THE TARANTULA’S DREAM
(Or: Karma Has Eight Legs)
A One-Act Comic Farce
THE TARANTULA’S DREAM (Or: Karma Has Eight Legs) A One-Act Comic Farce. © 2026 by BENJAMIN GAVARRE is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
GAVARREUNAM@GMAIL.COM
CHARACTERS:
- BOB: A perpetually
high-strung but good-hearted man, currently tormented by guilt over having
squashed an enormous spider.
- OLGA: An
arachnid-real-estate entity. She wears a blazing coral tailored suit with
black-and-amber striped plush trim on the collar and cuffs (like tarantula
legs) and six shiny black buttons down the front like spider eyes.
- CAMILA: The next-door
neighbor. Paranoid, nosy, and a self-appointed condo vigilante. She wears a sun visor and carries a
flyswatter.
- NEO: Bob’s partner.
Practical, a DIY obsessive; onstage at the beginning and later a constant
presence over the phone’s speaker.
- CHUCHITO: An adorable
Cocker Spaniel (can be an expressive puppet operated in plain sight, or a
stuffed dog on a wheeled bed that Bob pushes around the stage to protect
him).
SETTING:
A modern, open-concept Loft.
Stage left, a massive sliding glass picture window overlooking the
condo’s common areas (outside, the heat is infernal).
Center-left, a kitchenette with a breakfast bar and a large stove
oven whose door opens toward the audience (fitted with a glowing red light
inside).
Center-right, two steps lead up to a low platform (the loft’s sleeping
area) featuring a sleek queen-size sleeper sofa and CHUCHITO’s
royal cushion.
Upstage, a door leading to the utility patio (where the water heater
sits). Ridiculously thin drywall partitions.
SCENE 1: Karma Has Eight Legs
(Blistering sun outside the big window. Distant shouts of children,
thudding balls, and a car alarm blaring: BEEP, BEEP, BEEP! BOB, in
Bermuda shorts, peeks out the window while hugging CHUCHITO. NEO enters
from the utility patio wiping sweat with a towel, carrying a toolbox and a roll
of metal mesh).
BOB: A hundred and five degrees, the pool is completely
empty because the water feels like chicken noodle soup, and the kids are riding
their bikes in circles like unmedicated ADHD on wheels. AND THESE WINDOWS, Neo!
Who on earth designs ANYTHING with glass walls?! We’re living in a fishbowl! If
some nosy old hag walks by, she can see straight down to our tonsils… and if a
car with bad brakes crashes through here, we lose our tonsils, our noses… and
our lives, obviously.
(Outside the window, OLGA walks by very slowly, with mechanical,
insect-like steps. She carries folders under her arm and pauses for a second to
peer inside with her head cocked sideways before moving on. Bob doesn’t see her
because he is turned toward Neo; Neo catches her out of the corner of his eye
but assumes she’s just another neighbor).
NEO: Stop complaining about the windows, Bob… The worst
of the worst is that utility patio—it looks like a breeding ground for vermin
and weeds. I ran out of wire mesh to patch the gap behind the water heater. I’m
making a quick run to Home Depot and I’ll be back before the scorpions, snakes,
and alligators move in.
BOB: (Stroking Chuchito’s ears with tragic guilt).
And tarantulas, babe… Tarantulas… We haven’t had alligators yet, but… I still
have the DEATH OF THAT TARANTULA weighing on my conscience! There she was with
her thousands of shiny black eyes right next to the fridge—so hairy, so
nosy—and wham, I hit her with the Yellow Pages! And then I Google her and it
turns out she was a Brachypelma—a peaceful, harmless, pest-eating
species… I murdered an innocent creature, Neo! Chuchito watched me do it, and
he doesn’t respect me anymore!
NEO: (Laughing, giving him a quick kiss).
Chuchito respects and loves you because that’s literally the only thing he
knows how to do. I won’t be forty minutes, I’m just grabbing mesh and silicone.
I’ll call you on the way. Stay out of trouble! Only kill roaches—no scorpions,
no tarantulas, and a hard no on iguanas… (Exits through the front door).
BOB: (Calling after him). Bring back some bug
spray just in case—but make sure it’s eco-friendly so I don’t rack up any more
bad karma!
