The Spider Tattoo

Chapter 1

I can remember that day so vividly.

The bronze light from the streetlamp outside the window illuminated the snowflakes falling softly down from the clouded-over sky. My feet thudded silently on the stairs as I slowly descended down the staircase, peeking curiously into the living room. I had heard a thud - nothing more. There was no sign it could be anything but a trash can that tipped over, but I had to find out what it was.

You could feel the tension. It seeped through the deep red carpet and circulated in the air. With every breath, you could feel the suspense intensify. It was the kind of tension that made your heart stop beating as soon as you entered the room. The air was as thick as syrup.

I stepped off the stairs and took two silent steps. I stopped breathing mid-breath.

There was a man standing there, back facing me. His black hair was long and unruly, like he hadn't combed it for days. His gray shirt was loose, and the neckline hung down in the back -- just enough so I could make out his spider tattoo.

I swear he could hear my beating heart. It thumped loud against my rib cage at a rapid tempo, threatening to give myself away. I was more alert then I had ever been in my life.

The man never looked at me. He stood there, staring intently at something on the floor. It was killing me to know what it was. He turned away, and I could hear the window open and close.

Then I experienced the worst fear I have ever felt in my life. As he left, I saw what he was staring at.

My mother was lying on the floor, eyes closed. I rushed over to her, unable to breathe or cry out. There were no signs that she was killed, but her heart wasn't beating and she wasn't breathing.

I picked up a phone and punched in the numbers 9-1-1.

The next few days passed by in a blur of sobbing and tears. They were never able to find out how she had died.

But I knew who killed her.