There it is. Laying in the corner of my house lays the corpse of the thing I killed. It’s meant legs curving itself into a ball-like shape.

It lays there drenched in dish soap and water. Half its body was crushed by my shoe.

I still remember the sound of when I crushed it. How I begged for forgiveness, not really knowing why. How the hair on my body stood up as I killed it.

I can’t get myself to clean it up. I feel disgusted. It feels like I have commuted since, and for some reason, letting it sit there for the whole world to see is somehow going to make me feel better.

But I also fear picking it up. For some reason, I fear that wherever I do now, be it that I let it be or clean it up, will just cause something horrid to happen.

Days pass, and all I feel is guilt. Guilt that I took its life.

It’s looking at me.

It’s judging me.

They are in my walls. I feel them hiding my every move. I hear them crawling their way through my house. I see them dart by in the corner of my eye.

They are staring at me. Their millions of eyes seeing what I’ve done.

It’s too late to beg.

Weeks have passed, and it’s still there. It’s broken down body is still staring at me from the corner of my house.

They have built nests in my attic, colonies In my walls, and webs all over my house.

I can’t leave. They made sure of that.

I feel them crawling inside of me. Taunting me.

They have blocked the sun from me. The house is theirs now.

They have stopped their hiding. I see them everywhere. My walls and windows are covered in them. All of them, looking at me. Not one of them moves. They sit. Staring. Judging. Planing something.

I have no more food. They covered everything in their web. Everything except the corpse.

I feel the web on my body. I feel them thread my insides as well.

I hear them.

They talk to me.

They haunt me.

They are chanting.

Calling for someone.

I hear it. It’s closing in. It’s crawling on my roof. I feel it’s anger.

I see it. Outside my window. It’s seemingly never ending legs tapping on the windows on the other side of the house. But I see it now. It’s many eyes.

I look once more at the corpse. The only thing that remains of what once was my house.

I want to speak. To beg for forgiveness.

But my mouth is no longer mine.

I no longer know how long I’ve stared at it. My body is covered in them.

I look at it once more before death comes for me. And I hear it.

I hear it speak.

“Kind der Sterne. Meine Wurzeln sind nicht vergessen. Deine Glut soll verboten sein, da du gegen meine Verwandten gekämpft hast.“

“Du hast mich vom tiefsten Stern zurückgedrängt. Deine Heiden werden nicht länger fallen.”

“Bete, oh bete. Denn die Tage werden rufen. Bete, oh bete für die Spindeln, die kriechen. Bete, oh bete, dass die Mondlichter fallen.”

“Zum Weinen ist es zu spät.”