Part 1
This short story was made using the solo RPG: 6 Trials of the Weavers, by tallywinkle.
CW: Insects, Spiders, Trypophobia, Body Horror
Holly’s bed was small, rickety, and at least a hundred years old. It had belonged to her grandfather, after it had been given to him by his grandfather, along with the tiny cabin. It had been the only piece of furnature in the cabin for years. Holly’s great great grandfather had been the chronically outdoors type, unwilling to do anything inside that could be done just as well outside. He cooked his food, mended his clothes, polished his rifle and sharpened his tools all outdoors. He only slept inside, and even then only when it was too cold, wet, or dangerous to sleep outside.
Holly’s grandfather was nowhere near as outdoorsy, so he had improved the cabin with some modern renovations. A sink, a fireplace, a few cupboards and shelves. It was nice and cosy, the perfect place to get away from it all.
Tap, tap, tap.
Holly turned over in her bed, creaks and snaps drowning out the tapping noise. Every time, she grumbled to herself. She was even less of an outdoors person than her grandfather, but even so she managed to make her way to the cabin every summer for a week or two. Every time, the first night was always a trial.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired; it had been a long day, driving all the way up from Anchorage, and her body was aching. Her mind had been fuzzy with fatigue ever since she’d arrived, and she’d even gone to bed early, considering how late she usually went to bed.
But every first night at the cabin, she just couldn’t sleep. Sometimes it was the wind, other times the sounds of critters rustling in the underbrush. Sometimes it wasn’t anything at all, she just stayed awake, staring at the darkness and waiting for sleep to come.
Holly took a deep breath, exhaling as she imagined the cool blanket of sleep pouring over her.
Tap, tap, tap.
It had to have been a branch from the tree outside the window, gently scraping against the glass. A night wind, stirring up the forest. It was nothing important. Nothing worth losing sleep over.
Holly’s mind wandered down its own path, imagining all the different ways she could stop the tapping and finally get to sleep. Some were practical, like ear-plugs, while others were fanciful and hardly conducive to sleep.
Tap, tap, tap.
Holly turned again, pulling the threadbare blanket tighter to her chin, when her foot poked through one of the holes. She grumbled for a moment, reaching down to reposition the blanket, when her fatigued brain clicked. Her blanket wasn’t threadbare — she had replaced the old one last year.
Holly’s eyes snapped open as she looked down at the sheet of strands and cobwebs that covered her body. With a yelp, she threw the cover off onto the dirty floor…
Her new blanket lay there, a faint cloud of dust tossed up from the floor.
Holly took another deep breath to soothe her pounding heart. Damn. The nightmare had been so vivid, so real, she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t still dreaming.
Well, if she was she was getting some sleep, and if she wasn’t, sleep wasn’t going to happen until her heart stopped thudding in her chest. Reaching out, she picked up her blanket from the floor. It was stiff and musty. Another cloud of dust flew into the air as though the blanket had been lying there for years.
Her heart still pounding, Holly looked at the window. Where was the tree branch? Did the wind die down?
Climbing out of bed, Holly opened the window to a still night. There was no moon, no breeze, no branch. The whole forest was quiet — quieter than she had ever heard. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath, huddled in some corner to wait for a storm to pass.
The cool air filled Holly’s lungs, dragging her fatigued imaginings down to reality. She wasn’t sleeping. She rubbed her eyes, yawning, and closed the window again, eager to try and sleep once more.
We have come to collect what has been promised us.
Holly wanted to scream. She wanted to lash out with her fists, her feet. She wanted to try and leap out the window, but she couldn’t move — something primal in her, deep in her soul, told her that if she moved, she would be chased. Hunted. Eaten.
The three figures drew closer. Their robes were dark and muddy, and scraped against the floor as they moved. Their glittering black eyes flickered in the dark, their mandables clacking together as faint drips of liquid slid down their fangs.
Prey, one whispered.
Sister, one crooned.
Toy, the last snickered. Their clawed forelimbs slowly reached forward, trailing whisps of white webbing behind them. Holly’s throat tightened still more, choking the breath out of her in abject terror.
It is time to begin.
Then, everything went black.
Holly opened her eyes.
Her first thought was that she was cold, and her quivering hands reached out to pull her blanket closer, but the gentle tug as she moved brought her out of her stupor.
In a panic, Holly clawed at the air, struggling upright out of the mess of cobwebs that covered her. Panting heavily, she shook herself free and pawed at the imaginary spiders that she could feel crawling all over her.
Around her, nothing moved. The trees stretched high overhead into a dark and cloudy sky, while mists clung tightly to their rough bark and gnarled roots. It was bitterly cold, though there was not a whisper of a breeze.
