My phone buzzes again. I’m almost too afraid to check, but I force myself to look.
A voice message. My thumb hesitates over the play button. Then, I press it.
His voice spills out, deep and rough, like gravel and silk. He’s humming softly—slow, almost melodic.
“Incy wincy spider, climbing up her spine,
Tangled in the darkness, where she thinks she’s fine.
Out comes the whisper, slicing through her night,
And Little Spider shivers, trembling with fright.
Down came the shadow, wrapping her so tight,
And Little Spider realises—she’s never out of sight.”
The message ends, but the words keep circling in my head, spinning like I’m caught in a whirlpool of fear. My hands shake so violently I almost drop my phone. I can feel his voice burrowing into my skull, making itself at home.
Another message appears.
Do you like my song, Little Spider? I made it just for you.
I want to throw up. I hunch over on the bench, elbows on my knees, trying to catch my breath. The park feels too open, too exposed. I glance around, searching for any sign of him. A man on a bike glances at me as he passes. An elderly woman walks her dog, not even sparing me a glance.
The phone buzzes again, and I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see what else he has to say.
But I have to.
You look pretty when you’re scared. I like the way your mouth trembles. Can I see it up close next time?
My stomach drops, and I cover my mouth, forcing back the bile. I can’t go back to the flat. I can’t stay out here. I’m trapped—no matter where I go, he’ll find me.
Another voice message. I almost don’t play it, but my thumb betrays me.
His voice, low and teasing:
“Little spider, little spider, caught up in her web.
Curled up in bed, she felt protected from the night.
But shadows know her secret, the way she tries to hide.
And when she whispers, ‘Leave me,’ I’m right there by her side.
One more lie, one more scream, it only makes me stay.
So run, my little spider. Run. I’ll catch you, anyway.”
I can’t breathe. The world tilts, and I grip the edge of the bench, my knuckles white.
I jump to my feet, nearly colliding with a jogger. I mutter an apology, heart hammering, and force myself to keep moving. I can’t stop. I can’t give him a chance of catching me.
My phone vibrates one more time. I don’t check it. I just keep walking, faster and faster, like I can outrun the fear clawing up my throat.
But his voice keeps replaying in my head, that dark, taunting rhyme.
Little spider, little spider… I’ll catch you, anyway.
