I wrote a short story entitled "Spider and I" a few years ago. It originally saw publication in The Devil's Food, an ill-fated anthology which never paid a single contributor. Some didn't even receive a copy of the book.
I've ressurrected Jack and Spider, wrote two earlier chapters to their story, and significantly changed the ending. They now star in their very own 16,000 word novella...
From Part 1: Jack is Almost Eight
When Jack slept, his dreams brought monsters of steel and rubber and glass, hulking things which screamed and cried frigid tears. The monsters clashed, flailing body against body until both slumped against trees on either side of the asphalt arena. Smoke rose into the sky. The tears became rain, and Jack found himself staring into a downpour from black and indifferent clouds. Another howl rose, sharp and shrill and panicked. A siren. The red lights flashed until Jack started from the dream. When he woke, his bed was soaked with urine and the shadow man skittered through his window.
The boy’s heart banged against his chest. Thump-thump-thump…
A muffled curse sounded through the thin walls, too deep for Cathy’s honeyed voice. Feet stomped in the hallway. Jack clutched the stained comforter in front of him like a shield. The door wrenched open, and a hulking black mass slouched against the door jamb. Rick. Not Cathy. Jack cowered, shivering.
“What is it?” Rick’s voice was big and deep like a sustained rumble of thunder. Smoke and whiskey rolled off his body.
“I want Cathy.”
“Fuck.” Rick’s silhouette straightened. “I smell piss. Did you piss yourself again? God-damn, kid. You’re six for fuck’s sake.”