Formatted for and by friends at mobileread.com. Cover illustration, design and formatting by Travis Scott Greer at TravisScottGreer.com. This illustration along with this formatted book is donated into the public domain in the spirit of promoting great literature.

This is a work of really bad fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, stolen from the public domain or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental or a result of people coming in and interrupting me as I write.

E-book Dreams and Spiderwebs

By Travis Scott Greer

When the graphic artist, Stanley Kruebert, made the decision to move into room #9 of the small Motel Sutters, four people had already hanged themselves from the ceiling in that room on four successive Fridays. One would think that the room's macabre history would dissuade him, but he was a stubbornly curious sort of fellow. He had just purchased an Amazon Kindle and planned to spend his evenings reading on it while proving that there was no haunting taking place in the motel that would cause people to commit suicide.

The first victim was a middle-aged woman. They found her corpse on Sunday evening. It was a gruesome scene and the poor young doctor that examined her body decided to retire from the doctoring business soon afterward. It had been determined that the death must have occurred between five and six o'clock on Friday afternoon. The corpse hung on a rusty hook that had been driven into the ceiling to serve as a hanger for articles of clothing. The window was closed, and the poor woman had used the curtain cord as a simple noose. The cord was fairly long, and she hung with her knees almost touching the floor--a sign of the extreme discipline she must have exercised in carrying out her mission. Later, it was learned that she was a mother to six children, and had just learned that her husband, who had recently returned from overseas, had died of a mysterious jungle disease. She had been in a terrible state of mind and left her children in the care of her mother while she traveled to visit her sister-in-law, probably in order to get financial help. Her sister-in-law promptly refused to help her out. There was not one written word to be found that would have shed light on the woman's suicide--but considering her hard circumstances, it wasn't considered such an unlikely choice. There was no suicide note, but they did find a discarded e-book reader--an Amazon Kindle.

The second case was not much different. The singer, John Hoyton, a member of the nearby Sonyra Opera House, moved into room #9 two days later. When he did not show up at Friday's performance, the musical director sent an employee to the motel. There, he found Hoyton in the unlocked room hanging from the hook, in circumstances exactly like those of the previous suicide. This death was a bit more perplexing than the first. Hoyton was popular. He earned a very high salary, and had appeared to enjoy life at its fullest. Once again, there was no suicide note; no sinister hints, but they did find yet another Kindle e-book reader. Hoyton's sole survivor was his mother to whom the son had regularly sent the majority of his salary on the first of each month.

The third was a traveling salesman. They found him hanging from the same rusty hook. Later, it was learned that he was a happily married man, a father of two. He had just purchased an Amazon Kindle reader to keep him company on the lonely nights spent away from home. None of his acquaintances could recall hearing anything at all from him that would have permitted anyone to predict his end. The Kindle was sitting on the floor by the window, it's battery as dead as it's owner.

For Elizabeth Sutter, the owner of the small, cheap motel, this third curious death in the same room had very unpleasant consequences. Already several of her guests had moved out, and other regular clients had not come back. Rumors had started to develop and she knew that her business would suffer terribly. She appealed for help to her personal friend, the inspector of police of the ninth precinct, who assured her that he would do everything in his power to help her. He pushed zealously ahead not only with the investigation into the grounds for the suicides of the three guests, but he also placed an officer in the mysterious room.

This man, Charlie Dumont, actually volunteered for the task. Dumont was an old "Vettie," a marine sergeant with eleven years of service, who had nerves of steel, and had greeted so many stealthily creeping criminals with a shot from his taser that he seemed ideally suited to encounter the "ghost" that everyone on in town was talking about.

From then on, each morning and each evening, Dumont paid a brief visit to the police station to make his report, which, for the first few days, consisted only of his statement that he had not noticed anything unusual. Realizing that he was getting bored, they gave him one of the Kindle's that was recovered from the crime scenes. Maybe after charging it and reading it he could find out something. Finally, on Wednesday evening, he hinted that he had found something. Something a bit unusual.

Asked to give his report, he wanted more time before saying anything specific, since he wasn't sure that what he had discovered had proved any relationship between the deaths. He was afraid that at this point in his investigation, he might say something that would make him look stupid.

On Thursday, his behavior seemed a bit peculiar, but his mood was noticeably more serious. Still, he had nothing to report. On Friday morning, he came in very excited and spoke, half humorously, half seriously, of the strangely attractive power that his Kindle had. Did they know that he could purchase books wirelessly? He was very excited. He would not elaborate and said that, in any case, it had nothing to do with the suicides; and that it would be ridiculous of him to say any more. When, on that same Friday, he failed to make his regular evening report, someone went to his room and found him hanging from the same rusty hook.

All the circumstances, down to the smallest detail, were the same here as in the previous cases. Dumont's legs dragged along the ground. The curtain cord had been used for a noose. The window was closed, the door to the room had not been locked and death had occurred at six o'clock. The dead man's mouth was wide open, and his tongue protruded from it, blackened and swollen. On the ground, right beside his legs, lay the Kindle. It's screen was undamaged and it's battery was dead.

After Dumont's death, the fourth in as many weeks in room #9, all the guests, with the exception of a high-school teacher in room #16, moved out. The teacher took advantage of the situation to have his rent reduced. A scandal can be good for the pocketbook of a thrifty guest.

If these events had occurred in summer, say in July or August, old Ms. Sutter probably wouldn't have lost as much business. But as it was cold and a slow time for news, word quickly spread. The newspaper accounts loved to focus on the aspect of a haunting.

