The frail old man looked up at the barn with wide, watery blue eyes. He held a rickety old shotgun in his hands, and the leather hat on his head was barely held together with rough stitching. He took a shaking breath, and kicked open the dusty, badly painted door. 

He entered the place where the only source of light were a few holes in the roof, which fell on old crates and straw.                                                         The old man edged closer into the centre, towards the heaving mass of rotting flesh inside a box. Whith shaking hands, he brought the shotgun down towards it, his finger on the trigger he---felt something crawl up his leg, and his stomach dropped. He looked down to see thousands and thousands of pale white spiders crawling up his legs, stomach, inside and out his clothes, chest, neck...

The man raised his crying head to the patch of sky and screamed as the thousands apon thousands of all-sized spiders crawled into his mouth, then to his stomach, out of his nose, under his skin which ripped in places because there were so many spiders, and his eyes turned white as he disappeared under the disgusting bodies.          

A few months later a young couple were exploring the countryside, when they came across a barn. They pushed open the door, giggling. They were disappointed to find nothing inside after a thougrer search, and looked up.

They saw the old man, strung up with threads which seemed to pour out of his eyes as if he was crying. The old man who had spiders pouring out of his mouth and into his mouth, swarming over his body. His stomach was bloated to a point they thought it might explode.      The couple stared in horror as the still living man spoke; "I can feel them'