(The second the door clicks shut, CAMILA’s head pops up out of
nowhere, pressed flat against the outside of the giant glass window, squishing
her nose against the pane).
CAMILA: Hey, neighbor! I heard you complaining about my
turtles! Yes, they escape every now and then, but I can assure you they have
not trespassed into your unit… Oh, and stop eavesdropping on my private
conversations!
BOB: (Jumping in the air, clutching Chuchito). Jesus,
CAMILA, don’t pop up like that—I’m pre-diabetic! I swear I’m not listening to
you, I don’t eavesdrop on your conversations… Not yours…
CAMILA: That’s what you say! Then how did you know about
my turtles? Oh, hey, neighbor, have you noticed that old bat in the tailored
suit who keeps pacing out front? The one in the weird outfit. She walks like
she’s measuring the condos with her footsteps! Well, she better not even think
about measuring my property! Look, there she comes… She’s gonna ring your bell!
(Camila ducks and vanishes).
(The doorbell rings: DING-DONG! OLGA’s silhouette appears behind
the sun-glazed window. She taps the glass with her black fingernails: Tic, tic,
tic).
BOB: (Panicking, ducking behind the kitchen bar and
shouting in a ridiculous, raspy disguised voice). Wrong house! Nobody’s
home! We all went away on vacation!
OLGA: (From outside, in a sweet, metallic voice).
Sir… I can see your Bermuda shorts in the reflection of the microwave.
BOB: (In a cold sweat, making things up wildly).
Okay, fine, I am here, but I can’t open the door because I’m completely naked…
and besides, I have a meat pie… a shepherd’s pie in the oven! Yes! And I’m
fixing a light switch that just short-circuited and could burn the whole
building down!
CAMILA: (Poking half her head around the corner of the
window). Hey! Don’t you dare burn anything down, don’t be vindictive—my
turtles are harmless!
BOB: (Running to the window to calm the neighbor
down, turning his back to the interior of the loft). No, CAMILA, for crying
out loud! I don’t even know your turtles! I don’t even like turtles—no, I
didn’t mean that! Look, this isn’t about you, it’s just that woman gives me the
creeps! She has a pitch-black aura!
CAMILA: Doesn’t she?! The second I laid eyes on her I knew
she was pure evil!
(FARCICAL STAGE MAGIC: While Bob gesticulates wildly at the left
window arguing with CAMILA, the oven door—or the upstage curtain—moves on its
own, and OLGA appears sitting impeccably on the loft’s sleeper sofa,
stroking CHUCHITO, who stares at her hypnotized. Olga holds a massive
ring of antique keys).
CAMILA: (Dropping her voice, staring over Bob’s
shoulder in terror). Neighbor… She’s a witch. She’s not outside anymore.
BOB: Thank God, my lies worked!
CAMILA: No, you idiot, she’s not outside anymore… because
she’s… she’s inside your house! She got in! (Camila vanishes instantly).
SCENE 2: The Mortgage Web and the Unmade Bed
(BOB turns around in slow motion, like a horror movie victim. He
sees OLGA sitting on his sleeper sofa, jingling the keys: Clink, clink.
Bob clutches his head).
BOB: …I’m having heatstroke. I’m hallucinating. Ma’am,
who gave you permission to break into my house?! And how did you get in when
the deadbolt was locked?!
OLGA: (With an unshakeable smile, drumming her
fingers like spider legs across her skirt). Through the gap behind the
water heater, Bob. Your husband left the hole wide open. What a lovely loft you
have… and how delicious this precious little baby looks… Chuchito, has anyone
ever told you what a sweetheart you are? (She strokes Chuchito with a black
fingernail).
BOB: (Rushing over to rescue Chuchito and hiding him
behind his back). His name is NOT Chuchito, and don’t touch him! Look,
ma’am… whoever you are, if you’re here to sell me life insurance or a timeshare
by the beach, I’m telling you right now I’m not—
OLGA: (Rising with arachnid elegance and cornering
him with dizzying legalese). Olga Al-Catraz, at your service, from Alcatraz
Realty. I’m not here to sell you a thing, Bob, because nobody ever escapes the
Rock—nothing is ever left behind, never, ever, never. I am here to execute a
fiduciary subrogation of karmic usufruct with a compound penalty rate for
first-degree malicious squashing.
