"Darla, I'm busy. Not now."

"But Ernest, you've got to see what I've made."

"Hush, now." The spider tickled Ernest's bald head. He could feel her breath on the points of his ears. He finally brushed her off gently and watched as she elegantly glided down a long strain of silk. He pushed his glasses onto his face and squinted to thread the needle in his gnarled hand. It used to be so much easier a task to accomplish, but the older he got, the more difficult sewing became.

"If you'd just let me help…" Darla's voice was a soft and smooth as the silk she spun. When Ernest paid her no mind, she glided off to the next room.

Darla slumped to the floor. She knew how important the quilt was to Ernest. His great grand daughter would be born in less than a week, the doctor had said. She knew Ernest's eyes were failing him, and arthritis had had its death grip on his hands for the last few years already. She couldn't see any way that he could possibly finish the quilt in time for his granddaughter to bring her own daughter home from the hospital, as was the age old custom in his family.

Darla curled up in her corner and closed her eyes. Ernest was far too proud to ask for help, or to even take it if it were offered. She slept away a few fitful hours. When she opened her eyes again, all was quite in the humble house, but Ernest's lamp light still cast it's shadow across the floor of the next room and peeked into Darla's lair.




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