cool in the right situation, but not even I can pull off embroidered orange pajama pants and a green shirt that has “Sleepyhead” written across the front.

I mentally scold past-self for picking out this outfit. No matter how tired I was, there is no excuse for this.

It’s a good thing Mel isn’t here; she’d never let me live this down.

I only stumble a couple of times in the tall grass. The ground is uneven and occasionally a small bush or two-year-old tree will catch my foot, hidden by the tall grass. Nature sure works fast.

Arriving at the shed I insert the key I grabbed on my way out the door. It slides in easily and the lock opens with a click. Grasping the worn wooden handle, I yank the door open.

A big house in the middle of the woods requires a lot of supplies to keep running. You just need certain things on hand. Tools, paint, emergency equipment, and spares of everything else too. In such a big household, you can’t stop and wait for someone to go into town to grab things in the event of something breaking. There are just too many things that break or need repairing to have life grind to a halt over every single one.

During a bad day, the house looks more like a construction site than a mansion. Faucets that leak, power problems, the internet going down, tools breaking, it’s a never-ending mess exasperated by living in the forest where nature is constantly trying to break the little civilization in its midst. So, you end up having spares for your spares and so on.

Unfortunately, most of the more useful—and expensive—tools were taken when the servants were dismissed two years ago. Servants tend to knab things at the best of times, and two years ago had been far from even that.

Power tools, candle holders, a pool table, and rare antiques had just up and left. Leaving the house mostly full of large and perishable items, and less expensive day to day things. Like bandages and furniture. Sans a pool table.

Fortunately, not everything was stored in the house. Out here in the back is a little shed that is locked year-round from the servant’s sticky fingers. But what would be stored in a shed out in the corner of the lot?

Well, you don’t want dirty shovels or pickaxes in your mansion. Or tangles of spare rope. Rusty nails that will “someday” be used in some project. Tools that are old and have been replaced, but still useful enough that they “can’t simply be thrown away”. The shed is littered with old forgotten things, little treasures waiting to be used.

All of these are useful but not what I’m after.

There’s also one more thing you don’t want to store in your wooden mansion…

*creak*

The door swings outward revealing a mess.

Tools litter shelves and rusty nails carpet the floor. Crates full of rope, so frayed it’s a wonder it hasn’t been thrown away line the walls, spare shingles decorate another corner, and rusty dirty shovels line another. My eyes, however, are drawn to little red containers lining the entire bottom of a shelf to my left.

Gas.

What would you definitely not want in your massive wooden mansion?

Paint.

What items would you store in a far-off corner of the yard in a small, locked shack?

Oil.

What items are essential for the maintenance of a large household? So essential you can’t go without them but not necessarily something you want lying around.

Lighter fluid.

And what would you call a place that you stored all these things?

The Flammable Shed.

I can’t stop the grin that keeps creeping onto my face. An entire shelf of very flammable, dangerous chemicals greets my eyes. It’s beautiful.

Mel’s always said I’m too fond of explosions, and my ‘spider self’ would also agree. I wasn’t fond of fire back then.

They’re both very wrong, of course. Someday, I’ll show Mel the beauty of a big, explosive fire, but for now, I’ll consider this a repentance process for my narrow-minded past life views.

Usually, I am too responsible to make a big fire in the middle of a forest for no reason, but since there’s a goblin band potentially after my life... *grin*

Grabbing two five-gallon jugs of gas I heave them off the shelf…

Grabbing one five-gallon jug of gas I heave it off the shelf and make my way towards the door. I have both hands around the handle, and it hangs down between my legs as I straddle it. I swing it to the left and take a step, and then to the right and take another. Slowly, I stagger towards my destination.

Stupid tiny arms.

Unfortunately, my destination is on the other side of the clearing. RIP.

My left arm is complaining profusely as I stumble along in the tall grass. I tell it this is all for the sake of explosions, but it doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm. The bandaged arm pouting at the neglect. My straddled position is also making my pajama pants ride up and the grass brushes against my ankles. It itches!