These newspaper accounts were all that Stanley Kruebert, the graphic artist, knew of the matter.

There was one detail about which he knew nothing because neither the police inspector nor any of the eyewitnesses had mentioned it to the press. It was only later, after what happened to the artist, that anyone remembered that when the police removed Sergeant Charlie Dumont's body from the hook, the Kindle suddenly flashed it's screen several times. A motel maid noticed it and picked it up, exclaiming, "Ugh, another of those damned readers--good God but it's ugly! Would ya have a look at the size o' these buttons? Poor substitute for a paper book if ya ask me."

When in later investigations (which concerned themselves mostly with Kruebert) the maid was interrogated, she said that she had seen a similar Kindle screen flash when the other bodies were removed from the hook. But Stanley Kruebert knew nothing of all this.

It was more than two weeks after the last suicide that Kruebert moved into the room. It was a Sunday. Kruebert conscientiously recorded everything that happened to him in his journal. That journal now follows:

------------------

Monday, February 28--I moved in yesterday evening. I unpacked my two suitcases and straightened the room a little. Then I went to bed and read a bit on my Kindle. I slept so soundly that it was nine o'clock the next morning before a knock at my door woke me. It was my hostess, bringing me breakfast herself. One could read her concern for me in the eggs, the bacon and the superb orange juice she brought me. I washed and dressed, then read a bit on my Kindle as I watched the maid make up the room.

So, here I am. I know well that the situation may prove dangerous, but I think I may just be the one to solve the problem. I hate my job more than anyone would venture to believe. However, if I can solve this case, I'll be in the papers and maybe I'll get some better job offers. Maybe a spokesperson or something. I have at least one chance to win, and I mean to risk it. As it is, I'm not the only one who has had this notion. Lots of people have tried for access to the room. Some went to the police, some went directly to the motel owner. There were even three teenagers among the candidates. There was plenty of competition. No doubt the others are poor devils like me, desperately trying to cash in on the situation.

And yet, it was I who was chosen. Why? Because I was the only one who hinted that I had some plan--or the semblance of a plan. Naturally, I was bluffing. It's how I get about in life, I'm a natural at it.

These journal entries are intended for the police. I must say that it amuses me to no end that those guys are going to find out how I tricked them. If the Inspector has any sense, he'll say, "Hmmm, this Kruebert is just the man we need working for us." In any case, it doesn't matter what he'll say. The point is I'm here now, and I take it as a good sign that I've begun my task by pulling one over on the police. Still, I am surprised at how easily they are fooled.

I had gone first to Ms. Sutter, and she was the one who sent me to the police. They put me off for a whole week--as they put off my rivals as well. Most of them gave up in disgust, probably having something better to do than hang around the musty squad room all day. The Inspector was beginning to get irritated at my tenacity. Finally he told me I was wasting my time. That the police had no use for amateurs. "You know, if only you had a plan. Then maybe..."

On the spot, I announced that I had such a plan, though naturally I had no such thing. Still, I gave the impression that my plan was brilliant, yet dangerous, and that it might lead to the same end as that which had overtaken the police officer, Dumont. Still, I promised to describe it to him if he would promise me that he would personally see to it that his department got all the credit if I was successful . He made plenty of excuses, claiming he was too busy but when he asked me to tell him just a little of my plan, I saw that I had him.

I rattled off some nonsense about occults and superstitions. God knows where it all came from. I pride myself on being a quick liar, so this was an easy thing.

I told him that six o'clock of a Friday is an occult hour. It's the last hour of the Jewish week; the hour when Christ disappeared from his tomb and descended into hell. That he would do well to remember that the four suicides had taken place at approximately that hour. That was all I could tell him just then, I said, but I pulled out my Kindle and showed him that I had been reading up on The Revelations of St. John.

The Inspector assumed the look of a man who understood all that I had been saying, then he asked me to come back that evening and that I should bring my Kindle with me.

I returned, right on time, and noted a copy of the New Testament on the Inspector's desk. Not on an e-book version mind you--our good Inspector was too old-fashioned for that. It was an old paper book version. I had, in the meantime, been hard at reading the Revelations myself. I couldn't figure out a single word of it. Perhaps the Inspector was cleverer than I. Looking at me suspiciously, he let me know that, despite my extremely vague ramblings, he thought he grasped my train of thought and was ready to go through my plan. Of course, as long as he got credit for it. The fool!

He made the arrangement with the owner that I was to have anything I needed so long as I stayed in the room. The Inspector gave me a taser and a cell phone (the landline phone didn't work for some reason), and he ordered the officers in the area to come by on the street as often as possible, and to watch my window for any signal. Since I don't think anything is going to happen to me, I see no reason to be afraid.

Wednesday, March 1--Nothing has happened. Not yesterday. Not today. Maybe the previous residents died of boredom. Thank God I brought my Kindle. I realized that I had forgotten to charge it up and forgot to turn the wireless function off, so the battery had run down. Very irritating. My other e-book readers lasted much longer, but I had given them away after falling in love with my Kindle. Oh well, that's the price one pays for being an early adopter I suppose.

Ms. Sutter brought me a charger that was left by one of the previous occupants. She seemed happy to talk with me, even a bit lonely--the other rooms are mostly empty now, of course. Ms. Sutter takes every opportunity to visit me, and each time she brings something with her. I have asked her to tell me everything that happened here, but she didn't really have any new information for me. She has her own opinion of the suicides. Her view is that they must have planned on killing themselves before they arrived. They just knew that since her motel had the best views in town, it would be the best place to finish it all off. On the other hand, the death of the policeman was easy to explain. He had killed himself just to annoy her. The woman was crazy.

