Who: Archibald Black and Spider-Man What: Spidey gets to sit in on a Black family reunion Where: The Black Mansion When: Monday night at 8 pm Warnings: Cheesy one-liners, grotesque monsters, and massive amounts of violence against a certain spider
The lights of the Black Mansion turned yellow once the sun set, shining like amber jewelery through pines like eyes behind fingers. Surrounded by a cobblestone wall, the only true entrance was an iron gate that speared upwards in an ancient defense against thieves and murderers. A man didn’t have to go past this cold guardian without feeling ill at ease. Perhaps it was the perfect silence that brought a sense of dread or the strange geometry of slumped shadows inside the walls. It left a stale voice in the back of every creature’s head that told it to run from the unknown.
Past the gate, trees bent down towards the crumbling gravel road. They reached out mindlessly to tug, push and confuse intruders. The white columns of the mansion’s front steps offered false refuge from the dark woods; failing to hide a woman’s body sprawled out as a welcome mat. Someone stopped her as she attempted to slither away, arms dangling across steps so delicately they could spring back to life with the right set of wires and strings. The mansion’s front door was wide open to reveal the twin headed stairs that snaked up to the second floor in mirroring curves.
Everything was still. Holding its breath for instructions. In the very middle of the room, squarely between the staircases, was a small wooden table with a brass bell sitting on top. Everything about this place gave Spider-Man the willies. There was something wrong about how calm, quiet, and massive this mansion was. Though he was sure that there was a breeze whispering through the air somewhere, the trees were silent. Their leaves didn’t even rustle, which seemed like sacrilege to the red-suited spider. Even after climbing the fence and web-slinging swiftly through the low-hanging trees, he heard not one little peep from anything alive or otherwise. It was as if all sound had simply died there.
Landing just short of the front steps, Spider-Man immediately spied the dead woman sprawled before the open door. Gasping, he stooped to her side, shaking her shoulder. “Ma’am?” he asked, voice borderline frantic. “Ma’am? Can you hear me? Can you-” Tilting her chin, he choked on his own words. Her eyes were wide open and cold, like glass balls. He immediately recoiled, twisting his fingers together as he stared down at the broken corpse before him. Something had gone very wrong here.
Peering into the mansion, he reached up to fiddle with the comm on his ear. He could back out now, call for help, or just call the police. Clearly, this was a trap. What if Doris Black hadn’t even contacted him? What if the Blacks were just victims? Maybe this was a red herring. Maybe this guy was just setting up this Archibald Black and hoping the reputation of his victims catapulted him to fame and infamy.
There were a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t have crossed that doorway with his comm off, but he did it anyway. Curiosity clawed at him as he walked forward, immediately drawn to the table between the staircases. Tilting his head upwards, he called into the darkness. “Mrs. Black?” he bellowed. “Mr. Black?” He hesitated, pausing by the table. “Archibald? Anyone home?” Feeling the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up, he forced a chuckle, leaning on the table. “Did I come too early? I can go out, get some chips and dip, be back in a half an hour.” He quieted as he looked to the bell, pursing his lips beneath his mask. This was a trap. He had walked right into it, knowing it was a trap. So what harm would come of finishing the job? After a few moments of hesitation, he picked up the bell and shook it, the sound ringing through the massive mansion. At first, nothing. The bell’s ring echoed through an empty home. Bounced off the walls as if to suggest this was just some elaborate frat boy prank. But, the woman on the steps didn’t jump back to life in a fit of giggles. There was no party waiting for Spider-Man. Well, not a party he wanted to be thrown for him in any case. Seconds of silence passed before the click of heels echoed from the second floor. They grew louder and louder before the figure of Archie appeared near the upper landing. He was dressed in a loose, white button up shirt and pinstripe slacks. Considerably casual for the situation at hand.