I keep going. For Fire! For Flame! For Infernos!

I start to sprint towards my destination. My thoughts filled with the massive—

It itches! It itches! It itches!

—blaze that will consume my enemies! I do not care that the jug is smacking my legs quite painfully! No! I am stronger than that! For I am a zealot, a worshiper of the flame that wishes to see the world burn!

My ankles! Ah! How can it itch so much!

I tromp forward my destination in sight. So close to accomplishing my noble goal!

I arrive at the barn and collapse into a sitting position. I grab my ankles leisurely and give them a light scrat—

Thank goodness! I’m saved! *scratchscratchscratchscratch*

Ehem, well only a few more trips to go!

On the second trip, I tuck my orange pajama pants into my socks. There! That’ll work.

After three steps, they slip out.

Ahhhhhhh!

On my third trip with the last jug, I pull my pants down a little and tuck them in really well. They’re not escaping this time!

This strategy meets with astounding success! I am already halfway across the yard and my ankles are safe! Just another feather in the cap of Selina Wrath!

My pajama pants are pulled down so they can be tucked into my socks. I can feel the elastic grabbing a little low on my hips. It’s slipping down just a little. It’s not really a problem but it’s starting to feel a little uncomfortable. I don’t like showing skin and I’m pretty sure my underwear is peaking out.

I feel my cheeks flush red. I’m so glad Mel isn’t here.

I continue to hobble forward but feel the elastic slip a little more. I clench my but trying to prevent it from slipping off.

I take a particularly wide step and my legs catch on the elastic as it slips down further. My leg stops short of where I intend it to land, held back by the elastic of my pants. Suddenly, the ground is rushing up to meet me!

I hurl the plastic gas canister to the side as I stumble forward trying to catch myself. I manage to get my left foot in front of me keeping myself from crashing into the ground. My right leg pulls through the grass as I start to catch myself. The panic starts to wear off as I start to regain my balance.

The elastic fails completely.

“Eeeeep!”

My pants slide down to my ankles. I try to catch myself, but my feet are entangled! I hop several steps forward in the grass trying to catch my balance, it’s useless!

“Ahk!”

For the second time in twenty-four hours, I find myself crashing face-first into a bush. The branches scratching at my face and bandaged arm! I thrash trying to get out only realizing the huge mistake I’ve made seconds after!

If I thought my ankles were bad, my bare thighs…

Aaaahhhhhh! It itches!!!!!!

*sniff*

That was awful!

My legs had itched like nothing else and since my hands were caught in the bush, I couldn’t do anything! I couldn’t get up too, because my legs were in a chokehold by the hateful orange pajama pants! Pants I couldn’t get off because they were tucked into my socks! It had taken me nearly five minutes to get out! All the while with my panties bared to the world!

Just thinking about it was enough to make angry tears collect in my eyes. I don’t think my cheeks will ever recover. Ever. They have permanently flushed a brilliant bright red! Stupid pajama pants!

I’m really glad Mel didn’t see that. I don’t think I could’ve stopped myself from crying if she had.

I glance around the clearing nervously. Just in case my thoughts had somehow summoned Mel to view my humiliation.

I’m happy to see that there is no Mel or goblins. I’d nearly forgotten about them in all the excitement of setting up my bonfi—I mean, trap.

It had taken me twelve trips. Luckily none of the later ones were as terrible as the first three. My previous excursions had worn a path through the grass saving me from trying out more… esoteric ways of keeping my legs safe from the hateful vegetation.

But I’m finally ready. In front of me sits three five-gallon jugs of gas, five unopened oil-based paints, two cans of motor oil, and two jugs of lighter fluid. We’d had more when we first moved into the house, but the supplies had dwindled down to this. But it would be enough.

My trap's location is the barn that’s located at the other end of the clearing from the flammable shed. It used to hold horses that were bred for racing and hunting purposes but they’re gone now. The horses, like almost everything else, had been taken when the property was signed over to us. Fortunately, they weren’t stingy enough to rip up the barn too.

