Page 11 of Little Spider

And somehow I know he means it.

I don’t stop walking until my legs ache, pushing through the crowded streets with my hoodie pulled tight around my face. My phone vibrates again, but I don’t dare look. I just keep moving, head down, eyes darting to every shadow, every face.

The city feels different today—like it’s leaning in, watching me the way he does. My breath comes fast, too fast, and I know I’m on the verge of panicking. I stop in front of a small convenience shop, the neon sign flickering.

I need to be around people. I shove the door open, and a bell chimes. The fluorescent lights buzz above me, harsh and unforgiving. The cashier barely glances up, lost in his phone. I weave through the narrow aisles, forcing myself to slow down, to breathe.

I pick up a pack of gum just to have something to do with my hands. My phone buzzes again, and I finally check it, heart in my throat.

Another voice message. I can’t help myself—I press play.

His voice, low and syrupy, like a secret only I’m allowed to hear:

“Little spider, spinning lies, hoping I won’t see.

But webs hold you tight, and you can’t break free.

Does it scare you when I’m closer, even when I’m not?

Do you dream of hands around your throat, squeezing ’til you’re caught?”

My knees buckle, and I lean against the shelf, clutching the pack of gum so hard the plastic crinkles. The cashier glances over, eyebrows raised, and I force a smile, pretending to be engrossed in the nutrition label.

Another message.

You can’t run forever, Raven. You’re mine. You always have been.

My mouth goes dry, and I feel like the room is closing in. I shove the gum back onto the shelf and hurry out of the shop, ignoring the cashier’s curious look. The air outside feels like ice, biting at my skin. I glance up and down the street, but there’s no sign of him.

Maybe he’s never really there—just a ghost wrapped around me, whispering in my ear.

I fumble with my phone, typing as fast as I can.

What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?

He takes less than a minute to reply.

Because you’re mine. You look so pretty when you’re scared. I want you to feel it—feel me. I’m in your bones now, Little Spider. You can’t pull me out.

My hands are shaking so hard I can’t hold on to my phone. I rush to pick it up, half-expecting someone to snatch it. I force myself to keep moving, ducking into the nearest alley just to be out of the open.

My back presses against the brick, and I slide down to the ground, curling into myself. I scroll through my contacts, desperate for someone to talk to. I hesitate at Sam’s name. I want to tell her, want to let someone else carry the fear for a moment.

But what can I say? That I’m being haunted by someone I can’t see? That I’m terrified of a man who leaves no trace?

My phone buzzes again.

Did you like the glove? Thought you might want something of mine. Something to hold when you’re lonely.

I swallow hard, trying not to cry. My breath comes out in ragged gasps, and I wipe my eyes with my sleeve.

Another message.

Don’t cry, Little Spider. You know I’ll take care of you. You’re just so pretty when you’re breaking. I want to hear you beg me to stop. But you won’t, will you? You’ll fight just like a little trapped thing. I like that about you.

The sob tears from my throat before I can stop it. I bury my face in my hands, trying to block out the voice, the words. I want him gone. I want to feel safe again.

Another voice message. My heart pounds as I hit play.