Me And The Spider Queen: Fantasy Thriller

By Alfred Bekker

Fog lay like gray cobwebs over London. Towards evening, it had drifted up from the banks of the Thames in thick clouds and spread over the entire city.

The fog crept through the streets and finally reached even the smallest alley and the last corner of this huge city.

It was already past midnight when the bus stopped at the lonely Pelton Street stop. The double-decker looked like a large dark shadow. With a hiss of the brakes, it stopped.

A single passenger got off.

James McGordon was in his mid-thirties, wearing a sporty leather jacket combined with jeans. In his hand he held a travel bag. Lucky, he thought. Just caught the last bus...

He had been on a two-week vacation in the Caribbean. When he had stepped off the plane, the notorious English weather had been the expected shock for him. By now he was pretty much frozen through. The damp chill that prevailed beneath the fog went right through one's marrow.

Back home, he thought sarcastically. But his vacation had come to an end, even though he could have easily taken another two weeks under the sun and palm trees.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfred Bekker
• Release date: Oct 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223689119

Alfred Bekker

Alfred Bekker wurde am 27.9.1964 in Borghorst (heute Steinfurt) geboren und wuchs in den münsterländischen Gemeinden Ladbergen und Lengerich auf. 1984 machte er Abitur, leistete danach Zivildienst auf der Pflegestation eines Altenheims und studierte an der Universität Osnabrück für das Lehramt an Grund- und Hauptschulen. Insgesamt 13 Jahre war er danach im Schuldienst tätig, bevor er sich ausschließlich der Schriftstellerei widmete. Schon als Student veröffentlichte Bekker zahlreiche Romane und Kurzgeschichten. Er war Mitautor zugkräftiger Romanserien wie Kommissar X, Jerry Cotton, Rhen Dhark, Bad Earth und Sternenfaust und schrieb eine Reihe von Kriminalromanen. Angeregt durch seine Tätigkeit als Lehrer wandte er sich schließlich auch dem Kinder- und Jugendbuch zu, wo er Buchserien wie 'Tatort Mittelalter', 'Da Vincis Fälle', 'Elbenkinder' und 'Die wilden Orks' entwickelte. Seine Fantasy-Romane um 'Das Reich der Elben', die 'DrachenErde-Saga' und die 'Gorian'-Trilogie machten ihn einem großen Publikum bekannt. Darüber hinaus schreibt er weiterhin Krimis und gemeinsam mit seiner Frau unter dem Pseudonym Conny Walden historische Romane. Einige Gruselromane für Teenager verfasste er unter dem Namen John Devlin. Für Krimis verwendete er auch das Pseudonym Neal Chadwick. Seine Romane erschienen u.a. bei Blanvalet, BVK, Goldmann, Lyx, Schneiderbuch, Arena, dtv, Ueberreuter und Bastei Lübbe und wurden in zahlreiche Sprachen übersetzt.

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Alfred Bekker

Me And The Spider Queen: Fantasy Thriller

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Me And The Spider Queen: Fantasy Thriller

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Me And The Spider Queen: Fantasy Thriller

Novel by Alfred Bekker

Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

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1

Fog lay like gray cobwebs over London. Towards evening, it had drifted up from the banks of the Thames in thick clouds and spread over the entire city.

The fog crept through the streets and finally reached even the smallest alley and the last corner of this huge city.

It was already past midnight when the bus stopped at the lonely Pelton Street stop. The double-decker looked like a large dark shadow. With a hiss of the brakes, it stopped.

A single passenger got off.

James McGordon was in his mid-thirties, wearing a sporty leather jacket combined with jeans. In his hand he held a travel bag. Lucky, he thought. Just caught the last bus...

He had been on a two-week vacation in the Caribbean. When he had stepped off the plane, the notorious English weather had been the expected shock for him. By now he was pretty much frozen through. The damp chill that prevailed beneath the fog went right through one's marrow.

Back home, he thought sarcastically. But his vacation had come to an end, even though he could have easily taken another two weeks under the sun and palm trees.

The bus started moving, groaning like a huge animal, and then turned the next corner.

McGordon took a deep breath. He slung his travel bag over his shoulder and rubbed his hands together. His loft apartment was about five minutes away.