These are sad enough explanations, to be sure, but I let her babble on to take the edge off my boredom while my Kindle charged. It only takes two hours to charge you know.

Thursday, March 3--Still nothing. The Inspector calls twice a day. Each time, I tell him that all is well. Apparently, these words do not reassure him. Or maybe he just doesn't understand them. He seems to be a bit of an idiot.

I have been taking advantage of this time to catch up on my reading, so that my self-imposed confinement will have some purpose. This is a good break for me.

Friday. March 4--I ate a really good meal at noon. The landlady also brought me half a bottle of champagne. It seemed a meal for a condemned man. Ms. Sutter looked at me as if I were already three-quarters dead. As she was leaving, she begged me tearfully to come with her, fearing no doubt that I would hang myself 'just to annoy her.' Crazy old woman! Can't she see that I am enjoying this? I don't need a computer, television or anything--I have it all. My Kindle is wireless. I can surf the web and buy books if I want to. They are so foolish, these people.

I studied the curtain cord once again. Would I hang myself with it? Well, I felt little desire to do so, even if everyone was starting to get on my nerves. The cord is stiff and rough--not the sort of cord one makes a noose of, it doesn't seem a comfortable way to go. A guy would have to be pretty determined to hang from that cord. If they would just let me read in peaceÉ

I am seated now at my table. At my left, the cell phone. At my right, the taser. I'm not frightened; but I am curious. Why can't they just let me read in peace?

Six o'clock, the same evening--Nothing has happened. I was about to add, "Unfortunately." The fatal hour has come--and has gone, like any six o'clock on any evening. I won't hide the fact that I occasionally felt a certain impulse to just turn off my Kindle and stare at my reflection in it's dead blank screen, but for a quite different reason than one might imagine. The wireless is cutting in and out. I am starting to get headaches because the damn battery goes dead so often.

The Inspector called me at least ten times between five and six o'clock. He was as impatient as I was. Ms. Sutter, on the other hand, is happy. A week has passed without someone in #9 hanging himself. Marvelous. Yay. Great! Alright, let's have a celebration. Fools. Leave me alone. Why does the wireless suck so much in this room?

Monday, March 7--I have a growing suspicion that I'll learn nothing; that the previous suicides are related to the circumstances surrounding the pathetic lives of the individuals. I've asked the Inspector to investigate the cases further, convinced that he'll find their motivations. As for me, I hope to stay here as long as possible. I may not get rich here, but I live very well and I'm fattening up nicely. I'm also reading more than ever, and I am making real progress. There is another reason, too, that keeps me here. It's the screen. I wish everyone would leave me alone. Don't they understand that I need to stop being interrupted?

Wednesday, March 9--So! I have found someone amazing! Cerridwen. Isn't that beautiful?

I haven't yet said anything about Cerridwen. She's my "third" reason for staying here. She is also the reason I was tempted to just stare at my Kindle screen during the "fateful" hour last Friday. But of course, not to hang myself. Those idiots would like me to do that though huh? Make a much better story if I would hang myself huh? The fools!

Cerridwen. Where does she come from? I have no idea what her real name is, but it ought to be Cerridwen. When I finally get a chance to ask her name, I'm sure it will turn out to be Cerridwen. I can tell. Of course, if only these people will leave me alone! Can't they see I'm busy?

I noticed her almost at once...in the very first days. When I turn off the screen, an image of her shows up. At first, I thought it was just the ghosting (ha, the term!) of the text. But Kindles don't ghost text. No, it was an image. Faint at first, but getting stronger. So! My Kindle has some sort of e-ink video. That's it. She must be a fellow book lover. And she hacked into my Kindle of all Kindles out there. This so perfect!

I ought to say that she noticed me before I really noticed her; and that she was obviously interested in me. And no wonder. The whole freakin' neighborhood knows I'm here, and why. Ms. Sutter has seen to that--the crazy old woman. She gossips like you wouldn't believe.

Cerridwen is a beautiful, fellow e-book lover and she likes what I am reading. She probably can see that I do a lot of wireless ordering. Of course. Don't worry, no darknet e-book reading here darling. Nope, it's all legit now. And don't you love how big the buttons are? Yes ma'am, size does matter. Yep, bigger buttons mean bigger brains. Heck, I bet she doesn't even read public domain works, I bet she orders everything from Amazon. Yes, that's it. I just know it!

Now in all honesty, I should mention that I am not the sort of guy that gets chased by women. In fact, my relations with women have been pretty meager. I barely make enough money to buy three meals a day. I'm also not the best looking guy in the world. So yeah, ok, I'm not very experienced with the ladies. Never mind. It's exciting just the same. And you know what? I am going to wirelessly order some fitness books too. I'm not in the best shape right now, but I will be--I promise you that. I'm going to order the Scrawny to Brawny in Three Weeks e-book. That'll show those idiots that Cerridwen is making a good choice by picking me!

At first, the idea of establishing a real relationship with her didn't occur to me. It was only that, since I was here to make observations, I didn't really count on a relationship. Resting my eyes between books and staring at this beautiful screen, was the smart thing to do.  Right? Anyhow, one can't sit all day long just reading. Eyestrain right? Wrong! No, not with this beautiful device, no eyestrain here. Even when it's turned off, it's beautiful. And then her picture came into view. Just appeared to me. All I had to do was order more books. Buy more books and she became clearer with every purchase. Yes, that's it, I need more books. It's so convenient, so easy. Just push a couple of buttons.