“It’s so frustrating when parents these days don’t understand how to use technology.” He sounded like a teenager being interviewed about how lame grown-ups were. “Leaving their browsers wide open so I can read little messages to insects. Unfortunate.” A shake of his head before holding his hand up as if he thought it would keep Spider-Man at bay. “I understand you made an agreement with my parents? Do you want to see them?” He was trying so hard to keep a straight face. It was strange, how Spider-Man had been expecting some magnificent “bang” the moment he rang that bell. Instead, he was welcomed by silence. Feeling as if he really were intruding, he looked around, desperate for signs of life. Or, in the case of the Reanimator, death. But the woman on the front step was his only company, the only one with him in that whole, massive mansion. If that had truly been the case, he would have been very lucky.
The sound of footsteps stood out in the blank silence, causing Spider-Man to immediately turn in their direction. His face was instantly recognized from several Google image searches of the Black family. Archibald wasn’t the most camera-ready person, but his features were so distinctive that Spider-Man didn’t need to look twice. He held his breath, unsure if he should approach or stay back, before finally deciding to stay put. If their first meeting was any indication, Archibald wouldn’t be alone. He had to stay on his toes.
Hearing his bored, drawling story sent ice down Spider-Man’s spine. Even before his final questions, the red-suited spider had the horrible gut feeling that Mr. and Mrs. Black were already dead. Even worse, he had seen the messages back when they had been sent - why else would the browser be open? - which meant that he’d had the whole weekend to prepare. Suddenly, he was very glad that his mask covered his entire face, keeping the trepidation and fear that leaked over his features a secret for him alone.
“You know, this is kind of off topic, but I was recently thinking how all the crazy men in this city seem to be ugly while all the crazy women are incredibly attractive. And I’ve gotta say, Mr. Black, you turn my whole theory on its head. What’s a smart, good-looking guy like you dabbling in things like “raising the dead”?” His tone was as casual and wry as ever, a perfect shelter to hide under. When all else failed, he had his wit to fall back on. “But back on topic, I know we’ve been sending flirty messages for a while, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to meet your folks just yet. That’s a pretty big step, and you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.” “Oh I know it’s a big step for young folk such as us.” Archie gripped the railing in front of him, his shoulders back and perched. “But, lately I’ve been thinking that you and I are meant for each other. It’s bad luck to deny the cosmos.” A wink as his fingers rolled across the metal bar in front of him. “This is the part where I lecture you about letting innocent people get between us, but my parents should have known I’m not finished. Not yet.” He knew part of this process was a learning curve between them. Archie needed to learn how far he could push Spider-Man, who needed to learn how to be a super hero.
The tall, thin man turned and stepped towards the large room in the middle of the second floor. He flung the doors open and the sound of shackles being clicked open could be heard. “Father! Father! Spider-Man is here and he wants to kill all of us!” Archie called loud enough that his voice echoed out in the hall. An unnatural roar of a man followed along with the crash of Archie’s body being thrown against a china cabinet. In seconds, a tall, stern looking man stepped out to the top landing and looked down at Spider-Man almost peacefully.
But, the blue sparks of electricity started snapping around the man’s body. A hiss and crackle as the tall man lifted one hand, watched the blue worm around his finger and then with a loud zap sent the lightening down at Spider-Man. A broken laugh could be heard from inside the dark room. “It works! It works!” Archie’s voice was high with madness. He could recognize the sound of his father’s power without even having to pull himself up from the fragile, broken glass he was laying in. Despite the fact that Spider-Man had willingly instigated this strange series of pseudo-flirtatious banter, a cold chill ran down his back as Black declared them to be “meant for each other.” Every movie and book that contained that phrase was about a delirious stalker that killed everyone by the end. But he was compelled to play along, to keep up the act. “Cosmos, huh? That’s pretty big talk for someone that hasn’t even gotten one of my “goodnight” kisses yet.”
Any hope the spider had for the Blacks being alive evaporated as Archibald mentioned “innocents getting between them.” He held his breath as the other man moved, opening the doors of the next room. Though he squinted, he couldn’t see a thing inside that room, not around Archibald’s tall frame. He shifted away from the table, attempting to prepare himself - for what, he had no idea - when the slender man’s voice filled the mansion. Gasping, he had to actively work to keep the fear from his voice. “Friends don’t talk smack about friends, Black!” he called, jumping up onto the table as if a higher vantage point might give him some sort of advantage.