He walked down the street with quick steps.

The diffuse light of the street lamps was strangely scattered by the dense fog, which gave the whole scenery a ghostly atmosphere. Cobwebs trembled on one of these lamps and somewhere in hiding sat an eight-legged huntress patiently waiting for prey.

The houses on both sides of the road rose as shadowy outlines. And somewhere between the vehicles parked closely at the side of the road, a black cat darted along in a flash...

For a split second McGordon saw the glow of her yellowish eyes, then she was gone. A fleeting shadow in the night...

McGordon flipped up the collar of his jacket. On the sidewalk of the sidewalk, he noticed some unusually large spiders dodging his sneakers with quick, frantic movements.

Damn beasts! The thought came as if automatically. He knew they were harmless, but still he felt like most people. He felt involuntarily disgusted by them.

And then he bristled.

He saw a figure in the mist.

After he had taken a few more steps, he could see her. A woman with dark hair and a very old-fashioned looking dress was standing there. Her gaze seemed to go nowhere. She seemed to be in a trance.

McGordon narrowed his eyes and gave her a brash look.

She turned her head. The look of her dark eyes met his. She smiled in a way that McGordon did not like.

Something is wrong with her, it went through McGordon's mind.

Then he felt something small, crawling on the back of his neck and immediately struck.

He looked up and saw a spider just lowering itself by its thread from a streetlight. McGordon hastily took a step to the side. Then he thought he couldn't believe his eyes. A veritable army of these little crawling monsters were now coming at him from all sides.

As if from nowhere, they had suddenly appeared. Their bodies densely covered the ground. With a quick movement, he brushed them off his jeans.

No, whispered.

This could not be true. They were everywhere. On his pocket, under his shirt collar, meanwhile also in his hair. And as if from nowhere, more of the eight-legged creatures seemed to be constantly streaming in.

Meanwhile, McGorden was thrashing about as if out of his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mysterious woman just standing there and watching.

And saw her smile...

The hungry flash of her dark eyes....

McGordon shuddered.

He felt something sticky on his hand and a moment later on his neck....

Cobwebs!

He tried to brush off the sticky stuff, but the thousands of spiders that by now covered his entire body were re-spinning it faster than McGordon could fight it off.

Desperately, he rowed his arms, trying to brush them off, but their number was just too great.

He wanted to take a step to the side and stumbled to the ground. Only now did he realize what had happened. His legs were wrapped in unusually strong cobwebs up to the level of his knees....

The last thing James McGordon saw was the smile of that mysterious woman from the mist....

2

Hello Linda! You don't even have to sit in your swivel chair!

The young man who greeted me in this way early in the morning was called Jimmy Broderick and, like me, was employed by the DAILY REPORT, a large English tabloid newspaper. He as a photographer, I as a reporter. We often formed a team.

Jimmy was blond, wearing washed-out jeans and a jacket whose lapels were quite creased by the cameras he used to wear around his neck and could probably never be restored to their original shape. With a casual gesture, he stroked back his slightly too long blond hair and grinned at me.

We're supposed to come to the boss, he said. Must be something pretty important...

I took a deep breath and picked up my handbag from the desk again. Then I followed Jimmy across the open-plan office that housed the DAILY REPORT editorial office until we stood in front of the door with a small sign that read MARCUS T. SAMUEL - CHIEF EDITOR.

Jimmy knocked as a precaution.

Come in, it growled from the other side.

We entered the office, where our sometimes somewhat choleric editor-in-chief was restlessly pacing back and forth.

In his hand he held a dictaphone.

Samuel was broad-shouldered and had his sleeves rolled up. His tie sat loose like a rope. He always made an overworked impression. His passion was the DAILY REPORT. He wanted to keep this paper exactly where he thought it should be: at the top. He put everything into it. He hardly seemed to know anything like a private life.

After all, I had been able to convince him in the meantime that I was a journalist who did a good job even if Samuel's strict standards were applied.

Samuel whirled around.

There you two are, he murmured. He didn't take the time to greet us. Do you know Pelton Street, Linda?

No, I replied truthfully.

"Then