BOB: Come again?!
OLGA: Meaning that when the titleholder of a property
flattens a pre-existing eight-legged tenant with the Yellow Pages, it triggers
the automatic forfeiture clause without right to bail. But don’t be frightened…
(She switches to an absurdly sensual purr; with one swift yank, she unfolds
the sofa into a queen-size bed made up with red satin sheets). …we
can negotiate a private settlement in the dark.
BOB: (Leaping backward, scandalized). When did
my couch turn into a bed?! Hey… Olga… Hold on a second, ma’am, there is a
terrible misunderstanding here! When I yelled that I was naked baking a meat
pie, that was a defensive metaphor—I didn’t invite you into my bed or anything!
OLGA: (Sitting on the bed, seductively patting the
mattress and fluffing the pillows). Oh, Bob, don’t be shy, don’t just stand
there like a broomstick. Come here… sit on the edge. Relax your abs. Let me
wrap you up in my web of easy monthly payments…
BOB: (With comical modesty, perching barely an inch
of his hip on the farthest corner of the mattress, stiff as a board and hugging
a throw pillow like a shield). Look, ma’am… you have very imposing shoulder
pads, and very… exotic plush trim, but I don’t know how you dare—
OLGA: (Crawling across the mattress toward him like a
hunting tarantula). You have the equity and I have the appetite, Bob. If we
merge under a regime of arachnid community property… though of course, we all
know what happens to the male after mating with one of us…
BOB: (Springing off the bed like a coiled spring).
Oh, no! No merger, no bridge loan, and nobody is biting my head off after
dessert! I reject all your proposals!
OLGA: (Her face transforms: she turns rigid,
ferocious, her voice dropping into a cavernous growl). Fine, Bob. I tried
doing this the nice way. Since you won’t cooperate, I’ll put it to you without
the notary jargon: This house is mine. (She grabs the dog
"tenderly"). And Chuchito stays with me, too. Starting right now,
he’s my property… isn’t that right, gorgeous?
BOB: My house AND Chuchito?! (Snatches Chuchito
back). Over my dead body! Get out of here right now!
OLGA: (Jangling the keys in his face and beginning to
unbutton her coral blouse with calculated malice). I have the keys, I have
deeds dated back to the Jurassic period, and if you take one step closer, I’ll
rip off my bra, run out to the courtyard, and scream in front of all the moms
with kids on tricycles that you dragged me into your loft to defile my real-estate
honor!
BOB: (Bursting into a nervous, hysterical laugh).
Hahahaha! Mrs. Olga, for the love of God, button that back up! Looking like a
guy who decorates with white feng-shui pebbles and bakes artisanal cheesecakes,
nobody in this condo complex is going to believe I tried to jump your bones!
Nobody, not a single soul! Need I spell it out?! I play for the other team,
Olguita! In fact, I’m the team captain of the opposing league!
OLGA: (With her hand on her bra clasp). The
district judge won’t care about your starting lineup when he sees all eight of
my eyes weeping…
(At that exact moment, Bob’s phone rings on the kitchen bar, clicking
straight onto speakerphone).
NEO’S VOICE (Over speakerphone): Babe!
Hey, I’m stuck here at the Kukulkan turnaround—a truck just spilled bags of
coconuts all over the highway. Did you take out the compost? And don’t forget
to give little Chuchín his half-pill.
BOB: (Running to the phone). Neo, fly back here
right now! A cockroach broke in! Worse—a crocodile, a rabid monitor lizard, a
four-hundred-eyed tarantula… she says the house is hers and she’s about to
strip down to no bra in our bed to have me thrown in prison!
NEO’S VOICE (Breaking up with static): What?
A cockroach got in?! Just squash it… use your flip-flop!… Hey, Bob, you’re
breaking up terribly, babe, I’m going into the tunnel, I’ll call you right
back… Beep, beep, beep!
SCENE 3: Decapitation and Preheating to 500 Degrees
OLGA: (Pulling out a black parchment scroll and
slapping a repossession collar on Chuchito). No one is coming to save you,
Bob. Not Neo, not the police. The only way to void my deed… is to kill me. Do
you dare squash me like you squashed my cousin Sara last Tuesday?
