I only meant to grab a toolbox that morning, stepping into the dim, dusty garage my husband usually claimed as his domain. But something in the far corner caught my eye—a bulky, pale shape coated in gray dust.
Then it moved.
The air seemed to grow colder as I realized the mass was alive, crawling with hundreds of black spiders weaving intricate threads. Nestled inside were clusters of white sacs—eggs, waiting.
I had come looking for tools, but instead found a hidden nest, pulsing with unsettling life.
