Little Legs

Posted as an entry for Kate Rothwell's UNTIL THE RETURN OF BAM Writing Contest.
Conventions: 400 words or less; reveal a secret without stating it outright.

Little Miss Muffet capers all the way to bed, little wicket-post legs launching from the carpet and leaping swiftly into the crisp blue sheets. Nine years old, no she isn’t sleepy but she wants to be up early tomorrow for the game. She snuggle-snuggle-snuggles her wriggly legs into the blankets, restless and trying not to be.
Then the legs SPASM and she’s out again, shrieking on the carpet. Me and Mummy and Daddy rush to the scene in time to spy an eight-legged thing darting back to the safety of the covers.

Miss Muffet eases her chair up to the coffee table and reaches out to the platter. I get in before her, seizing a slice of cake and pushing it into her hand.
“Did you want more tea as well?” I pour quickly.
“Bill, will you stop that? I’m not helpless, you know.”
“I know…”
“I can get my own fucking tea off the table.”
It’s mid-semester and I’ve come to stay with my family for the break. Mum is fussy because she hasn’t seen me for so long; she’s laid out the lounge like a tea party.
“Tina, he’s just trying to be nice.”
My sister says she’s sorry. “But please stop grabbing everything for me. I’ve still got both my arms, you know.”
She’s twenty-five, got her degree, looking for a job. Everyone’s equal opportunity these days but it’s still difficult.
“What happened? You used to be a little twit, don’t you remember? And suddenly you got all weird and helpful after the bite. You stopped playing practical jokes, too.”
I watch her sip her tea. She wears a red football jersey and a pair of loose jeans all rolled up on one side. They had to cut above the knee, so she can’t wear a prosthetic. I try to check the surge of pity, but it’s too late.
“Remember the time you put all the salt in my toothbrush? And that time you glued my baseball into the mitt?”
All I can think of is that spider, scuttling back into the sheets. Dad caught it in a jar to show them in Emergency. It had just looked like a huntsman. Harmless. Hilarious. Except for the two little pointed spinnerets on its tail. I didn’t notice those till they pointed them out at the hospital.
My stomach twists again. Tina smiles, remembering something different.
“Sneaky little bastard.”