The murmurs of polite conversation filled the dimly lit reception hall, the air heavy with the scent of flowers and quiet grief. My son, Ben, tugged gently at my sleeve, his small face scrunched in concern.
“Mommy,” he whispered, eyes wide and earnest, “there’s something weird.”
I leaned down, half-expecting a child’s distraction — maybe he’d seen someone crying or a plate of cookies that caught his attention. But his next words made me pause.
“I see a lady sitting at the table,” he began, glancing around as if sharing a secret. “She’s wearing a big black dress, like a Halloween costume, with lots of shiny bits.” He gestured animatedly, mimicking how the sequins glittered. Then his tone dropped, and his eyes grew round. “And then, I see them. Little, wiggly spiders crawling out from under her dress.”
I froze, unsure whether to laugh or frown. Ben’s imagination had always been vivid, but spiders? At a wake?
“Spiders?” I asked lightly, hiding a smile. “Are you sure they weren’t just decorations on her dress?”
He shook his head, adamant. “No, Mommy. They were real. Crawling on the floor, and she didn’t even notice!”
I followed his gaze to the other side of the room. There, surrounded by polite company, sat an elegant woman in an extravagant black gown. Sequins caught the light like a thousand tiny stars. She looked perfectly composed — not the sort of person to have a spider problem.
Still, curiosity tugged at me.
“Stay right here,” I told Ben, rising from my chair. “Mommy’s just going to take a look.”
I approached the woman, weaving through the crowd as unobtrusively as possible. As I drew near, my breath caught — there they were. A faint movement on the floor, tiny dark shapes scuttling away. A waiter, visibly uncomfortable, bent to sweep them aside with a napkin. Spiders. Real spiders.
My pulse quickened.
Before I could process what I’d seen, the woman stood and excused herself, gliding toward the restroom. Her dress shimmered with each step, leaving behind a faint sense of unease. Against my better judgment, I followed.
Inside, the light was softer, golden. She stood before the mirror, adjusting her gown. Her reflection caught mine, and she smiled — calm, kind, knowing.
“Hello,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I hope I’m not intruding in your thoughts.”
“Not at all,” I managed. “I just… noticed something strange back there.”
Her smile faded. “You saw the spiders, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I admitted quietly. “My son noticed them first. Are you alright?”
She sighed, her fingers brushing the sequins on her dress as though smoothing invisible wrinkles. “It’s an old family curse,” she said softly. “A reminder of mistakes made long ago. They follow me wherever I go — silent witnesses to what was lost.”
I stared, unsure whether to laugh, pity her, or believe every word. But something in her eyes — a deep sadness mixed with resignation — made me think she was telling the truth.
“Is there anything that can be done?” I asked.
She met my gaze through the mirror, a faint glimmer of hope flickering in her expression. “Perhaps,” she said. “But it’s a long story… one I’d share, if you’re willing to listen.”
And so, I nodded.
As we stepped back into the hall, Ben’s eyes met mine — curious, innocent, and full of the same wonder that had started it all. What began as a child’s observation had turned into something else entirely — a secret that would draw us into a tale of curses, choices, and the strange threads that bind the living to the past.
And as the woman in black moved through the crowd, I couldn’t help but notice — this time, the spiders were gone.