Silk Trap

in a small midwestern town, things get weird on halloween.

There’s a uniqueness to Halloween in Franklin. As the calendar flips to October, everything transforms under the hazy twilight sky. The death of summer and the beginning of the cold, dark winter. The people here keep traditions alive because they believe. The breath of the forest is turned to smoke as bonfires burn to keep away spirits, though some still slip through.

Betty Meyer dreamed of her childhood. A familiar dream that resurfaces on All Hallows Eve. Her abusive father chases her through the house. Betty hides in the kitchen and notices a spider web forming on the ceiling. She sits on the linoleum floor, observing the growing web with focused attention. An eight-legged entity, distinguished by four oily black eyes, emerges from the shadows and traverses the web. Its abdomen illuminated in crimson and marked with dark pulsating veins. Like the devil’s heart grew limbs. The arachnid asks Betty if she wishes for her terror to dissipate. Betty nods. The creature lunges from the web and punctures Betty’s arm with three-inch yellow fangs.

Betty woke up in a cold sweat, her body aches as she grabs her walker.

Ben Waller’s cruiser hums quietly down Washington Avenue towards Riverside Highway. Every storefront, a diorama of horror— colored cobwebs, jack-o-lanterns, and hanging skeletons. Front yards turned into mock cemeteries. Cracked Styrofoam tombstones with plastic boney hands reaching from the soil. Waller moved from the crime ridden city to Franklin for a quieter life, but his bucket of optimism was starting to leak this Halloween.

Rotting leaves crunch beneath the tires of the squad car as Waller pulls off River Side highway towards Betty Meyer’s place. The cruiser grinds over a gravel driveway half submerged by the forest floor. Waller kills the engine and approaches the sagging porch of the weather-beaten house. The two-story home stands beside a discolored brick chimney emitting grey smoke into the morning haze. The tin roof is rusted and peeling, and the railings, worn and splintered. The trickling of water from the river scores the scene. The dense woods close around the house as if they were reclaiming it as skeletal trees claw at the dim sky.

Waller knocks at the door. No answer. Knocks louder. Something creaks inside the house, he hears the scrape of rubber and shuffling of feet against a wooden floor. The lock clicks and the tattered door creeps open. Looking down Waller sees a woman with a spine as crooked as the front porch gripping a metal walker.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting dear, my hearing isn’t what it used to be,” she says.

“That’s quite alright. I’m officer Waller, Betty Meyer I presume?”

“Yes, please come inside. What can I do for you, officer?”

The air inside the house felt thick and carried a strange floral scent. As if a bag of old potpourri had been buried in sawdust. With every step the house spoke. The browning edges of old wallpaper wept for release, clinging to the dusty wall. Waller followed Betsy into the living room and sat on a threadbare chair with deep cracks in the upholstery. Laid across the back of the chair was a handmade blanket stitched together with a hue of unsightly browns and dark greens.

“Can I make you some tea officer?”

“No thank you Mrs. Meyer. The reason I came is because a boy named Trace Stanton was reported missing by his parents this morning. He was last seen by the river just behind your house at around 11pm last night. I was wondering if you saw or heard anything out of the ordinary.”

Betty brought her hand to her chin. “Oh dear, that’s awful. I was fast asleep. You know this time of year those kids love to play by the river, but they never bother me. Long ago I used to light fires and my drink brandy too.”

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you. If you remember anything just call down at the sheriff’s office.”

“Can I make you some tea officer?”

Waller felt foolish for coming. Betty Meyer was long gone, and even if she had noticed something, she likely would have forgotten it.

Waller sat parked at a gas station three miles from Betty’s, sipping a coffee. He glanced over at the passenger’s seat where his jacket rested, now noticeably covered with lint from Betty’s blanket. His phone vibrated on the dashboard.

“Waller! We found the boy’s body in the woods, on the other side of the river. Looks like a bite.”

Waller frantically swallowed a scalding mouthful of coffee. “What do you mean by a bite?”

“The boy’s got two red holes in his neck. He’s been sucked dry. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. There’s something else. His jacket, it’s covered in green and brown fibers. Fucking Halloween man.”

Waller raced up the road back to Betty’s. He slammed the cruiser’s door and rushed up the wonky wooden steps. To his surprise the shabby door was wide open. Craning his head inside he called out for Betty Meyer.

Silence.

Waller crept deeper into the house. At the end of the hallway, he saw Betty hunched over her walker.

“Mrs. Meyer, it’s officer Waller, are you okay?”

At first, she seemed subdued. The old woman hung a little further over the metal walker. Her fingers began to twitch in an unsettling rhythm. Her sagging skin began to darken and split. Her bones snapped, reshaping into large limbs. Piles of flesh accumulated by her feet. Teeth shot from her mouth like bullets as large yellow fangs grew from her gums and dripped with pus.

Before Waller’s synapses could fire, the creature was on him.

Everything went black.

Waller opened his eyes. It was dark now. He hung upside down, swinging gently above the forest floor. His body had been tightly wound in layers of mummifying silk. His heart raced as he struggled to reach his pocketknife.