BOB: (Seeing Olga grab Chuchito’s cushion, he goes
into full berserker rage). Sara?! Sara, of course her name had to be Sara…
Why couldn’t it be Bruno, or José?! Sara, Sara, forgive me, I didn’t know what
I was doing! But this isn’t fair, it’s not proportional! Nobody messes with my
house, and nobody messes with Chuchito—nobody touches my pooch, you vintage
tarantula freak!
(Suddenly, CAMILA slides open a panel of the giant window. She is
wearing a bicycle helmet and holding a serving tray).
CAMILA: Hang in there, neighbor! I just checked through my
binoculars—she’s from the Squatting Cartel! Catch this, it belonged to my late
husband when he used to do magic tricks with apples! (She hurls a giant
retractable prop knife into the loft and slams the window shut).
BOB: (Catching the knife mid-air). Thank you,
CAMILA! Now die, die, you damned spider, you usurping witch!
(Bob lunges at Olga and stabs her in the chest ten times in a row with
the giant retractable prop knife, accompanied by rusty spring sound effects:
Boing, boing, boing! Olga shrieks, spins around theatrically, and flops
backward "dead" onto the queen-size bed).
BOB: (Panting, wiping his brow). Done, Chuchito.
The monster is dead. I’m going for a heavy-duty trash bag.
(The second Bob turns his back, OLGA pops straight up without
bending her knees, like a spring-loaded toy).
OLGA: Closing costs are immortal, Bob!
BOB: Aaaagh! (He grabs a kitchen mop, duels
her like a swashbuckler, and then tackles her behind the headboard in a Mexican
lucha libre headlock). Let’s see how you charge commission without a head,
you vermin!
(In the farcical struggle behind the bed, Bob gives a monumental yank
and rips Olga’s head off—revealing an identical mannequin head wearing
the blonde wig and glasses, while the actress ducks her real head inside the
high black plush collar of her jacket, staggering around blindly).
BOB: (Holding the mannequin head by the hair,
thoroughly grossed out). Ew, gross! It’s all clammy and slimy!
OLGA (The actress’s voice projected as if coming from the severed head
in Bob’s hands): Put me down, you fool! Your debt isn’t dead! Even
detached from my corporate body, I’m still compounding interest, upon interest,
upon interest…! The house is mine, mine, mine!
BOB: (Desperate because the head won’t shut up and
Olga’s headless body is bumping into furniture trying to grab Chuchito).
Oh, yeah?! You won’t shut up?! Let’s see if you keep yapping inside the oven,
witch!
(Bob sprints to the stove, yanks open the oven door—which glows
with an infernal red light and belches dry-ice smoke—shoves the witch’s head
inside, slams the door shut, and cranks every dial to the max).
BOB: Three hours at five hundred degrees on broil!
Let’s see you talk about compound interest now!
OLGA (Her voice amplified with a cavernous echo from inside the oven,
while her headless body performs a macabre dance on the bed): Fire
does nothing to me, Bob! I come from the ninth circle of unpaid escrow! I
cannot die! For me to vanish from your life… the one who has to die is YOU!
SCENE 4: Prop Immolation and the Saving Grace of Bug Spray
BOB: (Cornered between the screaming oven and the
headless body advancing on him; he addresses the audience with absurd
solemnity). It’s true… It makes total karmic sense. If she’s a projection
of my guilty mind, I have to destroy the dreamer’s brain! If I kill myself,
you’re left without a stage—and on top of that, the cops will pin a homicide on
you, you stupid witch! For you, Chuchito! For Neo! For the cancellation of
perpetual interest rates!
(Bob takes the retractable prop knife and, in a gesture of ridiculous
Greek tragedy, stabs himself in the chest and mimes slitting his own throat:
Slice, slice! He sticks out his tongue and drops "dead" and stiff
onto the living room floor).
(Pause. OLGA’s body stops. She calmly walks over to the oven,
puts on an oven mitt, opens the door, pulls out her own smoking head, pops it
back onto her shoulders—the actress emerges from the collar and adjusts her
singed wig—and sighs triumphantly).
OLGA: Too easy. Property foreclosed due to demise of the
borrower. (Picks up her folder).
CAMILA: (Peeking through the window). Neighbor Bob!
