Cobwebs

That door wasn’t here yesterday; you could swear it. It’s a perfectly ordinary door, yet somehow, irresistible. You open it and walk through corridor after winding corridor. You turn a corner and walk straight into a cobweb. You wipe the strands from your face and move on. It’s dark. You light a match. The hall is thick with cobwebs. You sidestep them. The match burns down to your fingertips. You strike another match. More spiderwebs, this time across the whole hall. You tear them aside and continue on. Another match. The cobwebs are thicker, ropy, sinewy. You try to brush them aside, but they hold your arm fast. The webs have a tensile strength you couldn’t have guessed. You try to retreat, but can’t move. You hear a skittering. Your pulse quickens. You struggle, to no avail. The sound repeats. You fight harder against the cobwebs, but you can’t move. At last, something turns the corner, and you sigh with relief when you see the woman’s face. That is, until you see her giant spider legs. The match burns out.