Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #20 November 2015 | Page 61

room, right now.’”
Now, this was complete tosh, as far as I was
concerned. New age spiritualist rubbish for those
who’ve stretched their imaginations a bit too far. I
couldn’t help myself–before I knew it, I was on my
feet and addressing the crowd.
“‘Kind and hardworking’ triumphs over ‘lazy
and horrible’?” I cried out. “That’s not a religious t
heory! That’s just common sense spun through a
web of bollocks. Anyway it’s far more idealistic than
practical.”
I looked around. The audience stared back.
Clearly, I was on my own with this opinion, and my
outburst had not been appreciated. I turned towards
the speaker and saw that he was studying me with
a face that was stern, but not angry. He cleared his
throat loudly before responding.
“Those that renounce Anansi risk the wrath of
a god. It is one thing to be unaware of his existence,
but it is quite another to reject it entirely.” He
turned away from me and faced the crowd before
continuing. “Anansi does not enforce rules upon those
who believe in him. For Anansi is a trickster god.
However, he does desire respect and gratitude. Those
that dismiss Anansi, those that are not thankful when
he has given them inspiration, are treading a very
dangerous path.”
“So why inform people of Anansi, if they were
in less danger when they were ignorant?” I retorted,
unable to help myself.
“Because Anansi is growing in power.” The
speaker said. “Anansi exists because stories exist, and
by creating stories we recreate Anansi, over and over
again in a thousand different ways. I know that as I
stand here, surrounded by storytellers and lovers of
stories, the strength of creation is magnified. Many
of you may feel inspired to write this evening. That
is the power of Anansi, and this is his church. I know
with this creative energy you will all begin to feel a
presence as soon as I say the words, ‘Anansi is in this

I can’t really describe what happened next,
but the air in the room changed. There was a palpable
tension, which was undeniable, and the room
went silent. There was the sense that someone, or
something, had entered the room, but all the doors and
windows remained closed. The elderly speaker seemed
to acknowledge this change with a slight nod before
he spoke again.
“Anansi has arrived,” he said, and there were
audible gasps from some in the audience. “Now, some
of you may see or sense him, but don’t be alarmed.
He honours us with his presence,” he continued. “For
those that see him, Anansi may not come in a human
form, but this is perfectly normal. In fact, he’s most
commonly seen as something else, a creature that
is small yet powerful. Fragile, but able to command
fear and respect. Anansi usually manifests itself as a
spider.”
There was a murmur across the crowd as
people whispered to each other what they thought
they could see or feel. Then a scream cut through the
noise from a seat near the back. Someone had found
a spider beneath their chair. The audience gasped, but
the speaker, strangely, just laughed. In the confusion,
he explained that Anansi had chosen this person to
write his next story, and then the speaker began to
clap. There was a pause, and then there was laughter.
The tension had been broken as the audience rose to
their feet and joined the applause. The lecture was
concluded.
I walked home alone that night, and went to
bed without company. The house was quiet and I
was very tired, but I didn’t go to sleep straight away.
Thoughts of the evening still drifted through my mind.
The speaker was deluded, I was sure of it, but
despite the craziness of the concept I could not deny
that I had felt something when he said, ‘Anansi is in
this room, right now,’ but what was it?
There was no sudden draft, no door slamming
shut, yet there was definitely a change the moment

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