A spider scuttled carefully along the intricate web it had called home for ages. Hanging in its prime location halfway along the second-floor hall, far from the drafty windows and centrally positioned, it had performed above and beyond its design and trapped many creatures to sustain its proud host. Its most recent addition, a wing that expanded the web's domain to bisect the crumbling oil painting of centuries-deceased Clementine McHenry, was nearly complete. The spider paused at an intersection of webbing to check its calculations for where to begin the final supporting strand that would secure the new section of sticky silk to Clementine's right ear.
All at once, its world began to spin. The web went slack beneath its eight little feet and the spider was dragged with it through the air at dizzying speed. It desperately clawed up a tangle of strands only to be swept away as another section of web folded over it.
Seeing no other recourse, the rattled architect jabbed its hindquarters into the jumbled weaves and pirouetted into the open air. A single strand of fresh silk was all that now connected it to its former home, and even that connection was tenuous as the spider fell, and fell, and fell toward an uncertain fate.
* * * * *
Kara wiped her hand and red sleeve on a curling scrap of wallpaper to remove the stringy gunk. "Ay, Dios. Thanks for spotting that before I walked into it." She tilted her phone to sweep its flashlight across the hall ceiling. Several more cobwebs hung there, but they were all above head height. She turned around to smile at her observant cohort.
Tallulah nodded back. One of her hands stroked the frizzy orange ponytail slung over her shoulder as she imagined the unpleasantness of trying to untangle a spider web from her own hair.
"Gotta look ahead at all times," Nemy cautioned, brushing shoulders with Tallulah as she stepped carefully toward Kara. The boards creaked under her heavy boots, so muted by the weathered carpet that they were almost drowned out by the tinkle of chains dangling from her yellow choker. Despite being the third-tallest of their quartet--even while propped up on three-inch platforms--Nemy had a commanding presence.
The others knew better than to confuse her nonchalance for recklessness. For one thing, Nemy had raised the biggest protest at Kara's suggestion that they take a deep dive into the old McHenry place. She made some good points, but seeing as the others were going with or without her, she took it upon herself to make sure they prepared well for the trip. Most of the supplies in their backpacks were her suggestions. (Kara had only intended to pack them with snacks and a few additional bags for whatever inventions or notebooks they'd find.) Nemy had even taken the drastic step of shedding the trademark belts and chains that normally hung from her punk attire. Too easy to snag on stuff, she explained with uncharacteristic gruffness. Her electric-blue mohawk had been cut way down, as well, further hardening her usually upbeat demeanor. It seemed like a part of herself was left behind along with those accessories. If true, that would explain why she had chosen to keep her choker.
Kara stepped aside to let Nemy pass. The hall was roomy enough to not have needed to, but she figured the gesture was important. She hadn't really meant to become the one leading the charge. That was another effect of her bubbly impulsiveness that had brought them all here in the first place. The excitement of a potential world-changing discovery won out over the combined forces of her disgust of filth, fear of ghosts, and shame of trespassing. Now sobered a little, she hugged herself to contain a mild tremble as she followed Nemy, eyes on the Black girl's footsteps to match her pace.
As Nemy and Kara forged ahead one careful step at a time, Tallulah hung back with Cybill, the fourth member of their expedition. Cybill hadn't noticed Kara's near-encounter with the silky trap, as she was scrambling to spin her own web of lies in a text chain with her parents. She had left home under the pretense of staying overnight with Kara, and was expected to regularly check in with a detailed play-by-play of their activities, lest Kara's parents get a call alerting them that their daughter was not, in fact, sleeping over at Cybill's house.
Tallulah examined the cobweb-choked portrait on the wall using her flashlight. "So many valuable things are still here. How come they weren't taken when the building was condemned? Or looted by anyone after?"
"Maybe nobody wants a crusty painting of your mom," Cybill's raspy voice intoned as she walked by. She adjusted her glasses with one hand as the other zipped her phone into a pocket of her jacket. Even on the tall brunette, the jacket was oversized, and the pastel purple suede looked uglier than usual in the dankness of the mansion. She got it from a thrift store on a dare and wore it pretty much everywhere, for no other reason than to commit to the bit. Most of its pockets were visibly stuffed full. None of the girls had asked what was in them.
Tallulah turned and glowered up at her. Low-brow jokes were "Silly" Cybill's thing, and she normally wouldn't give it a second thought, but the comment stuck in her mind weirdly. She glanced back at the painting. The lady did bear a strong resemblance--and it wasn't just the red hair and pale skin.
Cybill paused a few steps beyond the painting to wait for her. As usual, Tallulah was fixated on lame questions instead of the big mystery. Watching Tallulah rub her chin in concentration, Cybill realized the inquisitive know-it-all, who sported flannel shirts and unkempt hair to pass as a so-called "normie," was the most likely to lose track of the group.
"Hey," she called to Nemy and Kara. "Hold up."
"Cybill, Tally, vamos!" Kara hissed.
"Why are you whispering? You're like fifteen feet away."
"Why are you whispering?"
"Because... whatever, shut up." Cybill tugged Tally's blue-and-black plaid sleeve. "Tally, c'mon. You want them to hog all the cool stuff?"
"One second," Tallulah muttered, now peering along the edges of the frame to look for a date or an artist's mark. A spider crawled agitatedly onto the frame right in front of her nose. Tallulah immediately turned and followed her friends down the hall.