As Black went flying, Spider-Man cringed, shifting slightly on the table. What walked out of that room turned his blood into ice: Frances Black, in the flesh. So to speak. As bands of bright blue electricity crackled around his body, Spider-Man stepped back, heel dangling over the edge of the table. “Mr. Black,” he said as loudly as he could, holding up his hands. “I’m here to help-”
Everything went blue. At first, he didn’t even know what had happened. There was pain, maybe he screamed? Rubbing a hand over his masked face, the spider sat up woozily, looking around to try and regain his bearings. The table in the center of the room had been cracked in half, its ragged edges charred and black. He was sprawled on the floor several feet away, feeling as though he’d been hit by a bus.
“Mr. Black,” he called out, raising a hand as he crawled slowly to his feet. “I’m only here to help.” Once he was back on his feet, he took a few steps forward, watching the tall man as he descended the stairs. “You don’t have to do this.” The words were cheesy even to him, but a part of him held out the hope that they might work. Frances Black had to still be in there, somewhere, trapped and scared. Holding his arms out at his sides, he approached slowly, trying his best not to pose as a threat. “Come on. Let me help you.”
All this time, he’d been talking to a brick wall, a statue of a man that moved slowly and carefully down the stairs. As he reached the halfway point, Mr. Black paused, fixing Spider-Man with an impassive stare. His body crackled, thin ropes of electricity surrounding him, before he raised one hand and fired a bolt at the red-suited spider. By the time he slammed back into the nearest wall, Spider-Man concluded that talking wasn’t going to solve this problem. And even worse, he didn’t think Mr. Black would be into hugging this out. Archie was sprawled out in the mess of smashed plates, his hands on his chest as he coughed out laughs of pure glee. Creations retaining their powers after being reanimated was something he theorized as possible, but from the sound of it, everything was going better than expected. If he had his full laboratory and another dead creation to play with, he could really build something terrifying. His eyes started to water a little. This was beautiful.
The sound of Spider-Man being slammed against a wall awoke him from the ecstasy of success. There was no way he’d lay on his back while all the fun was being had outside of the room. The china cabinet swayed in a threat of falling on top of him, so Archie rolled out of the way and scrambled to his feet to take off in a run out to the main hall. With a crash of splintered wood and more glass, his tall figure reappeared at the top of the stairs, spots of blood from the broken glass on his shirt and arms.
“I really hope you’re done trying to reason with an undead monster. I don’t want this to be a one night stand, sugar plum.” Archie called from above, green eyes blazing with hunger that wasn’t that different from the look of his monsters. He was a man who put so much work and care into his villainy. There was no counting the hundreds of sleepless nights he spent trying to perfect his experiments. He lived for that moment that he could see them come to life. Frances Black snarled at his son’s voice, wild with mindless rage directed to the brightest colored thing in the room. Unfortunately, that happened to be Spider-Man. He staggered towards the superhero, buzzing with the blue electricity licking his skin and mumbling incomprehensible grunts. His arms lifted like a monster in some low budget horror movie as all the blue rushed down his arms all the way down to each finger tip.
“Oooh watch out, he’s going to hyper beam!” Archie’s chin rested comfortably on the back of his laced fingers as he leaned his elbows on the railing. Well, it was only fair that he warned Spider-Man of the more powerful attacks his monsters could do. Picking himself up after he’d been knocked down was one of the first things Spider-Man had learned when he began running around as a masked vigilante. He wasn’t particularly tall, and while he was strong for his size - cheerleaders were deceptively powerful - he simply couldn’t compete with most of the scum he took out on a nightly basis. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that his greatest weapon was his ability to get back up, his hardheaded perseverance.
Black’s laughter sent chills down his spine as he stood, bracing his shoulders against the wall as he put his head back together. “Don’t worry, cupcake,” he called back, breathing deeply to keep the oxygen in his brain. “I wouldn’t abandon you. Even if your dad’s a little overprotective.” He peeled away from the wall, forcing himself to stand straight and tall despite the fact that his back was already aching. “It just means you’re worth it.”
Though he knew that Frances Black was dead, there was something utterly horrific about realizing that he would probably have to kill this man. He’d lost all reasoning, all purpose beyond destruction it seemed. Even if Spider-Man could neutralize him, then what? Put him in jail? Stick him in a box somewhere? No. This was a monster, and he had to put it down. Before it hurt someone.
