Day 688

I remember reading Charlotte's Web as a child and trying to talk to the large spider in the corner of my room.
It never used to answer, never wrote words onto its web or anything like the book said they did.
Still, it was special to my six year old self and as I grew older I grew more and more afraid of what it did.

It started small at first by sitting on top of my mirror every morning.
Like clockwork it came down to watch me brush my hair and pull faces at myself.
A six year old would never have thought that a spider could study, much less replicate what it saw.

I used to call them Jane and pretend they talked back - we had so many "conversations".
When the first face appeared in Jane's web it looked just like me, down to the freckles on my cheeks.
It was then that my little spider began to try and talk back.

At first I was excited, I had a talking animal friend, well at least one in progress.
After a while I could even recognise certain words they spun out like my name and Jane and eat.
Jane talked a lot about eating, though I never really understood what until I returned home after university.

I'd forgotten all about Jane until my parents mentioned the "little visitor" in my room.
They knew I didn't like spiders, that I'd just stopped liking them when I was eight and refused to say why.
For all my complaining I never let them touch Jane though, not once.

That night I remembered as Jane spun me a face like they always had but this time it wasn't my face.
This face wasn't fully human - it had no nose, three pairs of smaller eyes and a grin full of fangs.
Jane talked to me that night in a voice full of whispered promises of a feast for us both.

A feast full of fresh blood, oozing from the parents I used to complain about as a child.
Jane said we'd have breakfast together like we used to, that their children were making it for us.
I don't know when I fell asleep but when I woke up my room was covered in webs.

Jane slowly slid down onto my mirror just like they always had, little legs waving at me like always.
Uneasily I moved out of my old room as fast as I could, eager to find my parents and leave the house.
I saw their bedroom door wide open , a web-smothered fist still clinging to the handle.

Jane made me the breakfast they'd always promised.