Cerridwen, I have concluded, probably lives alone in a small apartment close to here. Probably has been mistreated by some jock guy and needs someone with a brain to sweep her off of her feet. Someone who reads a lot. Yep, that's it. I imagine her apartment having three windows, but she sits only in front of the window that gives her the great diffused light that e-ink works so well in. She sits there, watching over me on her Kindle, wondering what books I have purchased lately. I had no idea anyone paid so much attention to what others bought and read. How refreshing it is to know she is watching! Knowing what I am reading, what I am buying! I bet her Kindle is a lovely object. I bet it's made of ivory; and the books she probably buys are of an exceptional fineness. She reads all day in that wonderful light, and stops reading only to see what I am reading.

Strangely, Cerridwen sometimes disappears from my screen at five o'clock. The same time that my wireless stops working. Oh this dreaded, beat-down motel.  I hate it here and how everyone keeps trying to interrupt me!

What does Cerridwen look like? I'm not quite sure how to explain. You see, my e-ink isn't color, but it doesn't really matter. I can tell that her hair is black and wavy; her slightly heart-shaped face pale.

Her nose is short and slightly shaped to an upward point with delicate nostrils that seem to quiver when she sees how many books I am buying. Her lips, too, are pale: and when she smiles, it seems that her small teeth are as keen as those of some beast of prey. The hunger the flashes over her face when she knows that I will buy more books, always seems to makes me light-headed. I long to be away from everyone so I can just concentrate on buying more books. It's so easy. So effortless.

Her eyelashes are long and dark; and her huge dark eyes have an intense passionate glow. I really just guess these details more than I know them. It's hard to see clearly through the faded e-ink screen. I must buy more. Yes, that's better--a little more clear now.

Something else: she always wears a black dress embroidered with an arrow-like motif; and black gloves, no doubt to protect her Kindle from the effects of her constant reading. It's a beautiful sight: her delicate hands moving perpetually, swiftly pushing the wonderfully designed buttons, pushing them, releasing them, pushing them again; as if one were watching the indefatigable motions of an insect. An insect in it's element taking care of it's offspring. Pushing. Releasing. Pushing. Releasing.

Our relationship? For the moment, still very superficial, though it feels deeper. Actually I know it is deeper. A connection. Yes, like an effortless, wireless connection. It began with a sudden exchange of glances in which each of us noted the other. I must have pleased her, because one day she studied me a while longer, then smiled tentatively. Yes, I pleased her.

Did you read the last bestseller I bought? Brilliant, I'm sure. Of course, I haven't read it yet, but I did buy it. Naturally, I smiled back at her. My Kindle doesn't have a camera does it? Does it? How can she see me? She must see me. Yes, she sees me. She knows what I am buying. In this fashion, two days went by, each of us smiling more frequently with the passage of time. The image has only four shades of gray, so a little fuzzy, but good enough. Yes, I must buy more books. It's so easy! Did I mention how easy it is to buy a book? No need to hook the Kindle up to anything. It just works. Yes, easy.

Today was the day. This afternoon, I did it. I bought a book on long-distance relationships. Also one on the mating habits of spiders. Did you know that spiders have the greatest, most elaborate love rituals of all? She knows I bought these books because of her. And sure enough, Cerridwen smiled at me. It was done subtly enough, to be sure, but I saw her nod. I think she nodded. Yes, I'm sure. Well just in case, I will buy more books. Yes, that makes the screen clearer. That's it.

Thursday, March 10--Yesterday, I sat for a long time over my Kindle, though I can't truthfully say that I read much. I daydreamed of Cerridwen. I did get a chance to buy more books. Did I mention how easy it is to do it? The Kindle is wireless--just so you know.

I slept fitfully. What does she hold in her hands? A Kindle? No--a spindle, yes a spindle. Wow, she must have bought a book on sewing. Yes, e-books on everything. So easy to buy. I should maybe take up a new hobby. It's so easy. Not a lot of time to read, but plenty of time to buy. Yes, more books must be bought today.

This morning, when I looked at the screen of my Kindle, Cerridwen was already in her place. I waved, and she nodded back. She laughed, well I think she laughed anyway, and studied me for a long time.

I tried to read, but I felt much too uneasy. Instead, I sat down and gazed at Cerridwen. She too had put her work aside. She was probably waiting for me to purchase more books. It's so easy, you know. Her hands were folded in her lap. I drew my curtain wider with the window cord, so that I might see my screen better. This cord is more comfortable to the touch than I remembered. I bet at the same moment, Cerridwen did the same with the curtains at her window. We exchanged smiles. Yes, time to buy. I understand.

We must have spent a full hour gazing at each other.

Finally, she took up her sewing, spinning her cloth, this way and that. Her new hobby. She learned it. Amazon taught her. It can make you better. It can make you smarter. Just click a few buttons. It's so easy.

Is that the phone ringing? I should mute it, I can't be interrupted. Can't they see that I'm too busy to concern myself with their trivial questions? Idiots.

Saturday, March 12--The days pass. I eat and drink. I sit at the desk and marvel at the screen of my Kindle. I look down at my reader but I don't read a word, though I try again and again. I should buy more books. I don't have time to read, only to buy. I turn off the screen and I wave to Cerridwen. She nods. We smile. We stare at each other for hours. Must pause to buy more books, I can't let her fade away. I need more books. Maybe an interesting book or two on insects.