As the late Mr. Black lifted his arms, electricity concentrated in his fingertips, Spider-Man’s heart fluttered in his chest. Archibald’s mocking warning fell on deaf ears as he shot a webline to the underside of the nearest balcony, waiting until what he hoped was the last second before “too late.” As the monster’s arms crackled again, he pulled on the line, yanking himself off the ground and swiftly crawling upward. A massive boom rocked the mansion as the blast hit the wall where Spider-Man had been standing, leaving a charred crater behind.
Swinging in an arc, Spider-Man jumped off and glanced off the wall. He was able to run three steps parkour-style before launching away, shooting a webline for the opposite side of the balcony. Swinging across the room, he extended a leg, kicking the late Mr. Black in the head as he passed. The monster grumbled, turning to face him with electric coils wrapping his body. Spider-Man landed on the opposite wall with sticky fingers holding him in place, poised and ready.
“Hey, batter batter!” he called out, leaping away as a sear of electricity blasted the wall where he’d once been. Now several feet lower, he pulled his legs in close, planting his toes against the wall. “Swing, batter batter!” He jumped out of the way again, a webline allowing him to swing in a short arc before somersaulting through the air. “No hit, can’t hit!” The next bolt nearly glanced him, filling him with a sudden fear that he laughed off despite himself. “Man, your aim sucks.”
Landing on the railing of the upper level, across from Archibald, he looked down at the monster with a manic grin. It was his arms. If he pinned his arms, maybe he could stop this guy. “Here, let me help you out.” With a webline securing him, he jumped off the balcony, knees tucked to his chest as he rocketed to the ground. He landed on the late Mr. Black’s chest, slamming them both to the ground with a grunt. Before the monster could respond, Spider-Man made quick work of surrounding both his arms in webbing, holding them together at the end. With a satisfied chuckle, he jumped off, taking a few steps back and brushing his shoulders off.
“Is that all you’ve got, old man?” he teased, clearly pleased with himself as the monster struggled and growled. “Your little girl’s virtue is at stake here. I thought you’d put up a bigger-” He trailed off as bands of blue electricity began to concentrate around the monster’s arms, funneling into the white webbing casts holding his arms prisoner. Spider-Man stepped back, eyes wide behind his mask, as a powerful ripping sound filled the mansion. Thunder crackled soon after, shredding the webbing sleeves. Pieces of sticky webbing fell to the floor as the late Mr. Black stood, arms free. Spider-Man gasped, backing up as the creature lurched towards him, furious. “-fight,” he ended his sentence, voice quiet. “Quick science lesson, Mr. Spider-Man.” Archie’s eyelids lowered as he became a stuffy professor. “Your webbing is made of substances that are polar to electricity, or in Daddy's case, lightening. The glycine your body produces is actually a straight polar molecule, allowing the electricity to worm its way and- well. Start that disgusting smelling fire you got going there.” He turned his nose up as the fumes reached the top landing. Archie had never sniffed a bug zapper before, but he imagined this scent was a bazillion times worse.
“What you need to do is find something that’ll stop electricity right in its tracks.” He smiled brightly. “I could be Bill Nye the Science Guy. But, with less children helping and more corpses. Lot’s o’ corpses.” The stench that rolled off his burning web would have been enough to kill a small animal. Spider-Man cringed, covering his nose and stumbling backwards with disgust. This had not been one of his better ideas. Mentally cursing himself for being an idiot, he almost missed Archibald’s oh-so-generous science lesson. Looking up at the smug man standing above him, he sighed. “Thanks, professor,” he said off-handedly. Skittering around the approaching monster, he began to think, gaze leaping about the room. “I’m sure you’d give Barney the Dinosaur a real run for his money in the ratings.”
When thinking of an electrical insulator, his first thought was obviously rubber. But there didn’t seem to be any nearby, and he wasn’t about to go looking for the garage. He couldn’t lose sight of the late Mr. Black, not even for a second. And besides, leading him in a chase would just risk him managing to get out and terrorize Seattle. That was the last thing he needed. Not only would innocent civilians be in danger, but he’d also be subjected to a series of long, angry lectures from other Masks that “knew better.” Because he was clearly an imbecile.