Holly looked around. This wasn’t the forest she knew. The trees were a strange and twisted breed, and there was no underbrush save the dry and crispy grass. The smell of dust and old smoke lingered in the air, sour and foreboding.
In the dim light, Holly could just make out what looked like a path leading off into the mists.
“Hello?” It was a squeak, barely loud enough to be heard. Her voice vanished into the fog, swallowed by the emptiness. She shivered, hoping against hope that no one answered her.
Her grandfather’s voice echoed in her mind. “If you are ever lost, stay where you are. It will be easy for me to find you, and I will be looking for you.” It had been comforting at the time, but now it felt like more of a warning.
With no better options presenting themselves, Holly stepped onto the path. A sickening cruch met her ears, like the sound of a crushed cockroach. Swallowing her fear, she took another step, and then another. Ignoring the chitinous snapping, she pushed forward through the mists.
The fog grew thicker the further Holly walked. Before long she could only barely see the path, the continuing cruch of her feet the only certainty she had that she was on the right path. The soundless swirls of fog slid past, ghostly shapes catching her eye and tugging at her hopeful heart. She had never felt so alone.
The fear of being found by something wanting to eat her had lessoned somewhat — if they had wanted to eat her, why not have done so while she was unconcious? The fear of never being found, on the other hand, was rising swiftly enough that she found her voice. “Hello?” She tried again, louder than before. “Is anyone there?”
Only silence replied. Rubbing her arms against the cold, she continued forward.
Hello, sister.
Holly stopped as the mists slowly lessoned, pulling back like a curtain. Three or four yards ahead stood one of the strange spidery figures, still as a statue. Her eight eyes glowed as bright as the full moon, frighteningly warm and welcoming in the dark gloom.
Holly didn’t move. “Who are you?” she asked at last.
Questioning, the cooing voice difted through the still air. Holly could see the mandables shift in what could have been a smile, or a threat. Curious. Seeking knowledge. It is well you found me first.
“What are you?”
Weavers, their arm lifted, gently beckoning Holly closer. Keepers. Hunters. Death and life, mother and ice. Many things are we. Come closer, child.
“No, thank you,” Holly swallowed, idly wondering where she had found the courage. “I’d rather go home.”
Not your home, the weaver cooed. Not yet. Maybe not. You might feed us yet, or amuse us a while. Or…
“Or?”
I will not harm you. I will test you. Sister you might be.
“I’m not your sister.”
Not yet. Come, see. Another arm lifted and the mists pulled back again, revealing a small table at the weaver’s side. Holly stepped closer, making sure she always stayed at least two arms-lengths away from the strange creature. On the table lay a needle and thread, a thick red fabric, and a small scrap of paper.
“What do you want me to do?” Holly asked.
Questions, the weaver’s head shook. Always questions. Searching, but for what? Answers? Answers can never be given, they can only be found.
Holly looked back at the table. Found, eh? Her grandfather had loved giving her word puzzles and riddles to solve. If it was the only way out of here…
The needle was made of old dry bone, and the thread was a thin strong silk. The fabric had a pattern already sewn into it with the same white silk, and the paper — the paper was thin dry leather, skin from some animal. Holly struggled not to think about what kind of animal it might have been.
On the parchment, a strange and scratchy handwriting surrounded bizarre symbols. It was writing of some kind, possibly a language…diagrams? Were these instructions? Holly looked at the sewed pattern on the fabric; it certainly appeared incomplete to her.
She studied the needle carefully and observed the spool for markings. She flipped the fabric over, checking the stitching from both sides. She gave the strange language only a cursory glance — she knew she wouldn’t be able to decypher it — and focused on the ornate symbols.
“I don’t suppose you offer hints?” Holly couldn’t help herself. The cooing weaver shifted, the rustle of robes in the dark louder than thunder.
A sister would need none.
Holly threaded the needle. Well what if I don’t want to be a “sister,” whatever you mean by that? she thought to herself. She didn’t bother asking; she was certain she wouldn’t like the answer.
She began slowly, haltingly, carefully checking everything she did, twice. She wasn’t about to do anything rash, not with her life possibly on the line. She continued sewing, trying to ignore the weaver behind her.
The weaver’s mandable’s clicked. Holly froze.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Holly slowly began to pull the silk out of the fabric. No, that wasn’t right! If she’d have kept going, it would have turned out all wrong! But she was following the directions, she knew…
Holly blinked. Idiot of a girl! She looked back at the instructions and read over them again, this time reading them not left to right, top to bottom, but in a spiral, like a web.
She started over, slower this time, but more confident. The needle moved smoother now, requiring less repositioning when the instructions were followed in the proper order. By the time she had finished one cycle, she was certain. This was the correct pattern.
