For a group that officially did not exist, the Black Spider Society had a certain reputation, and in the months she’d spent investigating them, Sara Archer had become convinced that the idle small-town gossip and vague hints about their existence were but the trailing edges of an extensive and sinister web of corruption that ran through Pleasantville, of a network of graft and collusion and patronage strangling the life from the town.

They did not openly proclaim themselves, of course. No meetings could be seen scheduled at the local community centre, no recruitment fliers were posted on the lampposts along Main Street, and any attempts by the journalist to obtain a formal list of membership were met with professions of ignorance that such a group even existed. Obtaining any information had been a torturous affair, but finally, after many months of long nights and dead ends, she’d received a break; an anonymous tip about a meeting of the Black Spiders being hosted in the overgrown ruin of Castle Cairnwatch. She’d dressed appropriately for a quiet infiltration, her lithe figure clad in a functional black shirt and pants, her soft-soled flat boots stepping through the ancient breach in the fortress walls without making a sound, her black leather jacket keeping the worst of the autumn night’s chill at bay while her boyishly-short strawberry blonde hair lay hidden beneath a black wool cap. Within minutes, she caught the first glimpse of torchlight radiating out into the night sky from one of the castle’s courtyards, accompanied by a low, sinister chant that set her teeth on edge. Quickly, she took the steps up to the closest set of ramparts, camera in hand, sharp green eyes observing down upon the two score robed figures from behind a nearby crenellation.

There was Mayor Foxworth, of course, leading the procession with his wife and Judge Fargo following close behind. Father McMullin had likewise abandoned his priestly vestments for red robes decorated with a black spider emblem, walking alongside Kevin Corden, editor of the Pleasantville Gazette and her boss, the man who’d scorned her investigation time and again. Selectmen and the leaders of neighbourhood watches and PTA groups and local businessmen and police officers; the cream of Pleasantville society had gathered beneath the banner of the Black Spider Society, and Sara forced herself to remain calm, quickly taking snapshots of the gathering even as her heart pounded in her chest from fear.

For at the centre of the courtyard, a young, dark-haired woman had been strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross, naked figure straining helplessly against the leather straps holding her fast at the wrists and ankles, her terrified screams left muffled by the leather panel gag she wore and drowned out by the sinister dirge. Unfamiliar symbols had been painted on her pale flesh with what she could only hope was red dye, and Sara felt her blood freeze in her veins as the head of the procession snaked its way over to her, a long dagger suddenly emerging in the Mayor’s hands. “Accept this sacrifice, oh Goddess of Spiders!” he boomed, raising the blade so the moonlight reflected off the cold steel. “Feed deep of her blood and soul, so that our town might continue to prosper in your name!”

In answer, the young woman thrashed about in terror, blue eyes wide as saucers at the blade’s approach. Sara felt her cellphone tumble from her nerveless fingers, the nearest cultists turning towards her hiding place at the sound, and from both ends of the rampart, more of their number closed in around her. She’d been right after all; the truth was far more sinister than she ever imagined…