The apartment was dim, its single bedroom hidden beneath a patchwork of Halloween decorations. Fake spiders clung to the walls alongside framed snapshots of the couple who lived there—a man and a woman. The photographs captured moments from exotic destinations: the Great Wall of China, the Grand Canyon, and other world-renowned wonders. Yet now, the couple had fallen asleep together on their couch, their snores filling the room as the credits rolled on the original Paranormal Activity movie.

  Talon lay at the edge of the couch, his lanky frame sprawled awkwardly. At twenty-eight, he worked as a traveling nurse, and though his six-foot-three build might seem imposing, he was slim and lean, carrying his height with a quiet elegance. His jet-black hair contrasted sharply with his pale complexion, amplifying the striking brightness of his green eyes, even in sleep.

  Lexi, nestled in the couch's crevice, was unwittingly pushing Talon toward an imminent tumble. Twenty-seven years old, she was both confident and radiant, her career as an Instagram model a testament to her beauty. Her tanned skin seemed to glow even in the dim light, while her dark brown hair framed her face in soft waves. Like Talon, her green eyes were a defining feature, giving her gaze a magnetic intensity. The pair had been inseparable since their high school days, back when they were the misunderstood goth kids who only had each other to rely on.

  The sound of a dull thud jolted the quiet. Talon hit the hardwood floor with a groan before groggily rising to his feet, too disoriented to register the fall. Stretching his lanky arms, he released an exaggerated yell that startled Lexi awake. She retaliated immediately, tossing a pillow at him.

  Talon caught the pillow effortlessly, throwing it back with a smirk. “Love you too, babe.”

  Lexi muttered under her breath, catching the pillow and using it as a makeshift headrest to curl back into sleep. Talon, rubbing his eyes and retrieving his phone from the coffee table, froze as he read the time. “Oh, crap. Lex, wake up! It’s eight!”

  Lexi groaned, dragging herself upright. “Seriously? It’s eight already?”

  “Yeah, we gotta get moving,” Talon replied, swiftly pulling on his grey cargo pants and green sweater.

  Lexi frowned and crossed her arms. “Are you serious? You’ve got work tomorrow, and we won’t get back until after midnight.” Her voice carried an edge of concern. Nighttime hikes always set her on edge; they felt too dangerous, too unpredictable. She tolerated them only because Talon loved them—and because she trusted him.

  “We’ve still got plenty of time,” he insisted, sliding on his boots. “Come on, Lex. We need to head out now.”

  Lexi remained rooted to the couch, her expression doubtful. Talon paused, gazing at her expectantly. “Lex, what are you waiting for?”

  She sighed, her voice softening. “Sweetie, I love your enthusiasm, but I’m exhausted. Can’t we just go tomorrow?”

  Talon finished tying his boots and straightened up, his resolve evident. “I can’t. I said I’d do this trail today, and I’m a man of my word.”

  She knew that look. Once Talon set his mind to something, there was no convincing him otherwise. Resigning herself, Lexi offered a compromise. “Alright, how about this: you go tonight and scout it out, and tomorrow we’ll go together.”

  Talon hesitated, disappointed she wouldn’t join him, but secretly relieved to explore the trail alone. “Alright… but you promise we’ll go tomorrow?”

  “I promise,” Lexi replied, gathering her things and heading toward the bedroom.

  “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. But before I go,” Talon said, a playful grin lighting up his face, “can you make breakfast burritos in the morning?”

  Lexi laughed, shaking her head. “Sure, hun. Be safe, okay?”

  Talon grabbed his backpack and headed for the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at her mischievously. “Never,” he teased, and with that, he disappeared into the night. Lexi rolled her eyes, locking the door behind him.

  The night was unnaturally warm for the brink of winter, a strange comfort Talon hoped would persist during his hike. He hoisted his backpack into the bed of his dark blue Ford F-150, the paint slick and shimmering faintly under the dim glow of streetlights. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked his phone and pulled up the maps app, tracing the directions to the trailhead. The grating riffs of classic rock blasted from the truck’s speakers as he sped down empty roads, the windows rolled down and the cold night air gnawing at his cheeks.