Putting the bitter thoughts on hold for the moment, he jumped out of the way of another lightning bolt, quickly taking to the walls again. They played a game of cat and mouse, with the late Mr. Black throwing a bolt at the red-suited spider that missed by inches. All the while, he was fairly quiet, only cracking the odd quip or two. His mind was at work, focused on thinking of another insulator. As he crawled towards a glass case full of antiques, he hesitated, gaze falling on a ceramic vase inside.
Ceramics.
Immediately, he remembered the sound of shattering that had welcomed the late Mr. Black’s entrance into the room. As a bolt seared the wall just to his left, the spider was on the move, with a webline pulling him up over the balcony. The monster followed him from below, moving towards the stairs as he rushed into the room he had come from. Sure enough, the place was littered with shattered ceramic dishes. He momentarily thanked God for the Blacks’ penchant for gathering old knick-knacks as he pushed the splintered cabinet away, leaving the ceramic pile untouched.
He could hear the late Mr. Black approaching as he spread the dish pieces out in a sheet, attempting to create a single layer. Once he was satisfied enough - he was working on a deadline - he quickly began to attach the pieces together with small strands of webbing. It wasn’t perfect, but he hoped that the vast amount of ceramic there would at the very least take the brunt of Mr. Black’s electric energy.
As footsteps thundered up the stairs, he considered his masterpiece largely complete. It looked like a fisherman’s net with pieces of dish and cup smashed in it, all clustered together to create a sheet of ceramics. He dragged it behind him as he rushed for the stairs, grinning beneath his mask. This had to work. There was no if or maybe, this had to stop him. “Hey, Mr. Black. Just to show there’s no hard feelings, I made you a quilt.” The creature stopped, staring at him as he flung the net over him. It draped over him, making him look almost like a comical ghost. He stumbled, ready to fall when Spider-Man shot out two weblines that held him up.
Quickly, the spider shot ahead, darting round and round the late Mr. Black with weblines that secured the ceramic net over him, holding it fast. He struggled and bucked, the sound of electricity humming in the air to highlight his fight. But the ceramic net was the metaphorical wet blanket that the doctor ordered. Once Spider-Man had finished wrapping him up, the late Mr. Black fell backwards, looking much like an oversized cotton swab. He lay still at the base of the stairs, the odd kick of his foot punctuating the stillness that ensued.
Spider-Man grinned, breathing heavily, as he turned to Archibald. “Do I get an A?” he called out. The Reanimator left his post on the landing as Spider-Man swung towards the second story and careful snuck down the stairs. He of course wanted to see the delightful action rumbling above him, but staying out of both his father’s and Spider-Man’s reach was more important. He was crazy, after-all, not stupid. Standing halfway down the stairs, Archie leaned back, curiously wondering if Spider-Man was just looking for an escape out the window or actually had some kind of plan.
But, when his hero returned with a net laced with ceramics Archie nearly started clapping. All it took was one lesson, one point in the right direction and his student managed to create something that was decidedly out of the box brilliance. A slight smirk crept across his lips as his father was defeated for the second time. Though Frances Black was nothing but a mindless brute, Archie believed he was allowed a certain amount of satisfaction for seeing him put down once more. It was really a shame this had to be the final time. If Archie had it his way, his father would have to die a thousand, painful deaths.
“Passed with flying colors,” Archibald was gone from sight, having raced down the stairs to the kitchen attached to the now thrashed main hall. He pressed his body up against a broom closet and carefully turned the doorknob quietly. There was one more surprise for Spider-Man, but this one had to be woken up with his powers freshly. His mother was alive in the broom closet, but only barely. He had given her a small dosage of his chemical to maintain a simple heart beat and unconscious mental function, so once he administered a second, healthy dose with a glowing green syringe, it only took seconds for her to roar back to life.
