In the dim, flickering light of the abandoned mansion, Lisa’s heart raced with every creak and groan of the old house. Her arachnophobia had been a lifelong burden, but tonight it felt especially palpable as her eyes darted nervously around the room. Shadows danced across the walls, and every corner seemed to hide lurking terrors. Then, out of the darkness, a small, skittering movement caught her eye—too small to be certain, but unmistakable in its sinister familiarity. Panic surged as she imagined a web slowly weaving itself across the ceiling, every thread a reminder of her deepest fear. Her breath quickened, and she fought to steady herself, grappling with the irrational terror that transformed every small rustle into a nightmare of eight-legged monsters.