  Arriving at the dirt lot, Talon eased the truck to a stop at its farthest edge. The trailhead stretched ahead of him, barely discernible in the absence of moonlight. Four other vehicles were scattered across the lot—an unusual sight at this hour given the lack of camping facilities nearby. One of the cars appeared abandoned, its windows fogged and tires half-sunken into the earth. Another was a battered pickup truck where a group of people were drinking and chatting, their voices carrying through the stillness. Talon shot them a quick glance before stepping out and adjusting his gear.

  The hike was only four miles, making his packing minimal. He had eaten and hydrated during the drive, leaving supplies like food and water behind. From his belt hung a hunting knife, its blade polished to gleaming sharpness. A thick wad of toilet paper nestled in one of his cargo pockets, and a sturdy flashlight was clasped tightly in his hand. He favored traveling light—only the essentials. Talon strode toward the trail entrance, the darkness so complete it seemed to swallow him whole, with the flashlight as his lone beacon against the void.

  The first mile was unremarkable, a corridor of trees that framed the narrow dirt path. Their gnarled branches sprawled overhead, locking the night sky out of sight. Vibrant clusters of wildflowers dotted the edges of the trail, their faint scent almost imperceptible against the damp smell of earth. Every step drew him deeper into solitude, punctuated only by brief encounters with two groups of hikers returning to the lot. Each time he passed someone, Talon dutifully switched off his flashlight, mindful not to blind them.

  By the second mile, his muscles had warmed, and the gentle trail felt more like a leisurely stroll than a rigorous hike. Its abandoned quality intrigued him—the untouched wilderness seemed hauntingly pristine. The thought of how few dared venture here lingered uneasily in his mind.

  Emerging into a clearing, Talon halted in awe. The towering trees gave way to swaying blades of tall grass, rippling softly in the warm breeze. At the far edge stood a small, weathered wooden bridge that stretched back into the forest’s embrace. He pulled out his phone, snapping pictures of the scene, imagining Lexi’s excitement when she saw them. But his mood shifted as he noticed his lack of service—none of the images would send. He tucked the phone away, only to stiffen at the sound of aggressive rustling from a nearby bush. His grip instinctively tightened on his knife as he turned toward the disturbance, his heartbeat quickening. The bushes stilled, the silence that followed unnervingly oppressive. Talon lingered briefly, knife drawn, before resuming his trek, his senses now on high alert.

  Approaching the bridge, he spotted a sharp glow ahead—light cutting through the darkness from the other side. Talon slid the knife into his sleeve and flicked off his flashlight, his gaze narrowing as he waited for whoever carried the light to pass. But the glow veered sharply to the right, vanishing behind a hill without another sound. “Alrighty then,” he muttered under his breath, switching his flashlight back on as he stepped forward.

  His progress was halted abruptly. At the edge of the bridge, an eerie presence stood—a young owl, perched solemnly in the center of the path. Talon drew closer, now barely a foot away from the bird. Its piercing gaze locked onto his own, unwavering and intense. He switched off his flashlight to spare the creature’s vision, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark, dread seeped through him. The small grey owl was missing its right eye. Blood oozed in thin rivulets from the empty socket, marring its downy feathers.

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  “What the...?” Talon whispered, crouching to examine the injured bird. The owl turned its head sharply, then flapped its wings and soared away, retreating down the trail Talon had already traversed. A chill ran down his spine, unease tightening in his chest. This trail, once inviting, now felt insidiously wrong. Still, he pressed onward. He was nearing the end—or so he told himself.

  After crossing the bridge and venturing back into the forest, the darkness grew suffocating. The dense canopy of trees blotted out the sky entirely, leaving Talon encased in an impenetrable black void. The trail ahead soon forked into two paths, and a weathered, nearly illegible signpost stood between them, its faded words lost to time. Talon squinted, holding his flashlight closer, but the lettering remained stubbornly indecipherable.

