Page 19 of Little Spider

When the phone pings with her sob, it sends a jolt of satisfaction straight through me. I savour it, letting it curl through my veins like smoke.

She doesn’t move for a long time. I watch her breath, chest heaving, like she’s trying to hold herself together. I tilt my head, imagining how she’ll look when I finally step out of the dark and wrap my hands around her throat—not to hurt, just to remind her who’s in control.

Another buzz. This time, she’s begging.

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

I smile, thumbs flying over the screen.

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.

She doesn’t reply, but I don’t need her to. I already know how she’ll react—curling in tighter, like that will make her disappear. It’s adorable. It makes me want to peel back every layer until there’s nothing left but the raw, trembling truth of her.

I send the next voice message, letting the words roll out, soft and sinister.

“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.

I’ll weave my web around your heart, and that’s how I’ll get in.”

I see the way her shoulders shake, the way her hands cover her ears, trying to block me out. It’s almost too much. I want to close the distance, yank her up by the hood of that pathetic hoodie, and pin her against the wall.

But not yet.

I stay rooted in the dark, watching as she finally bolts—pushing through the back door, stumbling into the next alley like a wounded animal. I follow, my footsteps soft and calculated. She’s moving slower now, losing steam.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the black glove I kept in reserve, letting it dangle from my fingers as I follow her trail. When she collapses against the side of the bus stop, I pause, just out of sight, listening to the way she gasps for breath.

I could end this now. I could let her see me—let her eyes widen as realisation hits, let her understand it was always me, always this close.

But where’s the fun in that?

I send one more message, letting my voice drop lower, almost tender.

Be a good girl, Raven. Go home. Lock the door. I’ll come to you. We’ll play properly this time.

I see her shoulders tense, and I know she’s reading it. I know she’s breaking. The thrill of it thrums through me, and I bite back a groan.

I slip back into the shadows, knowing she’ll take the next bus anywhere but home. She’s predictable like that. She is always running, always trying to escape the one thing that catches her.

When I’m sure she’s gone, I turn back toward the warehouse, letting the city wrap around me like a cloak. My pulse pounds, and I can’t help the slow smile spreading across my face.

She’ll be mine. She already is.

And when I finally decide to step out of the dark, to let her see me, she won’t know whether to fight or fall apart.

Either way, I’ll be there to catch her.

The night swallows me as I leave the warehouse district, the city humming with life just a few blocks away. I keep my pace steady, blending into the noise, the neon glow from the rundown bar on the corner washing me in sickly light.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I already know it’s her. I can picture her shaking hands, her wide, terrified eyes as she debates whether to respond or just block me. She won’t block me. She never will.