Nimble digits completed the act. The victim was trundled up and preserved for what was to come. Wrapped up in the webs of woe. For the prey. Not for the spider. This was her life. Her reason to be. 

Miss Peckinstaff gazed out her parlor window at the dim courtyard behind her brownstone residence on the Lower Eastside. It was delightful to watch the arachnid complete the chore under the arbor's wisteria vines.

Then, she turned and strolled casually into her bedroom. She began the ritual. Soon the remains were bundled up. Finally placed in the closet. Trick or treat?