By then Archie had hidden himself from her. While his father only had the strength to throw him into a wall without breaking any bones, his mother could tear him apart like a sheet of paper. Her stomps could be heard in the main hall and soon her massive frame could be seen walking past the kitchen threshold. She was a terribly overweight woman. The kind that might have been skinny in her younger years, but had since let her body go to waste. Her mounds of fat rippled with each step, her legs thick as tree trucks. At her sides were not two arms, but six. Each massive and strong like a Russian bear wrestler.
She furiously looked around the main hall, her eyes glowing a familiar green as if she was daring something to move. Black’s approval was even eerier than Spider-Man had initially thought it would be. He was gone, completely out of sight, and it made Spidey’s skin crawl. Where the hell had he gone? Though the man had a history of ditching before he could be caught - he was smart that way - Spider-Man didn’t think he was gone. After all, he had just taken out Mr. Black. Where was the Mrs?
Barely seconds after the thought crossed his mind, a mountain of a woman burst into the main hall. For a moment, Spider-Man could only stare. She was more gelatin than flesh, waddling from side to side like a massive crab on human legs. The six arms that sprouted from her sides ripped through her blouse, leaving behind ragged strips of fabric clinging for dear life. As she paused, looking about sharply, Spider-Man let out a low whimper. That was all she needed.
Like a lurch after a hare, she was off, running towards him with six furious arms ready. Spider-Man instantly took off, throwing up a webline to pull himself to safety. He sailed just out of her reach, crawling quickly up to settle on the wall. Staring down at the woman furiously stomping about the main hall, Spider-Man took a few seconds to reflect on his life. If he hadn’t put on the mask, he might have a girlfriend by now. He’d be getting ready for cheering season, doing his job, and making bashful visits to some pretty lady’s doorstep. Instead, he was sitting on the wall of a House of Horrors, trapped between a brilliant madman and a reanimated Mack truck in woman form. Later, he’d have to rethink his life choices.
For now, he needed to be alert. Crawling along the wall, he looked down, considering his next move. He could swing past and web up her hands one by one, leaving her defenseless. Yes, that would have to do. Shooting a line to the ceiling, he swung down in a large arc. Holding to the line with his left hand, he extended his right, wrapping a line around one of her wrists. Just as he was about to claim victory, he felt a sharp yank on his right arm that tore him from his strong webline to the ceiling. Grasping at nothing, he fell right into her many-armed grasp. Palms supported his neck, wrist, and knee, holding him tightly. He tried to thrash loose, but it was useless: she had him. And then, a few seconds later, she’d given him up.
Later, Spider-Man wouldn’t be able to explain how he got from the mountain woman’s hands to the wall clear across the main hall. He didn’t even know how he stood up after. Shaking his head, woozy, he took a few hesitant steps forward as the woman rushed towards him. He smacked the side of his head twice, trying to get back in the game, before shooting two lines at her and sliding to the side, side-stepping her. She reached out with two of her lower arms, grabbing the line and reeling him in. Though he struggled, she aimed a well-placed punch to his gut, following it up with an elbow to the back, before flinging him across the room once more. Archie was hunched behind a table in the dim kitchen like he was playing hide and seek in the middle of the night. He stared thoughtfully at a place between linoleum tiles as he waiting for his mother to become preoccupied with Spider-Man. This could kill him, his mind echoed in a warning. Yes, he knew that. But, his foe had to be strong. The Reanimater’s life had become two fold: science and testing Spider-Man. Archie knew in his heart that the red-clad insect was the only vigilante worth playing with and he’d either break or improve him. This was the hero’s ancient gauntlet.
Waiting for a few well placed crashes, Archie purposely rolled to his feet and strode to the kitchen counter where a video camera was charging. Delicately he disconnected it and picked the device up with one hand. Shoulders back, The Reanimator flipped the view window open and clicked the record button. The screen zoomed to watch Spider-Man smacked against the mansion wall followed by Archie’s giggling. “And, here we have the daring Spider-Man epically failing at his hobby of choice.” Another hit, this time it was hard enough that Archie could feel the ground shake. It made him laugh hard like his friend just wiped out on a skateboard. With each horrifying beat down, Archie’s giggles got sillier, more out of control and in moments he could barely even breathe.
