The parade is suffocating—crowds pressed tight on either side, colours blurring together, people laughing, dancing, unaware of the chaos unravelling inside me. My heart pounds, and I force myself to keep moving, slipping through gaps, squeezing between families, trying not to look back.
The costumes are vivid, unsettling—like some twisted masquerade. Bright red and black feathers, skeletal faces painted with grinning mouths, hands reaching out with puppet strings. The theme is something morbid and whimsical—a celebration of the “Festival of Lost Souls.” People wear masks shaped like distorted, crying faces and dance around skeletal floats, carrying lanterns that cast eerie shadows.
“They’re mocking you,”the voices whisper, giggling.“Look at them—celebrating death and madness. Just like you, little spider, running from the monster you begged to catch you.”
I press my hands over my ears, weaving between a group of performers juggling fire. One of them grins at me, face painted like a cracked porcelain doll, and I jerk away, almost tripping.
“Pretty doll,”one voice coos.“You thought you could just sneak away? Silly girl. He’s right behind you, licking his lips, ready to drag you back.”
A float passes by—black roses twined around skeletal hands, reaching out like they’re beckoning me closer. The music shifts, darker now, drums pounding like a heartbeat, and the dancers move slower, arms raised like they’re summoning something.
“They know you’re running,”another voice sings, its tone mocking.“They’re laughing at you, stupid girl. You think you’re blending in? You’re the only one not smiling.”
My breathing hitches, and I stumble to the side, pressing myself against a stone fountain at the edge of the square. Water pours from the mouth of a gargoyle, splashing onto the cobblestones, and I crouch down, trying to make myself small.
The voices hum softly, their tone mocking and sweet, like a lullaby twisted into something sinister.
“Incy wincy spider, tried to run away, Down came the hunter to drag her back to play…”
I bite back a sob, pressing my forehead to my knees, desperate to block it out.
“You’re making it easy for him,”one voice sneers.“Just sitting there, waiting for him to scoop you up. You like it, don’t you? The chase. The danger. You wouldn’t have left that door unlocked if you didn’t want him to find you.”
“You want to be caught,”another voice giggles.“You’re just pretending to be afraid. It’s cute. Pathetic, but cute.”
I force myself to breathe, counting to ten, trying to drown them out. But the parade is swirling around me like a fever dream—painted faces grinning too wide, people chanting, dancers bending backward like broken marionettes.
“He’s going to find you,”the voices hiss, harmonising now, their mocking tone slicing through my thoughts.
“Incy wincy spider, tried to slip away, Out came the monster, to make her want to stay…”
I jerk to my feet, my legs shaky, forcing myself back into the crowd. I can’t stay in one place too long. He’ll catch up. He always does. I duck under a float, nearly getting caught in the flowing red fabric trailing from it.
A group of masked performers swarms around me, their movements chaotic, faces hidden behind long, cracked porcelain masks. One of them leans in too close, whispering, “You look lost, sweetheart.”
I push past them, fighting the urge to scream.
“They know you’re running,”the voices giggle.“They can smell your fear. You’re a mouse in a room full of cats. All it takes is one slip, and he’ll be on you.”
I can still hear him—hear his dark, rasping voice in my head, whispering threats and promises. The way he sang to me last night, that sick, twisted version of the nursery rhyme.
“Incy wincy spider, caught up in his web, He’ll wrap you up tightly until you’re cold and dead…”
I rock my head, trying to dislodge the sound, but it only gets louder. My vision swims, and I nearly run into a man dressed like a crow, his black wings brushing my face as he dances by.
The air feels too thick, the colours too bright. My stomach flips, and I know I’m on the verge of breaking down. I press on, slipping through the gaps, looking for an exit, but it’s all closingin. The crowd moves as one, pressing me forward, deeper into the chaos.
“You’re making it easy for him,”the voices croon, lilting.“He’s going to catch you. Drag you back. Make you scream just like you did last night.”
A hand brushes my arm, and I spin, heart seizing in my chest, but it’s just a dancer with a painted skull mask, twirling past without a second glance. I stumble backward, pressing against a lamppost, trying to steady myself.
And then I hear it—his voice.
Soft, sinister, weaving through the noise like a dark thread.
“Incy wincy spider, hid among the crowds, But her hunter’s watching, laughing oh so loud…”
My blood turns to ice, and I whip around, searching for him. Panic wells up, my heart hammering so loud I can barely hear the music.
