I was convinced a giant centipede was stalking me. That was one theory, anyway. My second theory was that there were multiple centipedes in the house, which was a more troubling scenario.
The centipede always waited until I was home alone to show itself. One night I was sitting on my yoga mat on the basement floor and had a thought: What if that centipede is here somewhere? Seconds later it appeared, right on cue. I stood up, shouting, and it disappeared under a piece of furniture.
When I described the incident to my husband, he laughed. “Did you call me? Here I am,” he said, imitating an overly friendly, humanized version of the thing. I started referring to it as Mr. Centipede, a name that suggested to my husband I was ready to make peace with it. I wasn’t.
“Could you get some traps?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, but then forgot.
Heading to the basement to change a load of laundry a few evenings later, I spotted it at the bottom of the stairs, just sitting out in the open. It was a fatal mistake. I clobbered it with a boot—seven or eight times because that’s how many blows it took to get it to stop writhing and squirming. Even after it was in pieces, the pieces kept squirming.
Later my conscience started to bother me. What had the centipede done to me besides being ugly? A quick internet search told me that centipedes are carnivorous hunters with venomous bites that, if large enough, will eat a frog or a small bird. (The reptile-eating versions are found in the tropics, not in Canada, but it’s the possibility that counts.) I also learned that they will bite humans and their bites can sting and even cause a rash. I went to bed feeling justified.
The next morning I headed downstairs to collect some clothes I had hung on the line. Just outside the laundry room door was Mr. Centipede’s larger, fatter brother. Score one for my second theory. I opened the closet door to grab a shoe and it disappeared under the baseboard. I was horrified to find another one on the sleeve of a shirt I had hung to dry. “Centipede revenge?” I thought. I headed back upstairs without the clothes.
Unnerved, my skin crawling, I decided to go for a walk to get the image of the creatures out of my head. I slipped on my shoes, bent over to tie the laces, and there on the side of my right shoe was another centipede. I kicked off the shoe and the centipede ran into the coat closet and disappeared. “Probably into another shoe,” I thought.
“Sorry you’re dealing with those bugs,” my husband later texted me from his conference in Denver.
“Not bugs,” I replied. “Bugs are flies, or mosquitoes, or maybe ants. These are monsters.”
“Got it,” he said.
The centipedes may have won this battle, but the war is not over.
Photo Credit
Photo is by Jared Belson on flickr – Some Rights Reserved
Guest Author Bio
Barbara Hampson
Barbara Hampson is a new writer who lives in Hamilton, Ontario with her husband, two adult sons who come and go, and some centipedes she wishes were gone.
I know they are terrifying, and may seem like your space is being violated.
Saying that, I have a different relationship with the creatures. I recently broke up with my wife of eleven years, and went to live in a basement apartment/storage area (I work as a property maintenance manager and my boss offered me this space, rent free, while I get my feet back on the ground. My ex wife doesn’t work and I am paying her rent since my name is on the lease until April)
This apartment/storage/dump-all is just that. I’ve managed to put some structure into it but I’m still sleeping next to cardboard boxed and crumbling futons. It’s overcrowded, dark and dusty. Not a very healthy environment for my head.
When I moved in, there were a lot of ants. I’m not inclined to kill all bugs and crawlies on sight, if they are not bothering me then let live. Without cupboards, food storage cabinets, etc, that could protect my food, the ants were everywhere and unbeatable. I was giving up on life. Then I came across the centipedes. More invaders, my depressed mind suggested.
An internet search into the hows and why’s of their presence turned the odds in their favor – these many legged, awkward, ugly little fellas eat ants. Hmmm…………let’s work together…..
So I stopped spraying and baiting the ants. I would still crush them on sight (I hadn’t turned into a complete insect-libertarian). If I saw a centipede or millipede (never have had the chance to count the legs 😉 I welcomed it.
The ants went away, and I’ve not had any roaches.
My literal mind thinks that it’s because of the Chicago winter but I don’t bother with literal. I’m going through a horrible divorce and need the feel-good factor that something’s on my side. I saw a centipede last week – the first for weeks – and was so delighted to se it that I called out to it and welcomed it. It lifted my spirits, we haven’t left you, we are still protecting you.
Luckily there was nobody nearby….
Of course, I could get religious for spiritual protection and reinforcement, but the bugs don’t require me to get up early on Sunday’s.
I hear what you’re saying! My son was quick to point out to me that the centipedes eat other insects and suggested I leave them alone. Perhaps if they had just stayed in the basement…
I know how painful it is to go through a divorce. I’m glad the little creepy-crawlies are on your side. Best of luck to you.
I share your pain. I’ve had my own battle with centipedes but the one that is and will always remain my arch nemesis is the earwig.