Page 17 of Little Spider

But webs are meant to hold you tight, and I’m not done with you yet.”

My hands go cold. I swipe to delete the message, but my phone buzzes again before I can.

Are you tired, Little Spider? You look so pretty when you’re all out of breath. I wonder if you’ll sound just as sweet when I finally catch you.

A sob tears out of my throat, and I sink to the ground, knees hitting the cracked pavement. I grip the phone so hard it hurts, trying to make sense of how he’s always so close—how he always knows exactly what I’m doing.

I pull up the camera app and turn it on, panning around me, trying to see if there’s anyone watching. I spin slowly, the cameratrembling in my hand. No one. Just rusted fences and broken windows, the river churning sluggishly behind me.

I slump back against the fence, trying to force logic through the panic. He has to be watching from somewhere. Maybe he has someone helping him. Maybe he hacked into my phone. I check the screen, looking for anything unusual—any apps I don’t recognise.

Nothing. My regular apps stare back at me, as if no one had twisted them into tools of terror.

My phone pings again. Another voice message. I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can’t help it—I hit play.

His voice, sharper this time, cuts through the static of fear:

“I like when you try to fight back, Little Spider. You’re so stubborn. Do you think you can hide from me out there? In that dirty little corner of the city?

I know you’re by the river. I can almost smell the fear on your skin. It’s delicious.”

My hand flies to my mouth to stifle a scream. I turn around, eyes darting everywhere, looking for him. The warehouses loom, silent and foreboding. I feel exposed, like I’m standing in the centre of a sniper’s scope.

I bolt to the nearest building, finding a door that’s barely hanging on its hinges. I slip inside, the stale air hitting me like a slap. Broken glass crunches under my boots, and I move deeper into the shadows, ducking behind an old, rusted machine.

My phone pings again. A photo.

My heart stops.

It’s me. Right now. Crouched in the warehouse, eyes wide, looking terrified.

I scream, slapping a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. Tears sting my eyes, and I can’t breathe. I stare at the photo, trying to make sense of it. He’s here. He’s watching me. Right now.

So close, Little Spider. I could almost touch you.

My chest feels like it’s collapsing, and I can’t stop the sobs now. I type back, fingers shaking so badly I misspell every word.

What do you want? Please just tell me what you want!

The reply is instant.

You. I want you to stop running. Stop hiding. Let me catch you. I’ll make it feel so good when you finally give in.”

I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against the cold metal of the machine, trying to drown out his words. I want to wake up. I want this to be a nightmare I can shake off.

My phone buzzes again. Another voice message. My heart races as I hit play, barely able to hold it together.

His voice, almost a purr—dripping with satisfaction:

“Little spider, little spider, why are you so shy?

You know I’m right behind you—can’t you feel me breathe and sigh?

I love the way you tremble, love the way you fear,

And when you whisper for me to stop, that’s when I draw near.

Come closer, little spider, let me touch your skin.