“Spider-Man, Spider-Man. Can’t do what a spider can. Is he winning? No he’s not. She’s gunna punch out all his blood. Look out! Don’t die Spider-Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.” The Reanimator sang happily, swinging the camera so that it was focused completely on how much pain Spider-Man was in. He kept laughing, the sort of high-pitched insane cackle that only a man who dedicated his life to ruining a super-hero could possibly manage. And, the sight would have been funny, but it was clear that Spider-Man was suffering from some of the most extreme pain the human body could endure. It was as if Archie was filming a peaceful protester get beat inches from their life while he laughed about it.
Clicking the video camera’s screen closed, Archie stopped recording and then rose his lanky hand to give a thumbs up to Spider-Man. His mother turned around suddenly, as if she had just about enough of her son’s acting out and growled ferociously at him. Again, the uncomfortable and unfamiliar sweep of fear sank deeper in his bones painfully as he automatically cowered from his mother. A child who misbehaved in public was asking to be severely punished. “Well, I think that’s my cue.” Archie’s voice was considerably quieter now as he inched into the shadows in hopes his mother would forget about him. “You two have fun. Don’t break anything....else.”
He backed up slowly into the kitchen, turned on his heels and ran. Part of survival in this sort of business was knowing when to bow out. It insured living to see another day of mad science, even if it meant he had to miss the very possible death of Spider-Man. It was amazing how the mind scattered when the body was in pain. Spider-Man was incapable of telling how much time was passing as the late Mrs. Black threw him about like a ragdoll. Every time he hit the wall or skidded across the floor, he stood back up, parrying with a meek attempt at escape or defiance before he was promptly slammed once more. His brain was on fire with a thousand different thoughts milling about at once, all clamoring for full attention. He tried to focus, really he did. When he stood, he tried to pinpoint his opponent and the best way to strike. When he moved, he tried to keep in mind the distance between himself and her titanic hands. When he flew, he tried to shoot out weblines to cushion his falls. But trying was not the same as doing.
While being dragged across the floor on his back - much like how he imagined early cavemen treated their wives - he peered up at the balcony, catching a glimpse of Archibald Black and his video camera. The blood pounding in his ears made understanding him difficult, but he didn’t have to know what the other man was saying to know that he was mocking him. Somehow, that just made everything worse. He didn’t want to know what the camera was for, or why Archibald seemed so damn happy at the sight of all this. He just wanted that man’s skinny neck in his hands. A dream he might have been able to turn into reality if he could only get away from this hellbeast of a woman.
Only when Mrs. Black looked Archibald’s way did Spider-Man get some sort of reprieve. He forced himself to his feet, standing almost entirely on his left foot as he watched Archibald with bleary eyes. If he didn’t know any better - which, to be fair, he didn’t - he would say that the Reanimator was afraid of his creation. Spidey stared, wondering if he was just delirious, as Archibald threw off an exiting line and made himself scarce. “No,” he mumbled, extending an arm as he stumbled forward. “I’m not...done with you...” Fatigue saturated his voice as he made a last ditch, pathetic effort to stop Archibald. But it was too late. He was gone.
Why was he always running? Maybe he was just smarter than Spider-Man was. Maybe he just knew to cut and run before Spidey was done with tackling whatever horrible abomination he’d sent out. But as the late Mrs. Black swatted him into the nearest wall with a backhand, Spider-Man had to try and sort through his muddled memory. He hadn’t seen Archibald at all when she came out, had he? And that cracking in his voice just now - was it fear? He remembered how quickly he’d made his exit in the bank, finding it too familiar now. What if Archibald was leaving, not just to evade capture, but also out of fear? Maybe he wasn’t in as much control as Spider-Man had initially thought.
The thought would have to wait, cut off when he felt a fist fly into his stomach. Gagging, Spider-Man doubled over, holding his gut with one arm as his forehead touched the ground. This was pathetic, and he knew it. His chest felt heavy, his lungs were on fire, he could barely breathe, and he was sure he’d blacked out at least twice since Mrs. Black had made her debut. Every muscle in his body ached, his right leg was inordinately sore, and he was sure he had several friction burns from being dragged and skidded across the floor. This was too much. He was in over his head. Was he going to die? Was this it?
