The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Path of Least Resistance 
by Elaine Pascale 

The day she saw her name written in the cobweb was the day she learned she had chosen the wrong path.

The cobweb with her name hung at the juncture of two trails. One was smooth and flat. The sun peaked through lush leaves; there were no visible obstacles. The scent of honeysuckle beckoned. The other trail was tangled with vines, littered with rocks and stumps, and it reeked of mold and decay.

She, as always, chose the path of least resistance.

Her journey began with pleasing sights and sounds. Exotic flowers peered between sturdy trees. Brightly colored birds perched on branches, serenading her with wondrous songs.

I could follow this path forever, she thought. It’s effortless; it almost carries me along.

She continued forward, relinquishing thought to the unobtrusive path. She continued in this somnambulistic state until she reached a bend and saw what awaited her around the corner.

The trees at this end of the path were remarkably different. Gone were the birds and lush leaves. Nailed to each tree were body parts: brains, hearts, and eyes. Blood ran in rivulets down the maze-like pattern of cells in the outer bark, and pooled in between raised and gnarled roots.

As she moved closer, it appeared the dismembered eyes were watching her.

This is not at all what I expected, she confessed, I thought the path would continue as it had, forever.

Beyond the organ strewn trees there was another web, larger than before. She could make out the words “The End” spun into the threads. A large spider nestled above the letters.

While the spider could not speak, its voice filled her head. “These are the terminal trees because they mark the end of the path. When travelers arrive here, they make an offering of three things. They offer their brains because they never had much use for them.”

The spider crawled further on the web, viewing the trees with its eight ruby eyes. “They offer their hearts because they never heeded them. And their eyes because they only sought shadows, viewing each counterfeit convention as real.”

“They experience being scrambled, forever.” The spider shook its cephalothorax. “What a terrible outcome, to be unendingly trying to reunite your parts.”  The spider fixed its eyes on her. “You, traveler, the path you didn’t choose…once you get past the strife, it leads to eternity.”

She asked, anticipating the answer would be horrific. “And this path, what is my conclusion here?”

The spider pointed a leg toward bare bark. “To your tree.”

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Fiction © Copyright Elaine Pascale
Image courtesy of Pixaby.com

More from Elaine Pascale:

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