Chapter 79

That night, they dragged themselves to their rooms.

In the dead of night, a furious pounding shook Hazel’s window, louder than the past two nights. The Human-Headed Spider dangled outside, swaying on its silk, hammering the glass with its legs, each blow threatening to shatter it.

Hazel curled tight under her blankets, trembling, face drained. The noise vibrated the room, a relentless pulse. She squeezed her eyes shut, but her peripheral caught the window rattling, frail, ready to give.

The spider’s face, usually blank, twisted into a snarl, a wrathful demon’s mask, its red eyes blazing hate, narrow mouth twitching with guttural curses.

Hazel felt the tremors through her bed, heart lurching, unsure whether to bolt. Tonight’s assault was vicious; she pictured the creature crashing through, tearing her apart.

Maya’s mangled corpse haunted her. She wouldn’t end like that.

But she stayed put. No rookie to Dreamplay, she knew fleeing at night was suicide.

Hazel’s life wasn’t special—single-parent home, parents split early, raised by her dad. His remarriage left her adrift, not neglected but distant, like a guest in her own house. Love-starved but fiercely independent, she thrived alone, buried in books, from novels to folklore and weird tales.