  The snap of a branch to his right shattered the silence. His head whipped toward the sound, and the flashlight’s beam sliced through the shadows. Nothing. The forest was still. Talon exhaled, lowering his knife, but the unease lingered, crawling up his spine. He turned his attention to the left trail—and froze.

  A dark figure stood in the distance, its silhouette barely discernible against the forest’s gloom. Approximately fifty meters separated them, but even at that distance, the sight sent a chill through his veins. The air seemed heavier, the shadows darker, and Talon’s instincts screamed for him to retreat. Slowly, he raised his knife, the blade trembling slightly in his grasp. He began to back away, keeping the beam of his flashlight trained on the figure. The outline remained motionless, eerily indifferent to his presence, until finally, the light could no longer reach it.

  Talon turned and resumed his path toward the clearing, his breaths measured and deliberate. Just ahead, his path was obstructed by a sprawling spiderweb, glistening faintly in the flashlight’s glow. At its center sat a spider the size of his hand, its many legs poised with unsettling stillness. “That’s pretty sweet,” Talon murmured to himself, snapping a quick photo with his phone. His knife remained firmly in his other hand, the cold steel a reassuring weight.

  Lexi would’ve hated this, he thought with a faint smirk. She despised spiders, and there was no chance he’d bring her here now—not during the day, and definitely not at night. Chuckling softly to himself, Talon maneuvered around the web and stepped back into the clearing. His amusement vanished instantly.

  The figure was there. Waiting. Blocking the bridge no more than twenty feet ahead.

  Talon’s heart seized. The flashlight’s beam illuminated the figure more clearly now, revealing the hunched form of an old woman. Her mouth hung agape in an unnatural grimace, and her grayish-white hair clung to her face in damp, matted strands. The dim light reflected off her skin and her tattered dress, both slick and glistening. With what? The question clawed at his mind. Blood? Sweat? Something else?

  How did she get ahead of me? Talon’s thoughts raced, panic rising. But it was her hands that unnerved him the most. Her fingers twitched erratically, each grotesquely elongated to nearly a foot, ending in jagged claw-like nails.

  She stepped forward, the movement slow and deliberate. Talon crouched instinctively, his knife raised in one hand and his flashlight steady in the other. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing in his ears, but his resolve hardened. No matter how terrifying this woman was, she wasn’t going to stop him from getting out of here.

  Then, she screamed.

  The sound was a jagged blade, tearing through the still night and slicing into Talon’s core. It was a scream of pure, unhinged rage, primal and raw, and it sent a violent shiver down his spine. Before he could react, the woman darted to the right, disappearing into the brush like a shadow melting into the darkness.

  “Oh, fuck me,” Talon muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He scanned the rustling grass around him, his flashlight following the movements with relentless anticipation. His grip on the knife tightened, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.

  Suddenly, she charged. A blur of movement to his side sent him diving out of the way, but not fast enough to avoid her claws. Pain lanced through his arm as her nails raked his skin. Blood welled up, warm and slick against the cool night air. She retreated into the brush once more, leaving Talon clutching his wound, his breathing ragged.

  The moonless night seemed to close in on him as he braced for the next attack. She came from the opposite side this time, barreling out of the shadows with terrifying speed. Her frail appearance belied an unnatural strength as she tackled him to the ground, her rope-like fingers coiling around his throat. Her grip was unrelenting, crushing, a vice of sinew and bone.

  Talon’s knife slipped from his grasp as his back hit the dirt. He clawed desperately at the ground, his free hand searching blindly for the weapon. The old woman’s face was inches from his own, her bloodshot eyes sunken deep into their sockets, her skin pale as death. Blood spattered across her features, streaking her hollowed cheeks and brow.

  But it was her mouth—oh God, her mouth—that paralyzed him with horror. Her lips were gone, crudely removed, and her jaw was forced wide open, stitched into place with a spiderweb of fine, glistening threads. As she screamed, the horrific sound grew louder, sharper, like shards of glass burrowing into his ears.

  Then came the spiders.

