Mother of the Spiders: Octagon

6. Jane (Thread One)

[Each chapter of Octagon corresponds to a song that inspired the shape of the character arc and/or story arc. You can listen to each chapter's "song" to gain further insight into the world-building of Gossamer Loom and the people who live there. I definitely had fun listening to these songs while I was writing the novel. Chapter 6's "Formation Song" is "In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins.]

The gravel path stretched ahead of the group, winding toward the graveyard, and Leslie felt like her mind was running in circles. The morning was cool, and the air was crisp, but none of it could cut through the confusion swirling in her head. She kept her pace with the others—Josiah, Ivy, Coop, and Willy—but it felt like she was walking in a dream, watching herself move while everything inside twisted into knots.

Leslie didn't understand anything. She thought silently to herself about the secret she was harboring, that she knew in her gut she couldn't tell anyone.

The night she had been lost in the woods, when Old Sam had found her, she had been so scared, panicking, unsure of where she was or how to get home. And then he'd appeared—quiet and steady, his weathered hand outstretched. She'd taken it without thinking, her fear of being lost overriding everything else. Old Sam had led her home that night, through the dense trees and shadowed paths, neither of them saying a word. There had been no malice in him, no sign of the danger everyone claimed he posed to children like her. Just a silent presence that, if anything, had felt safe.

But that hadn't been the end of it.

After that night, whenever she was alone—walking along the back roads behind her house or anywhere else in the woods—the old man had been there, too... watching. He never spoke unless she did. Then, slowly, they started talking. Short conversations at first. She had kept her distance, guarded, as the whispers of what a predatory old man he was echoed in her head. But Old Sam had never done anything to harm her. He'd listen when she talked about school, about Emily and her cruelty, about the loneliness that followed her around like a shadow.

Old Sam had become her only friend in town, until Josiah showed up and took her to Pam's.

Leslie glanced at Josiah now, walking just ahead of her, his hair catching in the breeze. There was a warmth to him, a steadiness that drew her in—a light in all the darkness she'd been swallowed by for so long. But Josiah wasn't just Josiah. He was a Loomridge. Old Sam had warned her about that family after she told him she was connecting with Josiah lately.

"You can't trust a Loomridge," Old Sam had told her, his voice low and certain. "Not ever."

Leslie remembered being startled by his tone. "Why not? He's... he's been nice to me."

Old Sam's eyes narrowed. "Doesn't matter how nice they seem. The Loomridge family is bad news, girl. Always have been. They... they take more than they give."

She hadn't known what to say to that. It felt like such an unfair judgment, so harsh and final. She remembered shaking her head, trying to brush it off. "Josiah's not like that. You don't even know him."

"I know enough," he replied, his voice calm but firm. "They get inside your head. Make you trust them. But you'll see. Sooner or later..."

She wanted to believe in Josiah, in the connection she felt with this group walking beside her now. Could this feeling of belonging be trusted? Yet, they also made judgments about Old Sam, the only person who had been kind to Leslie from day one. The way they talked about him, dismissing him as dangerous, reminded her of the way the kids at school talked about her.