Yesterday afternoon, at six o'clock, I grew anxious. The twilight came early, bringing with it something like anguish. Or was it sadness? I think the e-ink screen looks so much better in daylight--the lighting in this room is really horrible at this time of day. I sat at my desk. I waited until I was invaded by an irresistible need study the rusty hook in this room--not to hang myself; but just to see if I can get up there, maybe find a better angle to read and see more of Cerridwen. I sprang up and stood beside the hook where it seemed to me I had never been able to see the screen so clearly, though it was already dark.

Cerridwen was spinning or sewing something, but her eyes looked into mine. Yes, yes, she was happy with my last book purchase. I felt myself strangely contented even as I experienced a light sensation of fear. How much money is left in my account? I hope I have enough to keep buying. I am sure that I have a few dollars left. Yes, sure of it.

The phone rang. It was the Inspector tearing me out of my trance with his idiotic questions. The fools, can't they see that I am busy? My wireless doesn't always work, so I must buy when I can.

I was furious.

This morning, the Inspector and Ms. Sutter visited me. She is enchanted with how things are going. I have now lived for two weeks in room #9. The Inspector, however, does not feel he is getting the results I promised him. I hinted mysteriously that I was on the trail of something most unusual.

The jackass took me at my word and fulfilled my dearest wish. I've been allowed to stay in the room for another week. Ha! The paper book-reading idiot! God knows it isn't Ms. Sutter's cooking or wine-cellar that keeps me here. She needs to purchase some cookbooks in e-book format. But the stupid sow, she only reads on paper! How quickly one can be sated with such foolish things. No. I want to stay because of the device Ms. Sutter fears and hates. My beloved Kindle that gives me access to the world and shows me Cerridwen.

I have a large, comfortable armchair and a green shade over the lamp whose bright glow envelopes me in warmth, and it's ideal lighting for my Kindle. I want to do more reading--and yet I cannot do it. I read two or three pages, only to discover that I haven't understood a word. My mind is wandering. My eyes see the letters, but my brain refuses to make any sense of them. It is as if there were no room in my head for any other thought than the one: buying more books so that I can see Cerridwen more clearly. Do they have anymore books on spiders? Beautiful spiders?

I turn off my reader and stare at her; I lean back deeply into my chair. I dream.

Sunday, March 13--This morning I watched a tiny drama while the maid was tidying my room. I was strolling in the corridor when I paused before a small window in which a large black and purple Amazonian Leaf spider had her web. I could identify her because of the e-books I purchased.  I recognized the pic from the cover of the book I just bought. Strange that I would find that species here.

Ms. Sutter will not have it removed because she believes spiders bring luck, and she's had enough misfortunes in her motel lately. Today, I saw a much smaller spider, an orange-colored male, moving across the threads towards the middle of the web, but when his movements caught the attention of the female, he drew back shyly to the edge of the web from which he made another attempt to cross it. Finally, the female in the middle appeared attentive to his flirting, and stopped moving. The male pulled at a strand gently, then more strongly until the whole web shook. The female stayed still. The male ran quickly forward and the female received him quietly, calmly, giving herself over completely to his embraces. In a kind of love that only a spider can experience. For a long minute, they hung together motionless at the center of the huge web. Caring about nothing in the world but themselves. Lovely really.

Then, after a short while, I saw the male slowly trying to remove himself, one leg over the other. It was as if he wanted to quietly leave his companion alone in the dream of love, disappear so that her memory of him would carry on. As he started away, the female, overwhelmed by the killing instinct that was imbedded into her eons ago, was after him, hunting him ruthlessly. A hunter-killer, hungry for the blood of another. The male let himself drop from a thread; the female followed, and for a while the lovers hung there, in the air, weaving to and fro in the slight breeze. The swaying stopped, they hung motionless, like a piece of art that Mother Nature herself had created. Then they fell to the windowsill where the male, summoning all of the strength and will that his feeble primitive mind could muster, tried again to escape. Too late. The female already had him in her powerful grip, and was carrying him back to the center of the web. There, the place that had just served as the bedroom for their passionate embraces took on quite another aspect. It was now a place of feasting. The lover wriggled, trying to escape from the female's killing embrace, but she was too much for him.

It was not long before she had wrapped him completely in her thread, and he was helpless. Alive but paralyzed, he was terrifyingly aware of what was happening. Then she dug her sharp hollow fangs into his body, and sucked full draughts of her young lover's blood. He didn't even have the ability to scream, he could only let it happen. Her belly filled and swelled with his life's blood. Finally, she detached herself from the pitiful and unrecognizable shell of his body and threw it out of her web. It tumbled downward and was caught briefly in a soft breeze. Carried away to be forgotten by the world.

So that is what love is like among these creatures. So different, seeing it rather than just reading about it. I suppose that it bodes well for me that I am not a spider.  But what a way to go!

Monday, March 14--I don't read my books any longer, I just buy more and then turn off the screen so I can spend my days staring at her. Sometimes when it's dark, Cerridwen is no longer there, but if I close my eyes, I continue to see her. I think I need to buy more, maybe she is disappointed in me.

This journal has become something other than I intended. I've spoken about Ms. Sutter, about the Inspector; about spiders and about Cerridwen. But I've said nothing about the discoveries I intended to make. It can't be helped. I have been very busy buying stuff.