As his thoughts circled the drain, Mrs. Black wrapped a massive hand around each of his wrists, dragging him from the floor to hold him midair. Her lower hands gripped his ankles, holding him spread-eagle. For a moment, she just stared at him, as if trying to make up her mind. A series of guttural growls escaped her throat as she held his arms and legs as far apart as she could, tension starting to mount in his joints. He bit his lower lip, tasting blood, as he let his head drop backward. Staring at the ceiling, he wheezed, struggling to take another breath. If he was going to die in this amazing mansion, the least Archibald could have done would have been to light that beautiful chandelier overhead.
Spider-Man paused, holding his breath. Chandelier. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
Catching a second wind, he strained against Mrs. Black, trying to find the weaknesses in her grip. Unfortunately, there were none. The more he struggled, the angrier she got, until the hand holding his left wrist jerked outward, as if she were trying to pull him apart. A sickening “pop” filled the air as Spider-Man’s left arm was consumed by sharp pains overlaying tingly fingers. He shrieked, eyes squeezed shut, as he felt this woman literally wrench his shoulder out of its socket. Fanning the fingers of his right hand, he angled his fingertips down. With a squeeze, he shot five narrow lines of sticky webbing from his fingertips directly to her face. Within seconds, her face had turned into a white mask that she instantly fought to rid herself of.
Startled, Mrs. Black dropped him, sending him down to the floor in a pile. Though his left arm was consumed by pain, he forced himself to his feet. He had to act fast, before she accidentally trampled him or he passed out for good. Extending his right arm, he shot a secure webline to the chandelier, anchoring it around the metal edge. Holding the still-fresh end, he rushed to Mrs. Black before she could run away, securing the line to one of her arms. The instant she was secured, he threw up another line, and then another, and then another. It was fast and furious work, the sort he couldn’t think about much lest he lose his mind. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, ignoring the aches in his body and the pounding of his head, he focused on marrying this monster to that chandelier.
By the time he was done, Mrs. Black stood in the center of the main hall, attached to the chandelier like a marionette to its master. She growled, straining against her bonds. At first, the only sound in the mansion was the sound of her snarls. But soon, the mansion itself began to groan. Standing several yards away, clutching his left arm to his side, Spider-Man watched as cracks in the ceiling emerged. The monster of a woman thrashed and fought, destroying the plaster around the chandelier with every move. Finally, as the ceiling began to fall apart, the chandelier gave. It hung for a few seconds by a cord, as if desperate to hold on, before collapsing atop the late Mrs. Black’s head.
Breathing heavily, Spider-Man could only stare. He wasn’t sure what he felt as he stared at his handiwork, gaze skipping over the dead bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Black. They had been dead when he met them, sure, but they had been alive once. Now they were dead for good. His heart filled with guilt as he turned his back, limping towards the doorway. His right leg hurt. His left arm was going numb when it wasn’t in agony. His entire body was covered in what he knew would be bruises and scrapes the next day. It was hard to keep going. It was so hard to-
Tripping over the corpse laid over the front steps, he pitched to the ground outside the mansion. Without an arm to hold himself up with, he fell straight on his face. Hunched forward, he sat up just long enough to realize that his stomach suddenly ached. He felt sick. No. He was sick. He scrambled with his right hand to push his mask up over his nose just seconds before he hunched over again, holding his gut as he spewed the contents of his stomach all over the ground. Coughing, he spat and smacked his lips, trying to rid his mouth of the taste of bile. Throat burning, he wheezed, closing his eyes in the hopes that it would make the world stop spinning.
He had to focus. He had to regroup. Archibald Black was the Reanimator, and he had killed both his parents. He was at large, and if nothing else, Spider-Man had to stay alive long enough to put him where he belonged. But first, he just needed a rest. Slumping back against the front steps, he scooted away from the pile of his own vomit, holding his arm against his chest. He needed to alert the other Masks. He needed to get his shoulder fixed. He needed to run errands for Job. But right now, sitting on the ground under the eerie protection of ghostly trees, he just needed to rest. That was all he could do at the moment. Rest, recuperate, and be ready for the next round. Black had won this round. He wouldn’t do it again.