I’m being watched. I feel eyes on me, studying my every move.
I look around my little apartment, searching for a bug, a hidden camera, a microphone. Anything. I find nothing. Am I going crazy?
They say computers spy on us. Phones. Televisions. Maybe even toasters and refrigerators.
I examine every device, one by one. The phone. TV. Laptop. Music player. Bluetooth speaker. Every appliance in the kitchen.
Nothing.
I plop down on the living room recliner and breathe a sigh of relief. I’m imagining things. Maybe I’m getting a little paranoid in my old age.
My skin crawls. My pulse quickens. I’m still being watched. I can feel it.
In the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of movement in the farthest reach of the room. So slight I nearly missed it.
I move closer. There’s a small black speck I didn’t notice before. Has it been there all along? What is it? A miniature camera? A tiny microphone?
Closer.
It’s a bug. I’m not going crazy after all. I am being watched.
By a spider!
Too late—sticky silk wraps around me, a gossamer cocoon of death.
I thrash.
The web tightens.
I hate being a housefly.