Tuesday, March 15--We have invented a strange game, Cerridwen and I. We play it all day long. I greet her; then she greets me. Then I tap my fingers on the screen. The moment she sees me doing that, she too begins tapping. I think she does anyway. It's hard to tell in this light sometimes. I wave to her; she waves back. I move my lips as if speaking to her; she does the same. I run my hand through my sleep-disheveled hair and instantly her hand is at her forehead. It is a child's game, and we both laugh over it. Actually, she doesn't laugh. She only smiles a gently contained smile. And I smile back in the same way. I know that she expects me to buy more books. I am fearing that I may run out of money, but no matter. I love her. It's worth it.

The game is not as trivial as it seems to the fools of the paper-based world. It's not as if we were just simply imitating each other--that would tire us both. Rather, we are communicating with each other. Honest, pure communication. Wireless. Sometimes, telepathically, it would seem, since Cerridwen follows my movements instantaneously almost before she has had time to see them. There is a slight delay because of the e-ink, but no matter, I can tell. No mistaking it, she is an e-book lover that has enriched her life through reading. I admire her.

That's how I spend my days...but never for a moment do I feel that I'm wasting my time. It seems, on the contrary, that never in my life have I been better occupied. This is what I was meant to do. Fate brought the Kindle to me. Pity the fools and their sub par e-book readers. The people who read paper are even worse. Idiots! They are all afraid of change, of being better. They disgust me.

Wednesday. March 16--Isn't it strange that it hasn't occurred to me to put my relationship with Cerridwen on a more serious basis than these endless games. You probably have no clue about how serious this is. Last night, I thought about this...I can, of course, just grab my stuff and walk down two flights of stairs, leave this place and go and find "Cerridwen" out in the "real" world. Cerridwen what? I don't know. Something. Then I can find her and...

Up to this point I imagine everything very clearly, but I cannot see what should happen next. I know that the door opens. But what if she finds that I am almost out of money, that I can't buy more books? I stand before this door of possibility, looking into a dark void. Cerridwen doesn't come. Nothing comes. Nothing is there, only the black, impenetrable dark. Where is the that hook? Maybe if I get up to it, the light will be better, maybe I can figure something out.

Sometimes, it seems to me that there can be no other Cerridwen but the one I see in the screen. I cannot imagine Cerridwen wearing a hat, or a dress other than her black dress with the arrow motif. Nor can I imagine a Cerridwen without black gloves holding her beautiful ivory Kindle. The very notion that I might encounter Cerridwen somewhere in the streets or in a restaurant eating, drinking or chatting is so improbable that it makes me laugh. What a joke. The "real" world. It's full of foolish people afraid of change. No, they wouldn't understand what Cerridwen and I have.

Sometimes I ask myself whether I really, truly love her. It's impossible to say, since I have never loved before. However, if the feeling that I have for Cerridwen is really love, then love is something entirely different from anything I have seen among my friends or read about in e-books. Did the male spider truly love the female spider. Was it worth it. Was it his destiny to exist only for her? Her hollow fangs. Her swelling belly.

It is hard for me to be sure of my feelings and harder still to think of anything that doesn't relate to Cerridwen or, what is more important, to our love. Undeniably, it is our love that concerns me. Nothing else--and this is what I understand least of all.

There is no doubt that I am drawn to Cerridwen, but with this attraction there is mingled another feeling, fear. No. That's not it either. Say rather a vague apprehension in the presence of the unknown. I don't know what to do if I run out of money and can no longer buy e-books with my Kindle. What if she finds out? Am I less of a man because of it? Surely, one can't expect me to get a job. How would I have time to buy more books with my wireless one-click system? And this anxiety has a strangely voluptuous quality so that I am at the same time drawn to her even as I am repelled by her. It is as if I were moving in giant circles around her, sometimes coming close, sometimes retreating...back and forth, back and forth. Sneaking in close to her, backing off. Watching, wanting, yes, that's it. I know now.

Once, I am sure of it, it will happen, and I will join her.

Cerridwen stares at me and spins her slender, eternally fine thread, making a strange cloth whose purpose I do not understand. She must have learned it from an e-book that I don't have access too. I searched and searched. But I would buy whatever I could, anything to make the screen clearer. I am amazed that she is able to keep from tangling her delicate thread. Hers is surely a remarkable design, containing mythical beasts and strange masks. Maybe her Kindle is a different version than mine. A better one. What can I do to please her? I must buy moreÉ

Thursday, March 17--I am curiously excited. I don't talk to people any more. I barely say "hello" to Ms. Sutter or to the maid. I hardly give myself time to eat. Who has time to eat? I have one-click shopping ahead of me. Not time for eating things that the foolish people try to bring me. Can't they stop interrupting me? All I can do is sit and stare at my Kindle, buying more books, and the staring at the screen to watch Cerridwen. It is an enthralling game. Overwhelming. It's what I enjoy, what I must do.

I have the feeling something will happen tomorrow. Yeppers, tomorrow is going to be a good day. I can feel it. Now I must buy more books. Have I told you how easy it is? I love the fact that they know everything I buy. How clever of the Amazon company to watch me. Yes, they are helping me win Cerridwen's love. They are on my side.

Friday, March 18--Yes. Yes. Something will happen today. I tell myself--as loudly as I can--that that's why I am here. I don't care who hears. The world should know that this is what I am meant to do. This is my destiny!

And yet, horribly enough, I am afraid. And in the fear that the same thing is going to happen to me as happened to my predecessors, there is strangely mingled another fear: a terror of Cerridwen. And I cannot separate the two fears. I am almost out of money, will she still love me if I can't buy more books? Will she? Am I good enough?

I am frightened. I want to scream.

Six o'clock, evening I have my jacket on, maybe I should leave. Just a couple of words.

