Eight-legged Intruder

I was having a wonderful night so far,
hours into a sleep that might’ve actually been refreshing.
Until, that is, I felt the tickling sensation traveling across the bare skin of my back,
from the center of my spine up to my shoulder.
Drowsiness slowing my mind and body,
I brushed away my hair that curtained down behind me,
thinking that would banish the sensation.
Settling my eyes shut again,
I laid my cheek against the pillow,
thinking now I could go back to sleep.
After barely any respite,
the feeling of tiny legs crawling along my arm shook me awake once more.
With blurred eyes, I opened them and watched as an eight-legged intruder scrambled down my arm.
In a flurry of disgust and fury, I sent it flying,
and it dropped to my sheet with a blow single blow.
I swept it into a glass and fled my room,
refusing it its freedom.
Before it could escape on its own,
it was floating in the toilet bowl.
The sound of the water draining into hidden pipes was the only time the twilight silence had been broken.
I’d made not a peep during the whole ordeal.
I returned to my warm bed, the conquering hero.
But every few minutes,
I awoke to that phantom sensation, alert as I was to it.
Sleep evaded me that night,
thanks to the eight-legged intruder.