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ZACH: I don’t care.

GRACE: Of course you do. And you should.

ZACH: If Becca doesn’t want to be with me... I’m not going to leave her to die just because she might break up with me. How psycho would I have to be to—

Zach grunts. Surprise and pain mingle. Judging by the location of the wound on the corpse, it is likely the blade has struck his lung, which explains why he makes little other sound. The edges of the wound are sloppy. One imagines the hand holding the knife working it up and down, sawing at thevulnerable cavity below the ribs, inexpertly wreaking damage. The whispers do not capture this, their silence merciful. They offer instead the sound of a body striking the floor, and the panting breath of the killer.

GRACE: Lost him. I don’t know what happened. He was right next to me. He was right next to me. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where Zach is. He was right next to me. No—she’ll want to look for him. The spider. The spider took him. I don’t know what happened. One minute he was right next to me, and the next second the spider was there.

The rehearsal grows more precise with repetition. Grace takes a long breath.

GRACE: There. It’s better this way. Two of us now. No reason not to go.

The whispers fade.

VIDEO EVIDENCE

Retrieved from the cell phone of Melanie Whittaker

Recorded April 19, 2017, 12:52 a.m.

The camera trains on Grace, moving purposefully down the dim hallway. She mutters to herself as she moves, counting turns. Anthony and Mel walk in the back of the group, the others shuffling along ahead.

MEL: I feel like she’s leading us in circles.

ANTHONY: How would we know if she was? We can’t even tell what hall we’re in. There’s no guarantee a hall is the same every time you look at it. [Pause] Is it just me, or is she...

MEL: Kind of nuts? Sure, but after God knows how long in a place like this, you’d have to be. Why, you don’t trust her?

ANTHONY: I didn’t say that.

MEL: Because I sure as shit don’t.

ANTHONY: So it’s not just me.

MEL: No, and I... Hold on. I know things keep shifting—okay, this sounds weird, but I’m really good with spatial stuff, right? And I think we’re not just following a route, we’re making it by making certain turns. I think the changes are predictable. And I think she knows it, too.

ANTHONY: Meaning what, exactly?

MEL: I can’t be sure. But I think the way we’ve been turning, it’s making the house into almost a loop. If she turns up there... Yeah. If she turns right, we’ll walk right up behind ourselves.

ANTHONY: Is that possible?

MEL: Here?

ANTHONY: Good point. What does that mean?

MEL: I don’t know. Except—

Grace halts. The others follow suit, confusion and alarm evident. Grace stands just past a dark hallway—deeply dark, a dark immune to light. Kyle stands right behind her, a frown creasing his features.

Grace stomps on the ground twice.

It’s like knocking on a door, and the answer comes quickly. The spider erupts from the dark: milk-pale, legs like blades. Eyeless face twisting, jaw working side to side as the tongue lashes. It dives for Grace and Kyle, but she grabs hold of Kyle and freezes, and Jeremy doesn’t, the others don’t, stumbling back on instinct.

The spider moves in stutter-step, joints clicking, clattering into the hall and dividing Grace and Kyle from the others. It turns on the older teens. They do the only thing they can—they run.

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