At five o'clock, I was at the end of my strength. I'm perfectly aware now that there is a relationship between my despair and the "sixth hour" that was so significant in the previous weeks. I no longer laugh at the trick I played the Inspector. This isn't as simple as I thought.

I was sitting at the window, trying with all my might to stay in my chair, but the light was dimming and the thought of the hook kept drawing me. Maybe if I could somehow latch onto it, I would have better lighting for my screen. Maybe the wireless would even work better, I would be sort of like a giant antenna. You know, it's quite easy to purchase a book with one-click service, but your wireless has to work.

Regardless of how to I did it, I had to resume the game with Cerridwen. And yet, the stupid rusty hook horrified me. I saw the others hanging there: the woman, fat, with a thick neck and a gray thinning hair; the singer; the salesman; and the powerful police sergeant. I saw them, one after the other, hanging from the same hook, their mouths open, their stupid fat tongues sticking out. And their Kindles, loyally staying close to their dead, gray bodies. And then, I saw myself among them.

Oh, this unspeakable fear. It was clear to me that it was provoked as much by Cerridwen as by the Kindle and the horrible hook. May she pardon me...but it is the truth. In my terror, I keep seeing the victims hanging there, their legs dragging on the floor. Their bloodstained Kindles on the ground. Did they run out of money as well?

And yet, the fact is I had not felt the slightest desire to hang myself; nor was I afraid that I would want to do so. No, it was the Kindle I feared; and Cerridwen. I was sure that something horrid was going to happen. Then I was overwhelmed by the need to go to the hook--to stand under it. I had to...

The cell phone rang. I picked up the receiver and before I could hear a word, I screamed, "Now! Get here now!"

It was as if my screaming had in that instant dissipated the shadows from my soul. I grew calm.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I drank a glass of water. My head throbbed and I felt faint. Then I considered what I should say to the Inspector when he arrived. Finally, I went to the little desk and grabbed the Kindle. I looked into the screen. I waved and smiled. And Cerridwen too waved and smiled. Yes, she loved me, I can tell. It's not so bad after all. Did she see that I still wanted to buy more books? Yes of course she knew that, she knew that I loved her.

Five minutes later, the Inspector was here. I told him that I was getting to the bottom of the matter, but I begged him not to question me just then. That very soon I would be in a position to make important revelations. Strangely enough, though I was lying to him. I myself had the feeling that I was telling the truth. Even now, against my will, I have that same conviction.

The Inspector could not help noticing my crazed state of mind, especially since I apologized for my screaming over the phone. Naturally, I tried to explain it to him, and yet I could not find a single reason to give for it. He invited me to go out with him for the evening. It would be a distraction for me. It would do me good not to be alone for a while. I accepted the invitation though I was very reluctant to leave the room.

Saturday, March 19--We went to a local diner. The Inspector was right: it was good for me to get out and breathe the fresh air. At first, I had an uncomfortable feeling, as if I were doing something wrong; as if I were a deserter who had turned his back on his country. But that soon went away. We drank a lot, laughed and chatted. A good man, that Inspector. Maybe he would wise up and start reading e-books. Paper books were a waste of time.

This morning, when I gazed into my Kindle, Cerridwen gave me what I thought was a look of reproach, though I maybe I just imagined it. How could she have known that I had gone out last night? In any case, the look lasted only for an instant, then she smiled again. She knows I love her. Besides I stole the Inspectors credit card, I could buy more books. He would understand.

I spent all day buying books, knowing that I was making her happy.

Sunday, March 20--Only one thing to record: I bought more books, she smiled. She loves me. I love her.

Monday, March 21--I spent the entire day, buying more books. It's so easy. One click.

Tuesday, March 22--Bought more books. And nothing else. Nothing at all.

Sometimes I wonder what is happening to me? What is it I want? Where is all this leading? I know the answer: there is nothing else I want except this. It is what I want...what I long for. This only. Amazon Kindle books. No other format.

Cerridwen and I have smiled at each other in the course of the last few days, but very briefly; scarcely a moment. Sometimes we moved our lips, but more often we just looked at each other with deep understanding. It's all about buying.

I was right about Cerridwen's reproachful look. She was angry that I went out with the Inspector last Friday. I asked her to forgive me. I said it was stupid of me, and spiteful to have gone. She forgave me, and I promised never to leave the Kindle again. We kissed, pressing our lips against each of our screens. I had to hurry, buy more. So easy. One click.

Wednesday, March 23--I know now that I love Cerridwen. That she has entered into the very fiber of my being. It may be that the loves of other men are different. But does there exist one head, one ear, one hand that is exactly like hundreds of millions of others? There are always differences, and it must be so with love. My love is strange, I know that, but is it any the less lovely because of that? Besides, my love makes me happy. Not everyone has a Kindle. They should. Maybe they will. Either way, I don't care. I will buy my books from one place and one place only. Only I know.

If only I were not so frightened. Sometimes my terror slumbers and I forget it for a few moments, then it wakes and does not leave me. The fear is like a poor mouse trying to escape the grip of a powerful snake. Just wait a bit, poor sad terror. No escape. Very soon, the serpent will devour you and there is not a single thing you can do about it. Only wait. The terrible waiting.

Thursday, March 24--I have made a discovery: I only exist to buy books from one company. For one device. Doing this and loving Cerridwen are all I need in this world

Friday, March 25--I have smashed the cell phone. I have no wish to be continually disturbed by the idiotic inspector just as the mysterious hour arrives. What a fool. They are all idiots. Leave me alone!

