CHAPTER ELEVEN
RAVEN
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 closing in. 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.
Then I see him—just a flash through the crowd. His eyes meet mine from across the square, dark and furious, lips curving into a wicked, triumphant smile.
I can’t move. My legs lock up, the fear freezing me in place.
He raises his hand slowly, mimicking the motion of a spider crawling up a web, mouthing the words,
“Incy wincy spider… climbed up the spout again.”
I suck in a breath, forcing myself to break free from the paralysis. I turn and bolt, weaving through the dancers, pushing past painted faces and grinning masks.
But I know he’s coming.
And this time, I don’t know if I can outrun him.
I force my legs to move, weaving through the crowd, my heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the music. The parade seems endless, swirling around me like a fever dream—grinning skulls, dancers with long spider-leg extensions, black silk webs strung between poles, catching in the wind.
The Festival of Lost Souls. I remember reading about it—a celebration of embracing darkness, of letting your sins dance freely for one night. People dress as their inner demons, purging their guilt, their secrets.
“Perfect place for you, isn’t it?” the voices taunt, mocking me. “A parade of monsters, and you’re the most pathetic one here.”
My foot catches on a loose cobblestone, and I stumble, catching myself on a vendor cart draped in velvet and black lace.
The seller—a woman with spiderwebs painted over her eyes—gives me a crooked smile.
“You look lost, love,” she croons, holding out a dark red scarf.
“Need something to cover up that pretty little neck?”
I shake my head, pushing past her, but her laughter follows me, sticky and cloying.
“You can’t hide,” one voice hums. “He’s already seen you. You’re just making it more fun for him.”
I glance over my shoulder, heart in my throat, but he’s not there. I slip between two floats, incense choking me, my hands shaking so badly I can’t grip anything for balance.
I dart into an alley at the edge of the square, ducking behind a metal gate that’s partially open. It leads to an old exhibition hall, the sign hanging crooked and faded:
The Spider’s Nest — A Maze of Illusions.
My stomach churns, but I don’t have a choice. I push through the door, the heavy wood groaning, and stumble inside. The air is cooler, darker, and the sound of the parade is muffled now.
Dim red lights flicker on the walls, casting long, distorted shadows. A web pattern sprawls across the floor, the lines converging at a central point—a large, ornate mirror.
I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to keep moving. I push through a curtain of dangling black silk threads, entering the maze. The room splits into a series of hallways lined with mirrors—warped and twisted, distorting my reflection.
I see myself—stretched, elongated, my eyes wide and terrified. Another mirror makes me look small and fragile, hunched over like a broken doll. I press my hand to one, and my reflection mimics me, but her lips curl into a smirk.
“You look so pretty when you’re terrified,” the reflection whispers.
I jerk back, covering my mouth to stop the scream.
“He’s going to find you,” the voices coo. “He’ll love seeing you like this. Weak. Vulnerable. Trying to be clever but just trapping yourself deeper in his web.”
The mirrors keep reflecting me, but every time I look, they change. One shows me bound, tied in silk, with a pair of dark hands gripping my waist. Another shows me with his mark on my throat—bruised and bitten.
“This place suits you,” the voices laugh. “A maze where you can’t escape your own reflection. You think you’re running from him, but really, you’re running from yourself.”
I move faster, slipping through a narrow passage where the walls seem to breathe—expanding and contracting like a living thing. I press forward, ignoring the way the whispers bounce off the mirrors, his voice blending with mine, echoing through the corridors.
“Incy wincy spider, caught inside the maze, With nowhere left to hide, she’s just a game to play…”
I spin around, convinced he’s right behind me, but it’s just my own face staring back from a dozen different angles. My chest heaves, and I push forward, deeper into the labyrinth.
I hear something—a faint tapping sound. I freeze, ears straining. It’s rhythmic, almost like… footsteps.
I pick up the pace, nearly tripping over a twisted metal sculpture—a spider made of shattered glass. I look around, trying to find an exit, but every turn leads to more mirrors, more distorted versions of myself.
I hear his voice again, this time clearer, closer.
“Incy wincy spider, tangled in her fear, The monster’s getting closer, whispering in her ear…”
I choke on a sob, pushing open a mirrored door that leads to another corridor lined with webs—thick, hanging threads that brush my face, sticking to my skin. I wipe at them frantically, heart racing.
“He’s already here,” the voices whisper. “You trapped yourself, stupid girl. The spider doesn’t leave the web. It just waits to be eaten.”
I push through a set of heavy velvet curtains, finding myself in a central chamber—a circular room with mirrors on every wall, all angled to reflect the middle where I stand.
A massive web design covers the floor, and a low pedestal holds a metal spider sculpture in the centre, its legs ready to pounce.
I hear the door behind me creak open, and my heart stops. I can see him through the reflection—his silhouette framed in the doorway, his head tilted, watching me with that predatory intensity.
He steps forward, his boots clicking against the tiled floor, slow and deliberate. The mirrors multiply him—one Damien, two, three—closing in from every angle.
“Incy wincy spider,”
he murmurs, his voice bouncing around the room, making it impossible to tell where he really is.
“Thought she could escape, But the maze just pulled her deeper, sealing up her fate.”
I press my back to the pedestal, trying to steady my breathing, but the mirrors keep showing me twisted versions of us—me cowering, him leaning over me, his hands wrapped around my throat.
He moves closer, and I can’t tell which version is real until his hand lands on the mirror, fingers spreading like he’s trying to reach through to me. “You’re so good at running,” he says softly, almost admiring. “But not good enough. You really thought you could just disappear?”
I shake my head, trying to back up, but there’s nowhere left to go. He’s everywhere—reflected from every angle, eyes fixed on me, watching me like I’m his prey.
“You don’t get it,” he whispers, almost gentle. “You don’t get to leave me. Not after I made you mine. You opened the door, Raven. You let me in. You don’t get to take that back.”
He leans closer to one of the mirrors, his breath fogging the glass. “The web always catches the spider,” he murmurs, lips curving into a dark smile. “And I’ll never let you crawl away.”
I can’t move. My pulse is deafening, drowning out my own thoughts.
He’s right here—everywhere—closing in.
And I know I’ve just run straight into his trap.