I’d been sad to see the horses go, but I’d never been good at riding them anyway. Though there had been one brown colt I’d been pretty close to. I tried not to think about him too much.

Anyway, the barn still had straw bales that had been sitting in here for two years. Opening the door to the barn I remember why I haven’t gone into the barn in a year.

It stinks.

The strawbales have molded, and the constant moisture trapped inside the barn has made fungi and mildew grow everywhere.

The wall’s paint can’t be seen beneath the layers of mold and the air is filled with spores from the millions of funguses growing inside.

*cough, cough, cough*

The light from the door behind me is barely enough to reach the back of the barn. The faint illumination revealing a wide-open space and six stalls, their interior hidden by darkness. Old equipment litters the ground, but it is so filthy I have no interest in closely examining them.

Above is a loft, where the silent straw bales gaze scornfully down at the trespasser that dares to interrupt their decomposing. A small rope ladder ascending to their stinky abode.

I’ll try and make this quick.

Running outside I grab an oil and paint bucket and then rush back into the building holding my breath. I upend one bucket against a barn wall, run a few more steps, and then upend the other. I run outside and take a big breath. Four more trips to go!

Now it’s not just the fungus smell that makes me hold my breath. The fumes from all the chemicals make me dizzy as I rush two more buckets in. My lungs scream for air, but I tell them to wait patiently. They don’t want this stuff.

I run outside and take a huge breath of air.

*Pheeew*

Just a couple more trips to go!

I run inside and then run back out. Depositing the oil and paint till I make a full circuit around the barn. I figure the oil and paint won’t evaporate as fast as the lighter fluid and gas will. I love explosions, but I’m no expert, so I’m kind of playing this by ear right now.

Now for the gas.

I hesitate. Should I dump it out? I know gas evaporates and with how bad the room is already…

I set up the gas cans, two at the door and one in the center of the room. I decide not to dump them out just yet.

Now all I have left is the lighter fluid.

Grabbing a broken pole about as tall as I am, I drag it outside and lay it out in the sun. Hopefully, that’ll kill some of the mold growing on it. I scrounge around the barn a little longer, running out to grab some fresh air every now and then to ensure I don’t die of asphyxiation.

Using an old towel from the house, I wrap the ends of the poles and grab some old rope from the flammable shed. Then I wrap the rope tight around the towel which is wrapped at the end of the poles. I wish I had wire but... actually! I run back to the house and scramble up the stairs. Dashing into Ophir’s room I head to her wardrobe and grab a hanger from off the hook. My hangers are all plastic, but Ophir likes metal ones for some reason.

I work the wire around the end of the pole. Taking the lighter fluid, I dump it into two of the now-empty paint cans and put the towel wrapped ends of the pole into them. Now I’ll let them sit for a while.

My original plan was to climb up into the loft and wait for the goblins to show up. I’d get their attention and when they came into the barn, I’d close the doors and light the place ablaze! There’s a small window in the loft I can open and climb out with the rope ladder. There’s just a small problem.

I can’t stay here!

The mix of all the chemicals in the air and the smell of the mold and mildew make every breath hurt. It feels as if someone is punching my lungs and that’s before the convulsive coughing begins! I manage by holding my breath and running outside every now and then but staying here long-term is impossible.

I look at the shadows. I probably have four more hours till the sun sets. I’ve kind of made my plans with the assumption the goblins won’t attack during the day. Mostly because I tended to catch goblins in the evenings when I was a spider. But I should be ready regardless.

I look at the barn and try and figure out what else my trap needs to be trap-ready. If I can’t stay in the loft, I need a way to get up into the loft quick and close the doors once the goblins get in, but how to do it.

My eyes drift to the pile of rope I’d used when making my two torches. A familiar feeling crops up. Ideas.

Just like when I had looked at Mel’s hair yesterday, my memories are offering me up some designs. This time, however, I think I can put them into practice.

Grinning to myself I grab a hammer, some rusty nails, and the rope and head into the barn, breath held.