Hope of the Hidden
an excerpt

The moon was high in the sky that night, held captive by the stars as if by an invisible web cast outwards between planets from a giant determined spider. Upon the roof of the Shrieves residence the moonlight cast itself down in a single puddle between the gutters, betraying the small mystery that lurked there. Warm thick liquid trailed down over the tiles, coloured in blackness as if absorbing the night sky as it was touched, only distinguishable from the rain by its bulbous mass. Gradually the slender trail eased its way down between the grove of the tiles, behaving like water as it followed the preset path. Like a bubble of tar not quite set it’s path is littered with a slight colouration it trades with the moisture for the ease of passage. Only when it reaches the gutters does the liquid pull back, raising a rounded shape as if reaching out an arm and touching the drainpipes, exploring the indents and grooves while its mass remained calm, the stillness only interrupted by the ripples the rain causes while rinsing off its surface. Slowly the blob raises up into a tall circular sphere shape. The membrane holding in the dark liquid begins to twist slowly, turning first in one direction and then in the other. Slowly the shape begins to change, the liquid inside churning quietly, changing to a dark green for a couple of seconds before fixing itself back on a deep jet black. The shape then shifts again, small notches appearing in its surface as the liquid shifts, then almost as if tiny pins were being pushed through its surface, small black points ease out of wither side of the mass. The rippling movement inside pushes them outwards as more substance is added behind the tiny spikes. Slowly they slide outwards, reaching to about eight inches in length and thickening, remaining needle like at the tips but widening as the shapes approach the textured lump in the middle. Gradually the appendages begin to resemble long insect like legs. The tiles chip as the needle tips become imbedded within the ceramic roof tiles. Bobbing unsteadily in the rain the creatures moves its bulk, raising itself onto needle points. For a while the central shape moves, causing these new legs to bend and twist as the body comes into shape, expanding and contracting in a dance of precision and purpose, until eventually all movement ceases and the giant spider lowers its abdomen back down to just above the slate. Slowly the new formed spider scuttles over to the ledge of the roof and feels its way down, assessing the drop with interested eyes. The movements are cautious as it steps over the edge, seeking to be sure the grip is firm before moving this new body for a potential fall. Testing the ledge twice the huge spider drifts over the edge, holding its body for a second suspended by a silken thread. The pause is momentary, as if to assure itself there will be no fall and then it continues spinning another web strand as it slides downwards towards the window.

Pointed legs scratch at the glass as the arachnid claims purchase on the smooth surface. Small chips in the glass mark the path those eight spidery legs take as they settle against the frame of the windowsill. Quietly the spider starts scraping against the wooden frame, drawing the sharp edges over and over the wood grain making a hole underneath where the glass meets wood. Eventually before too much time has passed the spider squeezes itself under the crack it has created, worming and writhing to jam its body fully into the gap and into the house.