Beware The Wicked Web (2 page)

Rob wheeled round. “Look at that lot.”

Part of the web near the egg was covered in the black bodies of dead flies.

“How did they get in?” Sam demanded.

“Check out the ceiling again,” said Rob.

Eventually Sam’s torch lit a skylight window, covered in web but open a fraction.

“That must be where the breeze is coming from,” she said, sounding relieved.

“And the flies,” added Rob. Then he shook himself and stared towards the table.

“I want that book,” he said with surprising determination.

“Why?”

“It might tell us something. I’ve got this hunch.”

Sam groaned. Rob often had hunches.

“Let’s get a broom and push the web out of the way,” she suggested. “Then you can grab your precious book.”

Hurrying downstairs and just managing to avoid their mother, Sam and Rob grabbed two brooms from the kitchen cupboard and hurried back to the attic.

“Something’s changed,” whispered Rob.

To their amazement they saw that strands of the web were rustling around the heavy oak door.

“It couldn’t be growing, could it?”

“No chance,” snapped Sam. “We must have pulled out those strands when we closed the door. Didn’t we?” she added, doubtfully.

Slowly, Rob went into the attic bedroom.

Sam followed. She was surprised. Rob only ever took the lead if he wanted something badly. Why should he so desperately want that mouldy old book?

She shuddered as she touched the soft grey folds of rustling web. Sam hadn’t realized they would be so sticky - or so clinging.

“Use your broom,” hissed Rob. “Push the thing aside.”

It was like sweeping away a living creature, for as soon as they brushed them aside the folds flopped back, sticky and suffocating. Rob leant over, wrenching the little black book from a fold of the web, which made a slurping, sucking sound.

“Got it!”

“Let’s get out of here.” Sam shuddered again as the strands of web caught at her in a strong and sticky grip. Pulling away hard, she ran for the door, with Rob close behind, clutching the book.

Once in his own bedroom, Rob pulled an old football shirt out of a drawer and rubbed away at the mouldy book, making flakes of the leather cover fly in the air.

As he worked, Sam thought back to last week when they had only just moved into number 14, one of a row of four-storey houses along the river where the wharves had once been. Next door was an old fruit warehouse that their parents had bought and planned to turn into flats.

“I’m going to make the attic into a big games room for both of you,” Dad had promised. “But don’t go up there yet. No one’s used it for years and it could be dangerous.”

He can say that again, thought Sam. Should they tell him? Then she remembered how much trouble they’d be in for being in the attic in the first place.

Sam wished they had never gone up there at all. She remembered the toys and wondered why a child had been sleeping in that tiny attic space. There were plenty of other rooms in the house.

“It’s a diary,” said Rob, finally able to prise open the cover. He paused. “But there’s only one entry.” He began to read aloud:

“July 4th. My name is Abby Hall. Since my parents died, Aunt Grace has been horrible to me. Sometimes I think she wants me to die up here. If I did die, Aunt Grace would inherit my fortune. She told me I’ve got to stay in this attic until I’ve learnt to be a good girl. She says the web is only in my imagination. But I can see the web growing every day and it’s not just the web that’s growing. The spider is, too.”

Underneath, Abby had drawn a picture of an enormous spider.

His heart pounding, Rob showed the drawing to Sam. “That’s no ordinary spider,” he said. “It’s tropical.”

“Oh, really?” scoffed Sam. “And how do you think a tropical spider could have got up here?”

That afternoon, Rob and Sam went to the library to look at some books on insects. After a long search they found a picture of Abby’s spider, with a chilling description.