Where’s John?

“John!” I called out as the door slammed closed behind me. “Are you home?”

I walked in and threw my purse and keys on the kitchen table. The keys made a metal jingle and slid across the wood. “John!”

He wasn’t home. I looked all through the house – the bedrooms, the living room, even out in the yard (I thought maybe he’d be working in the garden). He was nowhere to be found. Strange, as the SUV was in the driveway.

He must have gone out for a walk, I thought, and sighed. I went inside and put on a pot of tea, and settled into the couch to make some headway on my Agatha Christie.

Hours passed, and it got to be the evening, around the time we would normally start making dinner but he still hadn’t come back. I was starting to become worried. I picked up my cell and dialed, and heard, far off, the sound of his phone ringing, and the distant muffled hum of it vibrating.

The basement! Of course, it was the only place I hadn’t checked.

“John!” I called out, phone in hand, running down the creaky wooden steps. The vibrating hum continued and I realized something wasn’t right; the sound was coming from the ceiling, from a far dark corner of the basement.


And then I looked up a saw it: John’s bloody body, wrapped up in silver strands of gossamer in a giant cocoon, his limbs bent all at wrong angles. His eyes were still wide open in horror and his mouth agape.

The creature crouched atop him hissed, and turned to face me.

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