God. Why did I write that? Not a word of it is true. It is as if someone else were directing my pen. What is happening to me. I don't read books at all, I just buy themÉ

But I want to...want to...to write the truth here...though it is costing me great effort. But I want to...once more...do what I want.

I have smashed the phone because...ah...

Because I had to...there it is. Had to...

I tried to ignore my Kindle, but I know that Cerridwen is waiting for me and I resist it for as long as I can. Then I give in and do what she wants without further struggle. I can hardly express what a joy it is to be so conquered; to surrender entirely to her will. Yes, buy, buy, buy. Amazon is my friend. Spiders are my friend. The Kindle is my friend. No one else knows. How could they? The fools. They don't even have wireless. Idiots!

After buying more books with the foolish Inspector's money, I dropped my phone to the floor and smashed it. The delight I felt in doing this is hard to describe. After that, I felt so much better.

That's how it happened...

I sit at my desk where I have been drinking a soda that the maid brought me. She has come for the dirty dishes, and I ask her for the time, since my watch isn't running properly. My Kindle's clock seems to be off as well. She says it is 5:15.

I know that the Inspector will be coming for me. He must have canceled his credit card by now. I can no longer buy more books. I know that if I look at my Kindle, Cerridwen will be there making a gesture that I will have to imitate. I will look just the same. Cerridwen is there, smiling. If only I could turn my eyes away from hers. Her beautiful, hellish eyes.

Now she gets up from her chair. She takes the cord. It is thick, just like the cord I have at my window. She has a hook just like in my room. Yes, a handy thing, these hooks. You can hang plants from them, or maybe laundry to dry. Or maybeÉ

She ties a noose and hangs the cord on the hook in the ceiling. Is her hook rusty as well? I can't tell, e-ink has no color you know.

She sits down and smiles. Smiles at me. At me, of all people. She has chosen me. Yes, I have bought more than any other.

Fear is no longer what I feel. Rather, it is a sort of oppressive terror which I would not want to avoid for anything in the world. Its grip is irresistible, profoundly cruel, and voluptuous in its attraction. I can finally be free. Free from the idiots of the world that refuse to accept the beauty of Cerridwen. Of the Kindle. Of Amazon.

I could go to the hook, and do what she wants me to do, but I wait. I struggle. I resist though I feel a mounting fascination that becomes more intense each minute. This is wonderful. I understand now.

Here I am once more. Rashly, I went to the hook and I did what Cerridwen wanted. I took the cord, tied a noose, and hung it on the hook... Don't you understand? This is what I want to do.

Now, I want to see nothing else--except to stare at this paper. Because if I look. I know what she will do...now...at the sixth hour of the last day of the week. If I see her, I will have to do what she wants. Have to...

I won't see her...

I forgot to charge the Kindle. I laugh. Loudly. No. I'm not laughing. Something is laughing in me, and I know why. It is because of my...I won't...

I won't, and yet I know very well that I have to...have to look at her. I must...must...and then...all that follows.

If I still wait, it is only to prolong this exquisite end. Yes, that's it. This breathless anguish is my supreme delight. I write quickly, quickly...just so I can continue to sit here; so I can stretch these seconds of pain. It doesn't have to be charged up. Don't you see? They are always watching me. Always have been. Maybe she works for them. Yes, yes, I was happy to give them all of my money. My privacy. My life. Yes.

Again, terror. Again. I know that I will look toward her. That I will stand up. That I will hang myself.

That doesn't frighten me. That is beautiful...even precious. I have arranged my Kindle on the floor so that she can watch me. So that I can see her imaged mixed in with my reflection. Yes, the hook will give me the perfect angle.

There is something else. What will happen afterwards? I don't know, but since my torment is so delicious. I feel...feel that something horrible must follow.

Think...think...Write something. Anything at all...to keep from looking toward her...

My name...Stanley Kruebert. Stanley Kruebert...Stanley Kruebert...

Kindle...

I can't...go on. I must...no...no...must look at her...Stanley Kruebert...noÉno more...Kindle...KindleÉKindl---

------------------

The inspector of the ninth precinct, after repeated and vain efforts to call Stanley, arrived at the Motel Stevens at 6:05. He found the body of the Stanley Kruebert hanging from the rusty laundry hook in room #9, in the same position as each of his four predecessors.

The expression on the man's face, however, was different somehow, reflecting an appalling fear.

Kruebert's eyes were wide open and bulging from their sockets. His purple lips were drawn into a snarl, and his jaws were clamped together. A huge black spider whose body was dotted with purple spots lay crushed and nearly bitten in two between his teeth. It was later identified by an amateur biologist, as an Amazonian Leaf spider. He mentioned that they were feared in the Amazon region for having the power to control the minds of anyone unfortunate enough to have been bitten by one.

On the table, there lay the student's journal. The inspector read it and immediately investigated the Kindle that was on the floor. He had it checked out by a technician to find out if there was anything useful loaded onto it.

There wasn't a single book loaded on it.

"Maybe you should keep it," said the technician as he handed it back to the Inspector. "You ever had an e-book reader before?"

The Inspector laughed. "Son, I hardly turn my computer on, so I wouldn't know how to get anything on this thingy. Hell, I can barely get my cell phone to work."

"Oh, this is an Amazon Kindle--it's wireless," said the technician. "You don't even need a computer to order books. It just works."

The Inspector raised his eyebrows and turned on the device. It seemed easy enough to figure out, and besides he did love to read during the late shift when things got slow.

THE END