When I send a spider into its [doubtless] empty afterlife, it reflexively curls up into a neat little package, like popcorn in water, and I leave it there to rot.
You'd think that the amassed corpses of various arachnids would ward away their kin, but they crawl in during the night like eight-legged Antigones, only to be sentenced to the same fate as their ugly brethren.
