There are tales in every small town about that one house. The one house no one will go near. The one house parents use to scare their misbehaving children back into line with. The one house no one remembers how it came to be such an urban legend, but they know it always has been.

The stories are always so outlandish. “Home to a witch,” they say. Or a portal to another world. Disappearances are always attributed to it, but deep down no one really believes. Except the truth about this house is far more unbelievable.

The summers around here are notorious for the insect plagues they bring about. Most people have come to accept darting between locations to avoid the clouds of mosquitoes that hound the streets, and every home is near tented in netting. Still, no matter how well covered, something always gets inside. After years of lost summer nights in hiding, I was ready to do anything.

It was a simple deal, though the circumstances were far from. On one hot July night, I found myself in the basement, desperate to hide from the swarms and eager to sleep. Strangely it was one of the few places I could find respite. Like most underused basements, it held mostly boxes, covered in a litany of cobwebs, and in the centre of the largest one a lone spider.

The little critter was unassuming in and of itself, but as I surveyed the intricate web it lay on I couldn't help but be impressed by the number of catches it held. Dozens of tiny, silken cocoons littered the surface, some of them clearly bigger prey than mosquitoes.

“If only you could do such a good job upstairs,” I said turning to look at the door. Looking back at the room's protectorate, I gasped. In the middle of the web, a solid question mark had been knitted.

I looked closer.

The creature tapped against the mark. “I must be losing it,” I said.

Again it tapped, both front legs this time.

“You can understand me?” The very idea was ludicrous, and yet.

The spider reared back, emitting a loud chittering sound.

“Are you saying you can help me?” I said, looking deep into its cluster of eyes. It brought its two front legs together and reached out toward me. I raised my hand, palm open, and it stepped forward.

Carefully cradling it, I moved up the stairs and opened the door. The last rays of golden light were fading, along with the soft buzzing of the day's attackers. I placed my hand near the wall allowing the spider to walk off. It made for the corner near the ceiling and began to weave a small web. Tired, and with a heavy suspicion I may finally have cracked, I turned for the bedroom. I looked once more at the corner before closing the door – the spider still busily working.

When I woke, the familiar sound of insects greeted me. With a groan, I stood and laughed at the absurdity of what I'd left the night before. However, when I opened the door, I found myself questioning far more. Across the living room window, a giant web diffused the morning sun, and covering its surface were hundreds of silk-wrapped insects. And resting at the centre, the singular spider, somewhat larger than when I'd left it.

I approached the magnificent structure, carefully examining the array of catches. Some were clearly larger insects – bees, wasps, even a few moths, the shape of their wings carefully preserved.

“You did this?” I posed to the spider. It pulled a leg up, gesturing across the vast net. “Well let's make a deal. If you can keep the pests at bay you can have you fill up here.”

It skittered over the web to where I stood, raised onto its rear legs, and then sunk its teeth into the large prey it hovered over. I took that as an agreement and left it be.

Over the next few days, the web spread. A gargantuan mass that moved through the house from one room to the next. It remained above head height so I was able to move unhindered. The other, smaller creatures had no such mercy. Each day more and more husks filled the space, and the cacophony that once held me hostage faded. Sleep returned, and I grew to accept the situation. Even outside, there seemed to be few insects, almost seeming to keep their distance now.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as summer drew to a close. The spider continued to grow, now almost the size of a fist, its legs thicker and longer. As the nights drew in the season's bugs dwindled, and so did the blanket of the dead across the web. I had expected the autumn would also bring an end to my guardian, as the colder autumn weather is want to do.

On a particularly wet afternoon, I found myself wandering the house inspecting the now largely empty web. The spider was uncharacteristically absent, and I wondered if it had found somewhere quiet to spend its final moments. Taking up a broom I ventured into the living room, intending to finally clear the silken curtain and reclaim my space. As I began to sweep it away, a high-pitched screech pierced my ears. I spun toward the sound – a darkened corner at the far end of the room. Edging closer I dropped the broom as I lay my eyes on the source.

Partially ensconced in web, a large, brown rat squirmed back and forth. Atop it, fangs buried deep, the spider. I could only watch in horror as it drained the creature, the squeals becoming little more than whimpers and then silence. When it had finished, the now cat-sized arachnid bolted up the web that hung across the room and back to the centre. I scrambled for the broom, eyes locked on the skittering sentinel. Feeling around for the handle, my hand landed on something soft. Pulling it towards me I snapped my eyes to find another partially encased rat, little more than a husk. I threw it, instinctually scurrying back towards the door, falling into the hallway beyond. I launched for the handle, pulling the door shut with a death grip. A piercing sound broke from behind it followed by several hammering clacks.

I broke my hold, edging away. More thuds followed. The cheap wooden barricade shook with each blow. Further and further I retreated, each hit bolting through me. Then a crack, and a final, shattering bang, and it was through. I froze in place, staring down its dozen, unblinking eyes. At my first twitch, it darted for the walls, its thick, hairy legs propelling it up and onto the ceiling. Its pace outmatched my own and it was at the front door before I'd managed a few steps. From its perch above it released a torrent of thick silk, covering the handle and sealing the exit.

I spun, searching for another option but each attempt at escape was met with a deafening cry and a hasty block. I fell to the floor, backing into a corner and huddling into a tight ball. It dropped down, stalking forwards with a methodical, predatory tap of its legs.

The strands were warm, each one falling with a gentle grace. It didn't take long before my legs were bound, then my entire lower half blanketed and fixed to the surroundings. Content I could no longer move the creature returned to its nest. A few moments past then it emerged, dragging with it one of the lesser consumed rodents. It rolled the mostly eviscerated lump towards my face, let out a low grumble and backed once more to its sanctum.

And so it has been, this cycle continues. Every few days I am gifted with a fresh kill. First more rats, birds, but as time went on the meals grew. Kittens, cats, dogs. The webs have spread, inside and out. The light that once flooded the building now a dull glow. And the creature itself continues to grow.

I hear them outside - the children - telling tall tales of what happens inside the Cobweb House.

I prey they never get too close.