Ben continued, his eyes wide with the earnestness that only a child possesses. “I crawled under the table, and I saw the lady’s shoes first. Then, I looked up and saw her dress moving.

It wasn’t the wind, Mommy. It was spiders, lots of them, crawling all over.” His voice trembled slightly, as if the memory itself was enough to frighten him anew. I blinked, trying to make sense of his words.

Spiders? Under a dress at a funeral? It had to be a child’s overactive imagination, I reasoned.

Still, an unsettling chill ran down my spine. I glanced around the room, scanning the guests. Everyone seemed absorbed in their own conversations, none showing signs of distress or discomfort.

“Are you sure, Ben?” I asked, my voice inadvertently taking on a more serious tone. “It might have just been a trick of the light, darling.”

Ben shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “No, Mommy.

I saw them. They were big and hairy.”

Arthur looked over at us, sensing my tension. “What’s going on?” he asked, a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Ben thinks he saw something strange under one of the tables,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, though I could hear the quiver in my own voice. Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Strange?

What did you see, buddy?”

“Spiders,” Ben repeated, more firmly this time. Arthur and I exchanged a glance. “It’s probably nothing,” he murmured, but the unease in his eyes mirrored my own.

We tried to move past it, but Ben’s words lingered like a shadow in my mind. After the reception, the drive home was quiet; the events of the day weighed heavily on us. Ben dozed off in his car seat, his little face peaceful despite the oddity he’d witnessed.

The following days were a whirlwind of settling affairs and comforting family members. Yet, Ben’s tale of the spiders refused to fade. It gnawed at the corner of my thoughts, an itch that wouldn’t go away.

A week later, as I was sorting through old family photos with Arthur, we stumbled upon a picture of his father with a woman we didn’t recognize. She was smiling, her eyes hidden behind large sunglasses, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Across her lap was a long, flowing dress.

“That’s strange,” Arthur muttered, frowning. “I don’t remember her.”

I moved closer to study the photo. Something about the woman’s expression sent a shiver through me.