Page 15 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

Webb leaned against the counter and nodded. “Nah, it's actually a small bayou down the trail. Wouldn’t recommend swimming unless you want to share it with a cottonmouth or five.”

My head jerked. “Snakes?”

“Probably.”

“Is there anythingnot trying to kill me out here?”

He tilted his head in thought. “The deer mostly keep to themselves.”

“Wow. This truly is a five-star experience.”

I dropped my bag to the floor, stared at the warped wood paneling, and let out a long, slow breath that sounded suspiciously like surrender.

“Okay,” I shrugged, doing my best to rally against the shock to my admittedly privileged system. “Okay, I’m fine. I’ve got aloe. I’ve got... snacks. And I’ve got one brain cell left. We’re gonna make it.”

Webb smirked, which I didn’t appreciate.

But deep down, beneath the misery, the crazy sunburn, and the fear of accidentally peeing on a possum, I knew one thing for sure—I’d survive this. Well, probably. Then again, that probably could be a maybe, unless the snakes got me first.

By the time I finally climbed into bed—and I use the termbed loosely because it was basically a wooden frame, a lumpy mattress, and a quilt that smelled like cedar and testosterone—it was dark outside in a way I’d never experienced. The kind of dark that felt personal and eerie.

There were no streetlights and no hum of traffic. Just black trees pressing in on all sides and the occasional crack of a branch that made me flinch so hard I nearly swallowed my tongue.

I lay there under the quilt, staring at the uneven ceiling, trying not to breathe too loud in case something out there was listening. It didn’t help that I was cold on the inside and burned on the outside.

Webb had gone to bed about twenty minutes before me, acting completely unbothered by everything that had happened and our surroundings. One minute, he was showing me how the lock on the front door “mostly” worked. Next, he was yawning and disappearing into the tiny side room that served as his bedroom.

Meanwhile, I was tucked under a blanket ofexistential dread.

The walls groaned around me, the kind of slow, ominous creak that sounded like they were auditioning for their next horror movie role. Outside, something scuttled across the porch—probably a raccoon, though with my luck, it could just as easily have been a forest demon dragging a cursed toe. The single dim bulb in the hallway gave one last flicker, a sad little stutter of light, before sputtering out entirely and plunging the space into shadows. I told myself it wasn’t a sign from the universe. Just old wiring. Definitely not an omen, I hope.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse... a skittering noise sounded from inside the room.

I froze.

Skitter skitter.

Somethinghit the floor near the bed with a dull, hairy thud. I didn’t scream or move, and I was quite proud of myself for that fact.

I simply whispered to the ceiling, “No.”

Then I grabbed my flashlight off the nightstand, flicked it on, and immediately regretted it. There, by the fireplace, was a spider.

Correction:it was a monstrosity.

It was the size of my hand, legs bent like it had knees, and it had the kind of confidence usually reserved for professional wrestlers and influencers.

“Oh no,” I muttered. “Absolutely not.”

I slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, padded across the rough wood floor, and knocked on Webb’s bedroom door. There was no response, so I knocked again a little louder.

“Webb?”

Still nothing. How hard did the guy sleep?

“Webb, there’s a spider the size of a dinner plate in here, and I don’t want to die looking like this.”

A long beat passed, andthen the door opened a crack, revealing Webb, hair a mess, eyes squinty, and his t-shirt rumpled.

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