Page 64 of Little Spider

Then I see him—just a flash through the crowd. His eyes meet mine from across the square, dark and furious, lips curving into a wicked, triumphant smile.

I can’t move. My legs lock up, the fear freezing me in place.

He raises his hand slowly, mimicking the motion of a spider crawling up a web, mouthing the words,

“Incy wincy spider… climbed up the spout again.”

I suck in a breath, forcing myself to break free from the paralysis. I turn and bolt, weaving through the dancers, pushing past painted faces and grinning masks.

But I know he’s coming.

And this time, I don’t know if I can outrun him.

I force my legs to move, weaving through the crowd, my heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the music. The parade seems endless, swirling around me like a fever dream—grinning skulls, dancers with long spider-leg extensions, black silk webs strung between poles, catching in the wind.

The Festival of Lost Souls. I remember reading about it—a celebration of embracing darkness, of letting your sins dance freely for one night. People dress as their inner demons, purging their guilt, their secrets.

“Perfect place for you, isn’t it?”the voices taunt, mocking me.“A parade of monsters, and you’re the most pathetic one here.”

My foot catches on a loose cobblestone, and I stumble, catching myself on a vendor cart draped in velvet and black lace. The seller—a woman with spiderwebs painted over her eyes—gives me a crooked smile. “You look lost, love,” she croons, holding out a dark red scarf. “Need something to cover up that pretty little neck?”

I shake my head, pushing past her, but her laughter follows me, sticky and cloying.

“You can’t hide,”one voice hums.“He’s already seen you. You’re just making it more fun for him.”

I glance over my shoulder, heart in my throat, but he’s not there. I slip between two floats, incense choking me, my hands shaking so badly I can’t grip anything for balance.

I dart into an alley at the edge of the square, ducking behind a metal gate that’s partially open. It leads to an old exhibition hall, the sign hanging crooked and faded:

The Spider’s Nest — A Maze of Illusions.

My stomach churns, but I don’t have a choice. I push through the door, the heavy wood groaning, and stumble inside. The air is cooler, darker, and the sound of the parade is muffled now.

Dim red lights flicker on the walls, casting long, distorted shadows. A web pattern sprawls across the floor, the lines converging at a central point—a large, ornate mirror.

I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to keep moving. I push through a curtain of dangling black silk threads, entering the maze. The room splits into a series of hallways lined with mirrors—warped and twisted, distorting my reflection.

I see myself—stretched, elongated, my eyes wide and terrified. Another mirror makes me look small and fragile, hunched over like a broken doll. I press my hand to one, and my reflection mimics me, but her lips curl into a smirk.

“You look so pretty when you’re terrified,”the reflection whispers.

I jerk back, covering my mouth to stop the scream.

“He’s going to find you,”the voices coo.“He’ll love seeing you like this. Weak. Vulnerable. Trying to be clever but just trapping yourself deeper in his web.”

The mirrors keep reflecting me, but every time I look, they change. One shows me bound, tied in silk, with a pair of dark hands gripping my waist. Another shows me with his mark on my throat—bruised and bitten.

“This place suits you,”the voices laugh.“A maze where you can’t escape your own reflection. You think you’re running from him, but really, you’re running from yourself.”

I move faster, slipping through a narrow passage where the walls seem to breathe—expanding and contracting like a living thing. I press forward, ignoring the way the whispers bounce off the mirrors, his voice blending with mine, echoing through the corridors.

“Incy wincy spider, caught inside the maze, With nowhere left to hide, she’s just a game to play…”

I spin around, convinced he’s right behind me, but it’s just my own face staring back from a dozen different angles. My chest heaves, and I push forward, deeper into the labyrinth.

I hear something—a faint tapping sound. I freeze, ears straining. It’s rhythmic, almost like… footsteps.

I pick up the pace, nearly tripping over a twisted metal sculpture—a spider made of shattered glass. I look around, trying to find an exit, but every turn leads to more mirrors, more distorted versions of myself.