From BuggFeed.news

by Laura Longlegs

Seven days ago master web-designer, Sam Spyder, lost his footing while working on a high-altitude project and fell into what he described as “a steep, smooth sinkhole plagued by violent flash floods which drained into silver-lined bottomless hole.” 

“Sometimes I get so lost in my design that I forget to attach my safety silks,” said Spyder. “It’s a bad habit.”

With no injuries from the fall, Spyder immediately tried to climb out of the sinkhole. “I’ve never experienced a surface that smooth. It was crazy,” he said. “The incline got steeper and steeper. I could see the edge. I was so close. But then I lost my grip and slid all the way back down.”

Again and again he tried—different routes, different angles—always with the same result: a helpless slide back down to the bottom. Near exhaustion, he reconsidered his situation. Could he design a web here? Could he figure out how to get his silk to stick to this surface? Would any insects venture down here? But as soon as he began dreaming up his next creation, everything around him changed.

“It got really bright. Something huge loomed above me. I cowered near the edge of the silver hole, trying to hide.” 

Then came the flood. 

“The water fell from above in a big, fat stream,” said Spyder. 

The force of it pinned him to the bottom and then swept him to the side. Pedaling his legs he gained a purchase on the wall and, with renewed energy, scrambled up the incline. He had to make it this time—his life depended on it. Up, up, almost there…. “But I just wasn’t strong enough.”

With no hope and no fight left, Spyder slid towards the flood water. No more webs to dream up, no more anticipation as a moth flew closer and closer. And the moment the silk caught and held? Well, the meal paled in comparison. 

Now he wished more than anything for eyelids so he wouldn’t have to see the end. But right before he slipped down the hole, the water stopped. Silence. Then he felt something firm underneath him, lifting him up. Not trusting it at first, he tried to get away. But he was so tired. It pushed him up the smooth surface of the sinkhole. He saw the edge. Then he was over the edge—finally out! Yet it didn’t stop there. He clung to it now and felt himself being lowered, then deposited in a dark, quiet corner—a perfect place to regain his strength. 

“It all happened so fast,” Spyder said. “I thought I was going to die and then I was safe again.”

When asked what saved him Spyder paused and turned his eight eyes skyward. “I don’t know. It was a force of some sort, something much bigger than me. I felt it. I know I didn’t do this myself.” 

(This piece of investigative journalism is the product of a prompt in the Rehoboth Beach Writer’s Guild newsletter: Write what you did on Sept. 24th.)