Page 5 of Little Spider

But he’s wearing leather gloves. Black ones, fitted tight to his hands. I saw the same kind the night before, just for a split second before I closed the curtain.

I force myself to look away, my pulse roaring in my ears. Sam’s voice is muffled as she continues to talk. I take a shaky breath, trying to ground myself. I’m being paranoid. Just because he has gloves doesn’t mean…

“Raven.”

Sam’s voice snaps me out of it, and I meet her eyes. “What?”

“Do you want me to stay at your place tonight?”

I hesitate. Part of me wants to say yes, to have someone there, just in case. But another part—the stubborn, prideful part—wants to pretend that I’m fine. That I’m not a mess of nerves and fear.

“No,” I say finally. “I’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. We finish our coffee in silence, the tension coiled tight around my chest. When Sam finally gets up to leave, she hugs me tightly, whispering, “Text me if you need anything.”

I nod, trying to hold on to that warmth as I watch her walk out.

I linger a few more minutes, waiting for my heart rate to settle. The man at the counter doesn’t move, doesn’t glance my way. When I finally muster the courage to leave, I keep my head down, sliding out the door without looking back.

The air outside feels heavier, thicker, pressing down on me like a weight. I shove my hands into my pockets and walk fast, trying to convince myself the footsteps behind me are just a coincidence.

I glance back once—just once.

He’s there, a few paces behind, his gait unhurried, almost casual.

My breath catches, and I force myself to turn away, picking up the pace. My building is just a few blocks away. If I can just get inside, lock the door—the hum starts again. Low, almost a whisper, carried on the wind.

“Incy wincy spider…”

I freeze. My blood turns to ice.

I turn around, but he’s gone.

Just like that—vanished, as if he were never there.

I force myself to move, heart pounding, vision swimming. I don’t stop running until I’m inside my flat. The door slams shut and locks behind me. I press my back against it, gasping for air.

I slide to the floor, clutching my knees, my phone still gripped tight in my hand. The message replays in my head—Little Spider.

And that haunting, taunting melody that won’t leave me alone.

I sit there in the dark, too scared to move, too scared to breathe.

Because I know he’s out there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And somehow, he knows my name.

The silence in my flat feels too loud. I squeeze my knees tighter to my chest, the edge of the hoodie digging into my skin, grounding me just enough to keep from spiralling. My breathing is ragged, and I force myself to count—one, two, three—until it slows, evens out.

I glance around the room, eyes darting from corner to corner, searching for any sign that someone’s been here. The windows remain shut, the blinds stay drawn. The door remains locked. I check it again, twisting the deadbolt just to feel the satisfying click.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and I nearly drop it. My thumb hovers over the screen, heart pounding as I unlock it.

A new message from Sam: