• The Lady of the Spiders lives in that house. Not that I've ever seen her. In fact, I don't know anybody who's ever seen her, but everyone knows she lives there, how she looks like. It's almos as if, in dreams, you could see the Laydy is there, pale and dressed in white, always surrounded by her spiders. People say that, just like her pets, she weaves nightmares for those she loves.

    * * *

    Some time ago, i tried to meet the Lady in person. I prepared my backpack with a lamp, batteries, some rope, and some heavy clothing. the night would be long and dangeorus, so I assumed I'd need them.

    I bravely headed toward's the house, and on the way there noticed people would look at me funny, scared. Almost as if they knew what I was doing, and wanted to stop me, but nobody did.

    Once to the house, all bravado seemed to go away. At night, the house seemed bigger and more mysterious. the large windows of the house were closed and would not let me see the inside. On the contrary, they seemed to leech the light around as if darkness were pouring out. Even the trees of the garden seemed to be waving for me to go away, lifting their branches to the sky in their suffering, asking for mercy.

    Pulling myself together, I climbed the stone wall surrounding the house. It wasn't hard, as the ivy on it gave me easy handholds. Still, time seemed eternal to me. Almost as if the wall grew right in front of me, but once past that, I was in the garden.

    The grass grew untended, looking as rats nests, but I was not scared of any animal... there were none. They also knew the Lady lived there, and were just as afraid as people, and probably wiser as well. The grass made advancing to the house difficult, but I was determined to reach the place, and discover the mysterious Lady.

    When I appoached, I noticed the door was already open, and it creaked loudly when I pushed. Instead of the decrepit interiors I was expecting, I found the house perfectly taken care of, from the perfectly polished ancient furniture, to the freshly picked flowers placed exactly at the center in every single table. The place, candlelit, smelled like vanilla. But what drew my attention were the doilies on every single surface, all perfectly white, and each with it's own particular pattern, made out of the finest, whitest silk I had ever seen.

    I dared go deeper into the house, as silently as possible, but the continuous creaking of the wooden floors made it nearly impossible. Every room in the house was just as perfect, except for one. This one was not elegant or even pretty, but made of gray stone, reminding me of a medieval dungeon I had seen on TV once. Everything here was covered in thick layers of dust, and the tables were littered with moldy old books. It smelled as dirt and time. Only one book, open on a lectern, was spared the hand of time. It's golden letters defied my understanding, and I believe it was not only the intricacy of the letters, but that it was written in some ancient and forgotten language. Still, what was written there frightened me.

    As I turned to return home, She was there, staring at me as a cat does it's prey; playfully, but ready to kill.

    I ran away, and didn't stop until I got home. I don't remember how i got there, as I don't remember climbing the wall again. Just as I arrived at my room, I noticed I'd lost my backpack, when i saw that, over my bed, was waiting a white sweater, my exact size, made out of the finest, whitest silk I had ever seen...


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