  They spilled from her mouth in an unholy torrent, crawling over her face and onto Talon’s. The sensation of their tiny legs against his skin sent him into a frenzy, his panic boiling over into raw terror. He thrashed beneath her, but the spiders kept coming, pouring from her maw in endless waves until her entire face was hidden behind a writhing mass of arachnids.

  Her screams intensified, a crescendo of agony and malice that made his ears bleed. Blood trickled down his neck, warm and sticky, as he fought desperately against the crushing grip on his throat and the suffocating horror crawling across his skin.

  Finally, his fingers brushed against the cold steel of the knife. Desperation surged through him as he clutched it tightly, his knuckles white with effort. With all his strength, he plunged the blade into the side of the screaming spider-woman’s head, aiming for where her ear should have been. A sickening squelch followed, and the knife stuck fast. Within seconds, spiders began to swarm over the handle, their small, spindly legs covering it in a writhing mass. Talon released the weapon instantly, a wave of revulsion coursing through him.

  Her grip on his throat slackened, and with a grunt, Talon shoved her off. He staggered to his feet, gasping for breath, his vision swimming with stars. Without a second’s hesitation, he bolted toward the bridge, his boots pounding against the dirt as adrenaline pumped through his veins.

  He glanced back, his flashlight beam slicing through the oppressive darkness. The woman was still moving—no, charging. Her entire form was now consumed by the writhing mass of spiders, their glistening bodies pulsating as they crawled over her grotesque frame. Her screeches pierced the night like jagged shards of glass, unrelenting and shrill. Her unnaturally elongated fingers reached out toward him, the tips twitching as though craving his flesh.

  Talon’s legs burned, but terror drove him faster than he’d ever run in his life. The screeches remained close, far too close, and he could feel her presence bearing down on him. Just as he thought he might collapse, a cold, sharp graze slid across his back—one of her claws. Panic ignited a second wind, and he sprinted even harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The air tore at his lungs, but he didn’t dare slow down.

  The tree line came into view, the exit tantalizingly close. With every step forward, the piercing screams grew quieter, like a horrific melody fading into the night. Finally, as he burst into the dirt lot, silence fell. The absence of sound was almost deafening, a stark and eerie contrast to the chaos just moments before.

  Talon fumbled frantically with his pocket, his trembling hands barely able to grasp his keys. He yanked them free and dove into his truck, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud. The engine roared to life, and without a second glance, he floored the accelerator. Gravel kicked up behind him as the truck tore out of the now-deserted lot.

  His pulse thundered in his ears as he sped down the empty road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Even after twenty minutes, his heart refused to settle, each beat hammering against his ribcage like a trapped animal. The truck’s interior, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating. The stench of sweat clung to him, mingling with the metallic tang of blood from the scratches on his arm.

  Then he felt it—a faint, crawling sensation on his forearm. Dread twisted his gut as he looked down. A spider. Its small, black body skittered across his skin, oblivious to the terror it incited.

  “Shit!” Talon shouted, slamming on the brakes. The truck screeched to a halt, the sudden jolt sending the spider tumbling onto the seat. He bolted out of the vehicle, his breaths coming in panicked bursts. Ripping open the back door, he grabbed a fresh change of clothes and doused himself—and every inch of fabric—with bug spray, the sharp chemical odor burning his nostrils. He stripped hastily, shivering in the cool night air, and stomped on his discarded clothes for good measure.

  Only when he was convinced he was free of the eight-legged horrors did he climb back into the truck. He then realized in all the panic he hadn’t thought about bandaging himself up. Blood still oozing from his wounds with every beat of his racing heart. He scrambled for the first aid kit in the glovebox and hastily cared for his lacerations. His hands still trembled as he then gripped the wheel, but he forced himself to drive. The truck roared down the dark, empty highway, its headlights cutting through the oppressive night.

  Talon’s mind swirled with unanswered questions, his thoughts a chaotic jumble. What had he encountered out there? Was it real, or some twisted figment of his imagination? No answers came, only the heavy certainty of two truths: he would never speak of this night again, and he would never, ever go on another midnight hike.