$35.00
The game show was supposed to be a light-hearted contest—an evening of laughs, prizes, and quick-witted banter. But somewhere between the flashing lights and the buzzing crowd, something twisted. The host, a slick figure with a grin too sharp for comfort, announced the next challenge: “Go into the basement—find the hidden prize, if you dare.” The audience cheered, unaware of what lurked beneath.
Down in the shadows, the basement waited. Dark, moist, and full of secrets, it was a sanctuary for arachnids—spiders spinning their silken traps in the corners, hanging like silent sentinels in the damp gloom. Some, like the cellar spiders, hung long-legged and fragile, their webs glistening in the weak light. They posed no threat, their weak mouths unable to inject venom, yet their presence cast an unsettling pall over the room.
The game’s contestant hesitated, then descended into the dark. In the flickering glow of the overhead bulb, he saw them—webs spun in the corners, shadows darting just beyond sight. Some spiders, like the black widows lurking in the dark, waited patiently, their presence a reminder: danger often hides behind beauty. Others, like the house spiders, silently watched as he moved, their long bodies swaying with the faint draft.
Amidst the chaos, a strange soundtrack played—**J.R.S - "Arde & Insect Killer" acetate 7"**, mixed with a looping CD and an insert that read: *“Some things are better left unseen.”* It was a haunting backdrop to the creeping dread that filled the basement, a soundtrack of chaos and decay echoing through the dark.
Suddenly, a web trembled, and a long-legged cellar spider descended slowly, hanging just above the contestant’s head. Its delicate frame seemed almost fragile, yet in the shadows, the threat was real. The spiders in the basement weren’t dangerous—no venom, no bite—but their presence was enough to send shivers down the spine. They were the silent watchers, the unseen stalkers, the embodiment of lurking fears.
The host’s voice crackled over the speakers, distorted but clear: “Can you find the prize before the spiders claim the space?” In the dim light, the contestant’s hands trembled as he reached into a box, uncovering the hidden object—an old, dust-covered relic. As he pulled it out, a spider scuttled past his foot, its shadow stretching across the concrete.
The crowd roared, but no one saw the tiny creatures slipping into the cracks, the webs tightening in the corners, waiting. The basement was alive with unseen predators, and the game was about to go even more raw—no rules, no mercy, just the silent, creeping crawl of the spiders and the haunting echoes of “Arde & Insect Killer.”
In the end, the contestant emerged, clutching his prize—blood pounding, eyes wide. The basement’s darkness had claimed a part of him, just as the spiders had claimed their domain. The show ended, but the shadows lingered—silent, waiting, always watching. Because in this game, the real winners are the insects, the spiders, and the shadows that never leave.