Page 22 of Little Spider

Another message from me.

You really think that room will protect you? I could be inside right now. Watching. Waiting.

She rushes to the door, checking the lock, pushing the dresser against it like that would stop me. I press my fingers against the glass, relishing the way her panic spills out in waves.

I could make a move now—let her see me, break that last thread of hope. But I hold back. The tension needs to build. A spider doesn’t pounce—it lets the prey wear itself out.

I let out a slow breath, the condensation blooming on the glass. Her shadow moves closer to the window, hesitant. I take a step back, making sure I’m just out of sight.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s her.

Why are you doing this? Please just stop.

My fingers hover over the keys, and I can’t help but smile.

Because you’re mine. Stop fighting it. It’ll be easier when you accept it.

The curtain shifts just an inch, and I see her eyes—wide and wild—scanning the dark. I lean closer, just enough that if she looks the right way, she’ll catch a glimpse of my silhouette.

She pulls the curtain shut again, dropping to the floor, pressing her back against the wall like she can melt into it. I hum softly, the sound carrying through the cracked window.

“Incy wincy spider, creeping through the night,

Little spider’s trembling, hoping for the light.

But shadows are my kingdom, webs are what I weave.

And when you finally stop fighting, that’s when you’ll never leave.”

I hear her muffled sob, and it wraps around me like a lover’s touch. I pull away from the window, making my way back down the fire escape, letting the creaks and groans mask my movements.

Back on the street, I light another cigarette, letting the nicotine settle my pulse. I shouldn’t have gone that close. I shouldn’t have let her almost see me. But I couldn’t help it. The way she looked so broken, so on the verge of collapse—it’s addictive.

My phone buzzes again. Another message from her.

What do you want from me? Just tell me. I’ll do it.

I exhale a stream of smoke, savouring the taste. She’s getting closer to the edge, finally ready to break. I can feel it—like a string pulled too tight, just waiting to snap.

I type back slowly, making every word count.

I want you to stop pretending you’re innocent. I’ve seen the way you look over your shoulder. The way you bite your lip when you think someone’s watching. You like being chased. You like being caught. You’re mine, and I’m just helping you realise it.

I can almost hear her gasping for air, choking on fear and confusion. I pocket the phone and start walking, knowing she’s unravelling in that room, probably trying to convince herself that I’m wrong.

But I’ve been watching her for too long. I know the way her pulse races when I’m close, how her eyes widen like a doe in headlights, too stunned to move.

My phone pings with another photo—the front desk camera. She’s sitting on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, her face buried in her hands.

I send one more message.

I’m closer than you think, Little Spider. Go ahead—leave the light on. It won’t save you.

I can’t help the thrill in my chest when I imagine how she’s crumbling, trying to piece together a plan that won’t work.

I decide to give her the night to stew, to wonder if I’ll break in while she sleeps. The anticipation will hollow her out. By morning, she’ll be nothing but frayed nerves and paranoia, and I’ll be right there, ready to catch her when she finally falls.

The night stretches on, and I disappear back into the city, humming my song under my breath.