The three am darkness was dense and close as he turned off the road and into his driveway. He sighed in relief as the motion sensor triggered the exterior lights. He let the engine die and sat back in the seat, closing his eyes and letting the silence sink in.

His heart was racing. And sitting in the darkened drive, it was easy to imagine that he could hear it thudding against the nighttime chorus. His mind had settled on the drive, but now it was going into overdrive again. That had just been a pothole, right?’

Except there had been no dip. Just the bump.

No, no. Two sickening bumps.

He’d checked the mirror, but there were no streetlights on the road to his house and the moon was riding too low in the sky to provide much illumination.

He’d driven on regardless, but couldn’t shake the feeling that was boring into the back of his neck. His eyes kept flicking to the reviewer mirror, not to check the road, but to assuage the feeling that he wasn’t alone in the car anymore.

The beacon of light as he pulled off the road had felt like a godsend, but that feeling had quickly faded. Now, his eyes glanced towards the keys, still sitting in the ignition. Was there still time to go back? Maybe. The road was dark, but at this time, it was sparsely travelled.

He could probably get away with pretending that he had never left the scene. It was unlikely anyone else would pass by. Another reason to go back, he thought. And before he realised the decision had been made, he was reversing out of the drive and turning back down the hill.

It had happened only a half mile from his house, so it wasn’t long before he slowed to a crawl and leaned forward over the wheel peering into the circle of light cast by his headlights. His heart was a drum in his chest now and he couldn’t remember when he had taken last breath.

Nothing.

The road was clear. He had felt the bump just after a turnoff to a nearby farm, so he pulled in off the main road when he reached that point and stopped the engine. He took the torch from the glove box and started back up the road.

He flashed the light from side to side nervously as he moved. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He felt his back tensing against imagined fingers trailing along his spine.

Still nothing though.

The road was clear.

He spent a few minutes tentatively looking into the hedgerows and fields, but there was no sign that there had been anyone else on the road. He didn’t examine the dark patches on the road too closely, convincing himself that there was plenty of runoff from the recent rain.

He returned to the car feeling relieved. Just a bird or a rat, the carcass had probably been carried off by a fox or some other creature of the night. He slid back into the car and laughed gently to himself as he pulled off the side road. Stupid. Stupid, he chastised himself.

This time when he he pulled into the drive and triggered the motion sensor, the light was warm and welcoming. He was tired after the long shift at work and was looking forward to falling into bed. He shivered again, residual traces of those imagined fingers still tickling his spine.

His nerves peaked again as he crossed the threshold. The feeling of being watched was back. He flicked on the hall lights and glanced around nervously. The house was quiet and felt empty. He had been out all day and there was a chill in the air.

He shrugged off his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair as he passed. He pulled a glass and a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet in the corner and poured himself a generous measure. If he hadn’t earned one today, he never would.

He lingered for the next half hour in front of the TV, leaving the background noise drone on as he flicked through news on his phone and sipped his drink. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, but he was tired and the whiskey had started to take the edge off.

He began to doze and forced himself to rise stiffly from the chair before he could fall too far into sleep. He knocked back the last half measure and felt the welcome warmth bloom in his chest. He checked the front door again as he passed, once more happy that he had secured it. The uneasy feeling that had dogged him was fading again.

He pulled off his clothes, and draped them over the mirror. He’d fold them properly in the morning, before his work suit got covered in wrinkles, but that would do for now. He was tired and after his earlier scare all he wanted to do was fall into oblivious. He lay on the bed and hesitated briefly as he reached to turn off the light, but shook his head with a nervous laugh and flicked the switch. He was asleep soon after.
~~~~~~

His eyes flicked open. It was still dark outside, so he mustn’t been asleep long, but he was wide awake. And that feeling was back, creeping up his spine, reaching icy tendrils up the back of his neck.

He was not alone.

He could feel the eyes on him, watching malevolently. He moved to turn on the light but his arm didn’t respond.

He was terrified. Afraid that if he moved, whatever was watching him would attack. His mind flashed back to his first camping trip when he was ten. Lying awake inside his tent, that first night. The wind rustling against the fabric. A tree ranch, scraping, scraping, scraping against the tent flaps

The absolute, undeniable idea that if only he could stay still long enough, the moment would pass.

That was when the whispers started. At first, he couldn’t make out what they were saying. The sounds overlapped, clashing against each other, drowning out the words.

But slowly they coalesced and took shape, a rustling noise, like dry leaves in autumn wind.

Four words.

Utterly convincing and undeniable.

‘Spiders in your bed.‘

He froze. A soft tickle ran up one leg, then the other. Then across his stomach and along his chest and arms.

He screamed, his paralysis forgotten and leapt from the bed.

His fingers tore at his bare skin, trying in desperation to dislodge the nocturnal visitors. But the room was in darkness, and he could not see that there were no spiders.

He yelled in pain as his nails broke skin but he continued to scratch and tear and pull.

More whispers.

‘Spiders in your hair.’

His screams pitched higher and he tore at his hair, pulling it from his head in clumps, desperate to get away from the unseen bugs crawling along his scalp.

He fell to the floor and thrashed about. They were everywhere.

‘Spiders in your ears.’

He tore at them too, tearing into cartilage and shredding his ear lobes.

‘Spiders in your eyes.’

His screams echoed in his own ears now as he jammed his thumbs into his eye sockets and felt the terrifying pressure and terrible release.

‘Spiders in your mouth.’

He stopped screaming and wheezed as he struggled to breathe, clawing at his throat with bloody fingers. He forced himself to open his mouth and started to reach.

‘Spiders in your dreams.’

The voice laughed, like dry leaves in autumn wind.