Leslie shivered, the eerie tale settling over her like a cold blanket. She could almost feel the creeping fear of the men as they met their fates.

"And the spiders?" Leslie asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Hargrave gave her a small, sad smile. "The spiders vanished from the town after that. But they say that you can feel the hand of fate tugging at your life with a bit of an extra pull once you've passed through Gossamer Loom. They say it's her—the mother of the spiders. Some say she sits at her loom in a world beyond, others say she weaves a large spider's web. Who knows? But the one thing that is certain, is that she weaves together the lives of our townsfolk, binding us to the paths we have to walk. You see, sometimes a town is woven together by its history and folklore. And by learning more about this place, you might find your own way to weave yourself into its fabric."

Leslie nodded slowly, feeling a strange comfort settle over her. "Thank you, Mrs. Hargrave."

Any solace Leslie had found in Mrs. Hargrave's story was quickly forgotten in the weeks that followed. By mid-October, Emily's taunting snowballed into something far worse. It wasn't just her and her friends anymore; it felt like the entire school had turned against Leslie. The whispers and laughter followed her everywhere. She had become the black sheep.

The boys took to hurling vile, sexual threats at her one moment, then making it clear they found her repugnant the next. The girls tormented her with vicious pranks and low blows, such as the continued speculation that Leslie was being groomed to take up the mantle as the forest's resident pedophile someday. Never mind how the stories about Old Sam living out there, raping and murdering children, were making it scarier and scarier for Leslie to live in the middle of "his" woods. How could they all say and do these things to a perfect stranger? The weight of their hatred pressed down on her, suffocating her until it grew into an all-consuming nothingness. By the time she crawled into bed each night, Leslie was numb.

Her assignments began to pile up unfinished, and her grades plummeted. Her teachers' glances, once indifferent, now bore into her with veiled contempt, as if she were a burden they were forced to tolerate. At home, Leslie did her best to hide the truth from her parents, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they realized she had become a total disaster—a liability. The thought crept into her mind more and more; sometimes she truly did wish she were dead.

Then one cold night, well past midnight, Leslie felt a reckless urge to escape. She couldn't bear the walls of her room any longer, couldn't stand the thought of another sleepless night plagued by thoughts of school. She hopped out of bed, threw on a jacket, and wandered into the woods surrounding her home. The air was biting, and she knew her mother would have told her to wear more layers on a night this cold. She didn't care.

As she wandered deeper into the forest, the trees grew thicker. Soon Leslie realized she was lost. Maybe it was better this way. She stopped. It was true. She really didn't care that she was lost and alone in the woods. Not at all.

At least, not for a moment.

Then, a helplessness began to creep its way in. Then frustration. Leslie didn't know how to get home. Her heart rate slowly began to climb. She was breathing more heavily. Her eyes stung with a pain that came from deep within her. She was actually lost? She didn't recognize herself—she would never have been this stupid!

She had to focus. Maybe if she retraced her steps, she could find her way back to that clearing she had passed earlier—at least that would give her some sense of direction. She turned and began walking in what she hoped was the right direction.

Soon, she came upon a small victory, and found her way back to the clearing. There was something strange about it, though—something that made her hesitate.

This clearing was too vast. Leslie couldn't see any signs of life, no houses, no roads—nothing to suggest she was still in Gossamer Loom. Had she wandered too far, past the boundaries of the town? It was at that moment she remembered that she had left her phone at home. Stupid. She couldn't hold back the tears anymore. Faintly and pathetically, she muttered the words to herself:

WHATEVER MAKES YOU HAPPY

WHATEVER YOU WANT

Leslie swallowed, her nose tingling in the cold.

I WISH I WAS SPECIAL...

And that's when she heard it.

The soft, faint sound of the song echoing back to her... but it wasn't quite right. It was too high-pitched, too frail. It sounded like a weak old man, trying to match her pitch, a soft, off-key moan that made her blood run cold.

I WISH I WAS SPECIAL

YOU'RE SO FUCKING SPECIAL

BUT I'M A CREEP

I'M A WEIRDO...

The voice seemed to drift closer, wrapping around her like a chill in the air.

WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?

I DON'T BELONG HERE...

The singing stopped. The silence was worse. Leslie smelled something. It was a kind of sweet, but overall rancid odor. It smelled like roadkill.

"Hello?" Leslie called out, her voice shaking. She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the trees.

And that's when she saw it.

Among the branches and bramble, unmistakably, was a face. A man was standing in the trees, watching her wander the clearing.

Fear shot through Leslie's body, but she did her best to hide it.

"H-hello?" she repeated.

He stayed where he was, just inside the tree line, watching contentedly.

"You're lost, aren't you?" His voice was soft and coaxing. "I can help you find your way home." 

He reached out his hand.

Leslie shook her head, her throat tight with fear. "No. I... I can find my own way." She took another step back.

He didn't move or approach her. "I know where your family is living, and this clearing is the opposite direction. You'll have to come with me, back through the trees. You won't make it on your own. These woods... they're tricky. They don't let people leave so easily."

Leslie glanced over her shoulder to the field beyond the clearing. As she continued to back away, the man stayed where he was with his one arm raised, inside the trees, as if there was some invisible barrier holding him back.

Leslie's heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her skull as she glanced at the field again. She didn't know where it led—didn't know if it was even part of Gossamer Loom.

His eyes followed her as she took another step toward the field.

"You shouldn't go," he said, softly but insistently. "It's not safe out there. Let me take you home."

Leslie swallowed hard. "Why aren't you coming closer?" Her voice trembled, her hands shaking at her sides. His smile flickered slightly as his eyes seemed to harden.

"I can't," he said simply.

"Why not?" Leslie asked.

His expression shifted entirely. He stopped smiling. "You have to come to me," he said, his voice low and cold. "I can't cross the line."

Then, she suddenly knew the truth. She remembered the picture Emily had painted of a dangerous man stuck in the woods, who wasn't allowed to leave. She asked the question, already knowing the answer.

"Are you... the man they warned me about?"

Slowly, Old Sam nodded.

"Yes."

No sooner had he said this, than a woman's ghostly scream pierced the darkness.

The scream echoed through the trees, echoed through the dark, and startled both Leslie and Old Sam.

Where had it come from?

The scream echoed through the world, and seven people woke from nightmares about little girls and strange old men:

Josiah Loomridge, Ivy Lawrence, Cooper Reynolds, William Ashbury III, Jane Dobson, Elijah Loomridge, and Caroline Stronghold.

They were drawn to each other at once, and Leslie was drawn to them too. All eight of them could feel it, though they didn't know what it meant.

Then, mere moments later, those who had been awakened went back to sleep. Leslie felt more alone than ever.

Out of desperation, she turned to face Old Sam. She wanted to find her way home. And there he was.

And as Leslie's loneliness and fear got the better of her... as she walked slowly and silently toward Old Sam and allowed him to take her hand... she had no way of knowing that the ancient spirit that had cried out in the night, older and more powerful than any predator could ever imagine, the Mother of the Spiders, herself... had woven an Octagon. 

That's chapter 1 everybody! How do you think the people who woke from the nightmares are connected to Leslie? What might they share in common? Do you think Leslie will tell anyone about her encounter with Old Sam, or keep it to herself? What will happen to Leslie now? Also, why is Emily so hell-bent on destroying Leslie's life? 

Let me know what you think in the comments! 

Thank you for reading. 

-K.R.H.