Dawn’s Web

The door slammed behind her. Her first day and she was going to be late. Eastward the night sky was just now graying. Maybe if she hurried!

The porch light caught its glimmer even as she skipped down the front steps and flew moth-like to its trap. It struck foremost across her face, sticking there, stretching around and into her painstakingly perfect hair. Her eyes clamped shut instinctively, the silken threads surrounding them, and her mouth. Fear muted her scream to little more than a warbling wail of dread.

With no clear direction to safety, her feet ran in place. Frantic hands slapped at her face, smearing webbing and make-up together. She felt it crawling, but couldn’t see it through clamped eyelids. Her stimulated imagination felt crawlies on her neck, inside her shirt, in her ears. The web sucked inside when she tried another scream. She spit, slapped, spit, and scratched as panicked tears began.

She clawed herself, ripping at hair, skin, and webbing, heedless of the damage caused. Invisible strands stuck to her fingers so that she had to stop to shake her hands before clawing again, then shaking, and slapping, all in vain.

Sensing something, her eyes opened. It was perched on the end of her nose, its hairy legs crouching, fangs pulsing, predatory eyes returning her gaze.

She gave a great swing that cracked her nose, splattering blood and spider guts over her outfit while hundreds of teensy spider babies scampered across her face in every direction.