Did you kill that tarantula yet, or should I call the National Guard?!
OLGA: (Approaching the window with a malevolent
grin). Neighbor Bob just settled his account in full, CAMILA… but don’t go
anywhere, because I’m crawling straight into your apartment through the water
heater vent to repossess your little turtles.
CAMILA: Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Neighbor, stop playing
dead, get up and hit her with this—it’s the industrial stuff for graveyard
spiders!
(CAMILA flings open the window and tosses in a giant aerosol
bug-spray can labeled "RAID ULTRA-ARACHNID" which rolls right up
to Bob’s hand. Bob, lying flat on the floor, opens one eye. He looks at the
can. He looks at the audience).
BOB: (In an epic whisper). Of course… If she’s a
spider, you don’t kill her with a knife… you kill her with Raid: Kills Bugs
Dead!
(Just as Olga is about to stuff Chuchito into a briefcase, Bob
somersaults to his feet, pops the cap off the aerosol can, and aims it
two-handed like Dirty Harry).
BOB: Hey, Counselor Olga! Sign this cancellation clause
for me!
(Bob presses the nozzle. A massive plume of white smoke smelling of
cheap lavender blasts straight into Olga’s face: PSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH!).
OLGA: (Letting out a high-pitched insect shriek,
curling her arms and legs inward like a sprayed spider). Aaaah! Noooo!
Supermarket aisle-four cypermethrin in an aerosol can! My fangs are cramping
up! My photographic appraisal is ruined! Damn you, Bob, I’ll see your credit
score in hellllll…!
(Olga falls flat on her back onto the queen-size bed, sticks her stiff
arms and legs straight up toward the ceiling, vibrates for three seconds going
"bzzzzz," and goes completely rigid, legs in the air).
BOB: (Blowing the smoke off the nozzle of the bug
spray like a revolver). Debt-free home. Karma cleared. Bob: ten. Evil
tarantula: zero.
(SUDDEN BLACKOUT. Sound of an electric zap or a blaring alarm clock).
SCENE 5: The Awakening
(The lights fade up softly into a peaceful late afternoon. The bed is
folded back into a normal sofa. The oven is off. There is no trace of Olga. BOB
is sprawled on the couch hugging the bug-spray can like a teddy bear, drenched
in sweat. The phone rings on speaker. Bob wakes up with a choked scream).
BOB: Aaaah!! My head?! Is my neck okay?! (Feels his
neck and face, relieved). I still have a head and a neck! Everything’s
attached! Chuchito, we’re alive!
NEO’S VOICE (Over speakerphone): Babe,
I’m right downstairs opening the gate! Sorry it took so long. Everything okay
up there?
BOB: (Trembling, speaking a mile a minute). Neo,
you have no idea! I fell asleep on the couch and had the most horrifying
nightmare! It was so real, babe! That woman in the coral suit was the
reincarnation of the tarantula I killed! She crawled in through the water
heater, tried to strip in our bed, tried to steal the loft and Chuchito, I
shoved her head in the oven with the meat pie, killed myself with a prop knife,
and in the end CAMILA threw me a can of bug spray and left her belly-up! You
have no idea what kind of spider—!
(Just then, the front door opens and NEO walks in carrying Home
Depot bags, smiling brightly).
NEO: Hahaha, you’re losing it, poor spiders… You do
know they’re harmless, right? Almost all of them. Anyway, I got the wire mesh,
I’ll patch that hole right now so you can sleep in peace. No more spiders,
lizards, scorpions… turtles… Oh, by the way, I ran into CAMILA right outside.
BOB: (Frozen). And what did she say? She lost a
turtle again, I bet.
NEO: Nope, super polite—she told me she just let the
new condo association manager use her bathroom… a very elegant lady in a coral
tailored suit who’s coming around to inspect everyone’s property deeds. I think
she’s heading up right now.
(The doorbell rings: DING-DONG! Followed by the "tic, tic,
tic" of long fingernails tapping against the glass window. Bob looks at
Neo, looks at Chuchito, and raises the can of bug spray in one hand and the
plastic knife in the other).
BOB: (Screaming toward the door like a madman).
Nobody’s home! And the oven is already preheating to five hundred degrees! CHUCHITOOOO!
(FAST BLACKOUT AND CURTAIN).
