Web Magic

Even now she can feel them- their eight limbs picking their way across the landscape of her body.  That sudden movement at the base of her scalp. It must be just a stray hair?  The itchiness on of the surface of her skin; her nails chasing the cause but always finding nothing. The sticky strand across the face- strong but impossibly soft.  Her eyes dart looking for the unmistakable shape but though always present they remain ever outside the periphery of her vision.  Is this madness?

She'd followed the ritual exactly: the words spoken from nervous lips in the midnight hour, the candle evoking the goddess of creativity, the herbs and incense piled atop as she bathed in the smoke of it.  She knew this was nothing to trifle with and she hadn't been trifling.  But what had she been inviting?

Her mind went back to the old woman in the shop with her layers and layers of ribbons and jewelry.  She'd said that every symbol had a meaning and helped attune a specific vibration.  She'd listed the spells that could help her and warned against diving in too deep.

But she was cocky, and only half believing.  Surely this must be a joke?  Something that crazy people do to make themselves feel better about not being in control of their own lives.  This woman with her incense and totems was a new age fishmonger selling trinkets and kitch to people too stupid to know better.

But Darcy, her free-wheeling and boundless friend had sworn this was the answer to her problem and desperate times do call for desperate measures.  So she'd swallowed her pride and bought the spell kit, hating herself for being so weak that she'd seek out something so hokey.  But she'd felt empowered as she left the tiny, cluttered shop.  No longer close minded.  No longer limited by a construct that maybe didn't quite fit.

"This is what you get" was the thought that came to her when she felt the thick weave binding her.  She startled out of bed with a panic and thrashed in the sheets.  Only a dream.

But then the itching started.  The scuttle of impossibly fast bodies.  The strands of silk roping across her.  The breath catching in her through as she sensed them.  But her eyes showed her nothing and her hands always reached for invisible culprits.  She was losing her mind.

But no- she will not roll over to whatever dark magic she stupidly opened herself up to.  Buyer beware isn't enough to make her sink into the murky shadows where this energy would undoubtedly consume her.  No- she will defend herself.

Her feet beat a rhythm into the pavement as she walked- each step pounding with the beat of her rage.  The street reverberates with the strong, low hum of her feet like a giant drum.  It's so loud- surely others must hear it?  Or is this another sign of her emerging madness?

She throws the door open and marches to the back of the store where the woman is instructing some other hapless dupe.
 

"What did you do to me?"  She hadn't intended to scream it.  But she felt fiery and wild.  The feelings were equal parts foreign and exciting and she invited the anger. 

"Excuse me?" the old woman asked, as if she'd whispered rather than thrown the accusation.

"I did the spell like you told me and now there are spiders all over me- I can feel them..." and even as she said it, she did.  There was even a heaviness in her voice now, as if somehow the web weavers were inside her throat.

"Spiders are the spirit of creativity and feminine energy- they will help you beat your writer's block.  Help you weave a yarn, so to speak." She said it as if she were terribly proud of the joke,  "This is what you wanted, yes?"

"No!" she screamed.  But it wasn't a scream, it was the same whisper she'd used when she recited the words that began this nightmare. 

"You're fighting it," the woman said, completely unfazed by the hysterical woman.  "You have to surrender to it.  Invite the darkness in, and then you will be able to access your true voice.  We cannot fear ourselves if we hope to be free."

She whimpered, feeling so bound in by the webs that she couldn't move now.  They were everywhere now- her hair, her clothing, her skin.  Their silk covered her eyes and she could no longer see.  Soon there would be nothing but a bound figure in a cocoon waiting to be devoured by thousands of tiny, hungry arachnids.

"You're getting heavy now," the old woman whispered.  "You're letting it happen.  But tell me- what happens when you wake up?"

Her eyes shot open and suddenly her vision flooded with familiar sight of her room.  Nothing had changed, all was as it had been before she went to sleep save that the light had changed.  She sat up, still searching for the arthropds.  But the dream was over.

Suddenly, her mind flooded with thoughts and ideas that could not be contained.  She reached for the notebook and pen the old woman had told her to keep by her bed and began scribbling furiously.  She felt almost giddy with the sudden rush of creativity.  The damn had been broken and her hand could barely keep up with the deluge of words.