CHAPTER THREE
RAVEN
Sleep doesn’t come. I lie there in the dark, the room suffocating me, every creak of the old building sending another wave of anxiety crawling up my spine.
The phone is still in my hand, screen dark, but I don’t dare put it down.
It’s like a lifeline—a threadbare one, but enough to keep me tethered.
My mind runs in circles, thoughts tangled and frayed. Who is he? Why me? The word “play” echoes in my head, sticking like a burr.
My stomach twists, and I force myself to breathe slower, counting the seconds between each inhale. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of breaking. Not yet.
A noise from the hallway—a dull thud. My body locks up, every muscle tense and quivering. I strain to listen, heartbeat loud in my ears. Another thud, softer this time, like someone bumping against the wall.
I creep to the door, pressing my ear against the wood. A low murmur filters through—two voices, one slurred and annoyed. Probably the guy from 3B arguing with his girlfriend again. I ease back, letting out a shaky breath.
I hate that I’m like this—jumping at every sound, half-convinced that he’s just waiting for the right moment to slip inside. I should be braver. I used to be braver.
The phone buzzes again, and I almost drop it. I fumble to unlock the screen, dread pooling in my stomach. Another message from an unknown number.
Why aren’t you asleep, Little Spider?
My hands tremble, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. I don’t reply. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll get bored. Maybe he’ll move on.
The dots appear again—he’s typing. I can’t breathe, can’t think.
Do I keep you up at night? Thinking about me?
My chest tightens, and I can feel the walls closing in. I want to throw the phone, smash it into a thousand pieces, but I’m too terrified of missing the next message.
I want to be brave. I want to tell him to go to hell. But my fingers feel heavy, like they’re glued to the screen.
Another message.
I’d be happy to sing you to sleep.
I choke back a sob, shoving my fist into my mouth. My hands are slick with sweat, and I can’t stop shaking. I curl up tighter, burying my face in my knees, trying to block out his words.
Another buzz. I force myself to look, vision blurry.
Or maybe you’d rather hear me whisper your name. I know how much you like that.
My throat feels tight, and I can’t breathe past the panic clawing at me. I drop the phone, press my hands to my temples, willing the fear to go away.
Something hits the window—a sharp tap. I freeze, my skin prickling. Another tap, louder.
I inch forward, heart pounding, and reach for the curtain. My hand shakes as I push it aside just enough to peek out.
The street below is empty. A plastic bag flutters across the pavement, caught in the wind. No one’s there. I try to convince myself it was just a tree branch scraping against the glass.
My phone vibrates again, and I nearly scream. I snatch it up, fingers slipping on the screen as I check the message.
Do you want me to come in?
I can’t stop the sob that tears from my throat. I scramble off the bed, rushing to check the locks on the windows, the deadbolt on the door. Everything’s secure. Everything’s locked.
I text back before I can think, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Leave me alone!
Instant reply.
You don’t mean that, Little Spider. I know you like the game.
My stomach flips, and I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the wave of nausea. I try to think logically—try to convince myself it’s just some creep who found my number. It doesn’t mean he’s actually here.
But the feeling of being watched won’t go away.
I curl up on the floor, back against the wall, and pull my knees to my chest. The minutes drag by, one after another, and I don’t move, don’t dare make a sound. The phone remains silent. Maybe he’s done for the night. Maybe I won.
I must have dozed off at some point because I jerk awake to the sound of metal scraping. I blink, disoriented, realising it’s just the pipes groaning again. My whole body aches from being curled up on the hard floor.
The sun is rising, weak light creeping through the blinds. I drag myself to my feet, every muscle stiff and protesting. My phone’s still in my hand, but there are no new messages. Maybe he’s moved on.
I tell myself that lie over and over as I force myself to get dressed, slipping into another oversized hoodie and jeans. I need to get out of here. Clear my head.
Coffee. I need coffee. Maybe Sam will meet me at the shop again. I shove my phone into my pocket, ignoring the paranoia whispering that he might be out there waiting.
When I open the door, something skitters across the floor. I freeze, looking down.
A spider—small, black, legs twitching as it crawls toward the crack under my door. I watch it disappear, my heart thudding against my ribs.
An icy chill settles over me as I glance down, noticing something else just inside the doorway. A single glossy black glove.
My breath catches, and I nudge it with my boot, too scared to pick it up. It’s real. It’s solid. And it wasn’t there last night.
My pulse hammers, and I step back into the flat, slamming the door shut, locking it tight. I clutch the phone in my hand, my mind spinning with questions I can’t answer.
How did he get so close without me hearing? How long was he out there?
I can still feel his presence, like he’s pressed against the other side of the door, whispering my name.
My phone vibrates. I know before I look what it’ll say.
Sleep well, Little Spider?
I can’t breathe.
The glove sits there, black and sleek against the dusty floorboards, like a venomous spider itself. My throat tightens, and I can’t move, can’t think. My brain scrambles for logic, for an explanation that makes sense.
But there’s only one truth. He was here.
My hands tremble as I reach for the glove, fingertips grazing the leather. It’s cold, almost damp, like it’s been outside all night. I yank my hand back, pressing it against my chest to still the frantic pounding of my heart.
My phone buzzes again. I flinch, staring down at the screen.
Did you like my gift?
A soft, choked sound escapes me, and I force myself to reply, fingers clumsy on the keys.
What do you want from me?
The reply comes almost instantly.
To teach you how to play.
My skin prickles, and I inch away from the door, pressing my back against the wall. I can’t help but glance at the window, half-expecting to see him staring through the glass, those grey eyes drinking me in.
A new message pops up, and I bite down hard on my lip.
You keep running, Little Spider. But I’m patient. I’ll wait until you’re tangled up, with no way out. Until you call for me. Beg for me.
I’m suffocating. The air feels too thick, pressing in on all sides. I press my fists to my temples, trying to force the words out of my head.
Then another text.
You always look so lonely. Want me to come in and keep you company?
I want to scream. I want to throw the phone out the window and burn my flat to the ground. I type back before I can stop myself.
Leave me alone, or I’ll call the cops.
His reply sends ice through my veins.
And tell them what? That you’re being haunted by shadows? That you feel me even when I’m not there? They’ll think you’re crazy, Little Spider.
I let out a shaky breath, wiping sweat from my forehead. I have to get out of here. I grab my jacket from the back of the chair, shoving my arms through the sleeves. My phone vibrates again, and I almost don’t look. Almost.
Where are you going? You should stay. I like it better when you’re here. Safe. Wrapped up in your little web.
I swallow the rising panic and yank the door open, practically running down the stairs and out onto the street. The air is sharp and cold, stabbing at my lungs as I gulp it down. I don’t stop until I’m halfway down the block, surrounded by people milling about, going about their lives.
Safety in numbers. I keep telling myself that.
I turn the corner, pushing through the crowd until I reach the small park at the end of the street. I sit on a bench, pressing my fists to my mouth to muffle the sobs.
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.