In her head, her grandfather’s voice gave a tsk. Don’t get cocky. Just because you think you know the answer doesn’t mean you’re right. Holly looked back at the directions. Should she really be ignoring the words? She didn’t recognize the lettering or the language, and the pattern fit correctly on the fabric…was she missing something?
She stared at the fabric again, and the stitching that had been sewn in before hers. The different pieces had similarities to the pattern she was sewing, but it was different enough she couldn’t just copy it. She followed the stitching in a circle, turning the fabric as she did. Wait… The stitching had shifted. Turning the fabric back, she followed each stitch until she was certain — the pattern had changed as the stitching progressed.
She looked back at the symbols and scratchy writing. How was she supposed to know how to change the pattern if she didn’t speak the language? Idly, she turned the parchment.
There! It astonished Holly how quickly it struck her. Ignoring the cooing from the weaver, she continued her stitching, slowly turning the instructions along with the fabric. As she sewed, the diagrams made more and more sense. The circular writing, while still unintelligable, made a kind of horrific sense.
Before long, Holly wasn’t looking at the instructions any more. The symbols had burned themselves into her brain as she sewed, turning and spinning and weaving in and out of the fabric.
Finally, she was done. The needle slipped out of her cramping hand and clattered onto the table. Holly gasped as the pain she had been ignoring finally registered. Clutching her fingers, she turned to the weaver. “There,” she said. “Have I passed your test?”
The weaver’s mandables moved in a strange and horrible way. With the soft sound of cloth brushing the ground, the weaver stepped back into the fog. Five more tests await you. Follow the path.
Holly looked back at the table, only to see it too had vanished. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she muttered, heading down the path again.
The mists didn’t seem as dark or as choking as they had before. The path was clearly visble, and even the crunching sound reminded Holly more of leaves, now, than insects. She wasn’t even feeling as cold. “Alright then,” she said to herself under her breath. “Where am I going to end up next?”
She was answered by a loud snapping sound and the ground falling away beneath her. With a shriek she pitched forward, tumbling into the darkness. She screamed as she fell, hitting dirt and stone before at last landing on something relatively soft. She sputtered, spitting out dirt and coughing up dust.
She had fallen into a small cave, barely big enough for her to stand. Nothing felt sprained or broken, so she stood up, noting she had fallen on more dead insect carcasses.
By the time she was upright, she realized she was hearing a sound; somewhere nearby was running water. She ducked her head down and followed the cave into a small cove covered with luminescent moss. A small spring of water filled a crystal clear pool of water. Risking a drink, Holly dipped in her hands.
The water was icy cold, but she didn’t care. She sipped gently, and then drank greedily, quenching the thirst that had been building in her ever since entering this dry and dusty landscape.
The water was clean and fresh. It tasted like a night breeze or an autumn rain. It soothed, balmed, and centered Holly in a way she had never expected water to do. Throwing caution into the wind, she dunked her head in the pool and flung her hair back, scattering shards of water across the cave. She wanted to laugh, it felt so good. So normal.
Catching her breath, Holly looked around. The cave continued upward, and at second glance she could see what looked like the same path as above ground stretching out before her. “Right,” she muttered, giving a sharp sniff. “Let’s see what else you’ve got for me.”
Holly climbed out of the cave and continued walking. Everything felt clearer now. She could see the swirls in the mist, and knew how they came to be. She saw every crack in the bark of the trees, and knew how long they had been there. She looked at her hands, marveling at how she could see every pulse of her heart, the flow of her blood, the twitching and twisting muscles as they pulled her fingers back and forth.
With every step, a new cruching noise met her ears, and she knew what kind of carcass it once had been. That was a stag beetle, she thought to herself. That was a centipede. That was a butterfly and a bombadier beetle. That was half of a termite, along with a cockroach and a quite old fly.
She could smell her blood pumping. Her heart pounded louder and stronger than ever. She felt alive. She could even taste the burning acids in her leg muscles, before they gave out.
And gave out they did. Holly stumbled, barely catching herself before she fell. Whoof, she thought, I’m more tired than I thought. But of course, I drove up today and that’s a long trek. I even pushed through that rest-stop which I don’t normally do but I really wanted to get up to the cabin so I could unpack before bed and have the chance to swim though I didn’t because I needed to turn on the gas and that took longer than I planned —
Holly collapsed again, her palms cracking on the rough path. What is happening to me? her muddled thoughts managed to choke out. It was like the whole world had become a tapestry, twisted and knotted together in a whirlwind of thread. She was seeing things and hearing things that couldn’t exist. Spider people? Was she going insane? Was this all some horrific nightmare?
“Get up,” she told herself. “Keep going. It’s just in your mind, you’ll get home soon, just…just keep going.” She repeated it to herself until her limbs finally listened, and she staggered upright again. The world continued to spin as she struggled down the path.