Harry waited in the crook of the tall grass stem until the ant colony had finally dispersed. For several long minutes, he forced himself to stay still, clinging to the stalk, heart hammering. Only when silence returned and the ground below seemed empty did he dare climb back down. His legs shook as they touched soil again, but he knew he couldn't linger—staying in one place was dangerous.
Still rattled, Harry broke into a sprint without much thought, darting in a random direction. The world of grass and soil loomed around him like an alien forest. Every pebble was a boulder, every fallen leaf a tent-sized wall blocking his path. He ran until his lungs burned, until the pounding in his chest threatened to burst. Finally, he stopped, panting, and realized with dread: he had no idea where he was anymore. The familiar landmarks he had used before were gone.
Panicked, he scrambled up another blade of grass for perspective. From the height, he could barely orient himself—his house was somewhere beyond this sea of green and soil. He tried to steady his breathing, but a gnawing unease took root in his gut. The ants had retreated far too quickly once they had food. They hadn't just lost interest; they had been avoiding something. Something worse.
And then he heard it.
A faint, rhythmic sound—tap… tap… tap…—echoed from nearby. It wasn't like the rustle of grass in the wind, or the flutter of wings overhead. This was heavier, more deliberate. It came from the shadowed hollow of a small terracotta plant pot half-buried in the soil.
Harry froze. The sound grew louder, closer. His senses, already heightened from the ant chase, screamed danger. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward the pot.
That's when he saw it.
A pair of massive, hairy legs, each as thick as tree trunks at his scale, reached out from the darkness. Then came another. And then eyes—too many eyes. Dozens of black, glinting orbs reflecting the last orange streaks of daylight. A pair of fangs glistened wet, twitching with hunger.
Harry's blood ran cold.
A spider. A wolf spider. And it was bigger than a house.
Before he could think, the nightmare lunged. The ground quaked under its sprint. Wolf spiders didn't trap their prey with webs—they hunted them down, relying on sheer speed. And at his size, that speed was terrifying.
Harry bolted. His legs pumped furiously, tears stinging his eyes. He shoved himself between grass stems, hoping the tight spaces might slow the monster. But the spider crushed through them with ease, the ground trembling as it closed in. He could almost feel its hot, fetid breath on his back.
His mind shrieked: You can't outrun this. You'll die. You'll die.
Then, a chance. Ahead, a narrow hole in the ground—a crack between roots. With no time to hesitate, Harry dove headfirst inside. Soil scraped his arms and legs as he squeezed into the darkness.
The spider skidded to a halt, slamming its face against the entrance. A screech rattled Harry's ears as two hairy legs probed into the hole, scraping at the soil, trying to drag him out. He pressed himself deeper inside, biting back a sob, knowing he had nowhere left to run.
This wasn't a tunnel—it was a dead end. If the spider managed to widen the gap, he'd be skewered.
His eyes darted wildly in the dim light. There—a twig, dried and sharp at the end. He snatched it up and began digging furiously into the soil, scraping away handfuls of dirt. Each second felt like an eternity. The spider's legs continued to probe the entrance, its hissing breaths rattling against the soil walls.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, his twig punched through to the other side. A sliver of fresh air spilled in. Heart racing, Harry widened the gap and wriggled out into the open, gasping as he tumbled into the cool evening air.
He dared not cry out or run. The spider was still there, waiting at the first hole, legs scraping, body shifting in frustration. It hadn't left. It was still hunting him.
Harry crouched low in the grass, forcing himself to stay silent. Inch by inch, he crept away from the new opening, moving as quietly as possible. Only when the terracotta pot was far behind him did he finally allow himself to breathe again.
The sun had slipped lower now, painting the sky in streaks of red and orange. Night would fall soon. Harry's parents weren't home yet—but they would be soon. If he didn't make it back before dark, he knew he'd be alone in this monstrous world, surrounded by predators.
Worse still, he couldn't risk lying in the open. Every shadow could hide a hunter, every rustle could mean death. If he wanted to survive until morning—or until his parents found him—he needed one thing above all else.