Waiting

All was quiet in 32 Fullhorn drive. All was calm. All that is, except for one heart beating frantically. One pair of hands clutching at the bedsheets and curling them around one scared little head , leaving only that one head's pair if eyes visible above the covers. And that scared little head was conected to a very small, very scared little boy. One that could not get to sleep

Jonah lay awake. Waiting. Waiting for the oily black tide of shiny carapaces pouring through his door. For the sickly sweet stench of death to invade his nostrils. He wanted t call for his mother. He wanted so desperately to shout out, call her name, something to cut the icey silence off the night. But he didn't. Jonah knew what she would say. She would tell him that there was nothing there. That its was just his imagination. To go back to sleep.

So Jonah held his tongue, and waited. He lay waiting to hear the scuttling of hundreds upon thousands of legs crawling across his floor. He waited to be choked in the dark by silvery strands of web. But nothing happened. Jonah waited until his eyelids were heavy and his head began to droop. Finally he began to believe that nothing would happen. That he would be fine. He lay down in the pillow and closed his eyes.

Then the spiders came...