The spider had disappeared by sunrise. Probably crawled down Matheus’ throat to set up a hideous colony in his guts. He pressed a hand to his stomach. He swore he felt the spider moving, spinning its web, luring insects down his throat, laying eggs. One day, they’d hatch and scuttle out of his lower intestine, the most horrifying version of diarrhea in existence.
Matheus gagged. He leapt up, spitting, clawing at his tongue.
“What are you doing?”
With a shriek, Matheus spun around. He slipped on the slick fabric of the sleeping bag, toppling forward and bashing his head against a coffin. The wood splintered;, a shower of dust sprinkled down. A skeletal hand dropped out, fingers tangling in Matheus’ hair. Matheus reacted like any rational adult placed in such a situation. He screamed like a little girl on PCP and fainted.
“Mat. Mattias. Time to wake up.”