I’m running down a dark, narrow hall.
“Ansel?”
I know he’s here, but I can’t find him. The hall stretches on forever. I pass by door after door, all closed.
I hear a noise from one and I turn the knob, but it’s locked. I struggle against it, shoving it open, but Ansel’s not inside.
It’s Henry. He’s standing in an office and he’s a mess. His hair’s uncombed. His sleeves are pulled up haphazardly. His tie is loose and crooked. There are papers everywhere, and he’s searching through them.
Beads of sweat are breaking out all over his forehead. He kicks closed a desk drawer and yanks another open. A swarm of white spiders begin to pour out of the drawer. He tries to close it, but he can’t.
I gasp as the spiders cover his hands and legs, and then they engulf him.
“No!”
They’re cra
