United Arab Emirates

Heyo! I’m Lauren, a high school sophomore who loves reading too many fantasy novel series, listening to music, and eating a probably unhealthy amount of ice cream.

Message to Readers

Is there anything I can revise or improve? Please let me know. ^-^ I'd really appreciate it!


June 23, 2020


The spiders live in the attic. It's their sanctuary, in a sense, blanketed with dust and cobwebs, carpeted in shards of broken glass and bits of books long forgotten. By day, they hide in the nooks and crannies of the rafters, which strain like the ribs of a colossal whale against the weight of the ceiling. And by night, they hunt. 

They have not had suitable prey in a long while. A few squirrels and the occasional stray cat, though sustaining, taste like dust to them. The spiders gnash their mandibles with hunger, but they're ancient, patient creatures. They lay in their webs, and wait. 

The window panes tremor, the spiders murmur, something is coming. Like a gray-black wave of beady eyes and legs, they scuttle over the frame and peer through the cracked windows. The view is shattered and fogged up, but one look is enough.

A car is rattling up the driveway, dead leaves screaming, broken, in its wake. The headlights flash upwards as it meanders over the long-buried speed-bump, and the spiders flinch backwards from the brightness. They retreat, hissing, to their webs. Preeey

A family of four has moved into the house. The spiders watch them through holes in the walls. There is a father, a good-sized man with faded blue eyes and thick brown hair. There is a mother, a soft-looking woman with a slender spine and slender arms. And there are two children, a plump boy and a scrawny girl. 

The spiders are pleased. They do not hiss or screech, even as the moving trucks, with their loud engines and blinding lights, bring the family's furniture. They gather in the attic, spinning their webs and waiting.

The father's eyes would make a delectable slurry, his hair comfortable pillows. The mother and the boy would be scrumptiously succulent and juicy. But the girl--there's something about her that makes the spiders pause and take notice. It is the certain wildness that prances in her vulpine eyes, hunches in her bony shoulders and fingers. After some deliberation, the spiders nod in unison. She would do. 

Two weeks have gone by, and the spiders are ready. In the night, when the soft darkness crouches over the sky and casts shadows through the windows, the spiders scuttle behind the wallpaper. 

They are near soundless, the quiet patter of their innumerable legs barely audible. They swarm upwards, emerging in the girl's bedroom. The room is dark, lit only by the faint cast of moonlight. Among the bookshelves and boxes lies the girl, vulpine eyes closed, fingers gripping her duvet. The gray-black wave sweeps over the pink carpet, up the wooden bed-posts, onto the soft sheets. 

The spiders smile. It is time.

Elizabeth, they whisper, caressing the girl's ragged hair, tapping lightly on her translucent eyelids. Elizabeth, they croon, smoothing her pale cheeks, nibbling on her bony collarbones. Elizabeth, they sing in their faint voices, an eerie, roiling melody crashing across the room. Elizabeth, Elizabeth, ELIZABETH!

Elizabeth opens her eyes. They are gray, near black in the darkness. Sister, the spiders hum happily, we have long awaited you. Soundlessly, they bite. 

When Elizabeth wakes, she finds herself on a vast ocean of fabric. The world is curiously colorless, like a washed-out, old photograph, and the walls loom in on her vision. Sister... Suddenly, she remembers. 

She tries to scream, but she cannot--her delicate mandibles opening and closing in silent distress. Her eight eyes blink despondently, her eight legs flail in pandemonium. The spiders pounce, and carry her into the swarm.

The hunt has begun.  
As someone with mild arachnophobia, this was mildly terrifying, but ultimately fun to write. 


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  • June 23, 2020 - 1:54am (Now Viewing)

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