A local boy has formally withdrawn from all future bin-related responsibilities after a large Huntsman spider “sprinted full pelt” across his hand during a routine garbage run on Tuesday night.

“I felt fur, I felt legs, I felt God leave the room,” said 12-year-old Max Dempsey, visibly shaken and now sleeping with a tennis racquet under his doona.

The incident occurred just after dark as Max attempted to wheel the red-lid bin to the kerb. CCTV footage confirms a blurry, skittering shape leaping from the bin handle and executing what one arachnologist later described as “a perfect eight-legged burnout.”

“I didn’t scream,” Max claimed, “but there was a sort of... noise. More like a reverse yodel.”

Since the incident, Max has refused all garbage duties, citing “emotional injury, lingering web paranoia, and a new understanding of the food chain.”

Max’s father Darren says the family is in active negotiations.

“I offered five bucks per bin night. He countered with a full exemption until adulthood and a flamethrower.”

A waste representative from council has declined to intervene, stating that “while the spider situation is regrettable, bin duty remains a household matter under the Local Government Arachnid Avoidance Act.”

Meanwhile, Max’s younger sister Sophie has stepped in – but only for green waste. “Huntsmans don’t hang out with leaves,” she reasoned. “They like red lids. And fear.”

✉️ Letters to the Editor

Max D.
People keep saying Huntsmans are harmless. So is a hug from a stranger — still terrifying in the dark.

Glenn Derwood (Senior Community Solutions Liaison (Acting, Unofficial, Ongoing)
This situation speaks to a broader failure of intergenerational bin knowledge. I’ll be submitting a proposal for a Council-funded pamphlet titled Eight-Legged Encounters: What to Do and Who to Call. In the meantime, if anyone’s got a spare flamethrower, please forward it to Max c/o the Examiner.

🧘‍♀️ Willow B.
This child has encountered a sacred creature of shadow and swiftness. The Huntsman is a symbol of ancestral guidance. When it runs across your hand, it’s offering you a message. Probably: Let the trash go. I will be hosting a spider apology circle at the moonrise. Bring nettle tea.

Neville C.
Lake Cathie
Back in my day, we didn’t get out of chores just because a spider had “joints and opinions.” You got bitten, you limped, you swore under your breath, and you took out the bin. These kids are soft. Give him a rolled-up newspaper and a handshake from Dad, problem solved.