The Waterfall's Song
The Jōren Falls crash down into the pool below, sending up a mist that keeps the surrounding forest in a perpetual state of dampness. Here, where the water is loud enough to drown out screams, she makes her home.
The Jorōgumo sits on a rock by the pool. To the casual observer, she is a woman of breathtaking beauty. She wears a kimono of red and gold, silk as fine as spun glass. Her hair is piled high in an intricate style, held in place by tortoiseshell combs.
She holds a biwa, a Japanese lute. Her fingers, long and pale, dance over the strings. The music she plays is melancholic and hypnotic, weaving through the noise of the waterfall like a thread of silver.
But if you look closely—very closely—you might notice that her reflection in the water does not match the woman on the rock. The reflection shows eight legs. It shows mandibles.
The Weaver
She is not idle. While her hands play the music, her lower body—which is currently hidden beneath the folds of her kimono—is busy. She is spinning.
Silk flows from her spinnerets, stronger than steel wire and stickier than glue. She directs it with her mind, letting the wind carry the strands across the gorge. She is building a masterpiece of engineering. It is a web loud enough to catch a man.
She feels the vibrations of the forest through the silk. A dragonfly hits a strand. A bird brushes a guidewire. She ignores them. She is hunting bigger game.
The Traveler
A young samurai appears on the path. He is tired, his armor dusty from the road. The sound of the biwa draws him in. He partitions the brush and sees the woman by the water.
He stops, stunned by her beauty.
"My lady," he calls out. "You are far from the village."
She stops playing. She looks up, her eyes dark and inviting. She smiles. It is a shy, modest smile.
"I find peace here," she says. Her voice is like the music—soft, vibrating in his chest. "Would you join me? I have sake."
The samurai, enchanted, steps closer. He does not see the invisible threads stretching across the path.
The Bind
He takes another step. His boot touches a tripwire.
Zip.
The web activates. Strands of silk whip around his ankles, hoisting him into the air. He drops his sword. He hangs upside down, swaying over the rushing water.
"What sorcery is this?" he shouts, struggling. The more he fights, the tighter the silk binds him.
The woman stands. The kimono falls away. Her legs elongate, sprouting coarse black hair. Her torso expands, cracking the human skin to reveal the chitinous armor beneath. Her face splits open, revealing the chelicerae of a giant spider.
She scuttles up the web, moving with terrifying grace. She is no longer the demure musician. She is the Jorōgumo, the Binding Bride.
The Venom
She reaches him. He stares into her many eyes, paralyzed by horror.
"You liked my song?" she whispers, her voice now a chittering hiss. "Now you will be part of the instrument."
She bites him. It is a gentle nip on the neck. The venom flows. It is not a killing poison. It is a digestive enzyme that also induces a comatose state.
The samurai’s struggles cease. His eyes glaze over. He is still alive, but he is dreaming. He dreams of the beautiful woman and the biwa. He does not feel the silk wrapping him into a tight, white cocoon.
The Larder
She drags him up to her lair, a cavern behind the waterfall. It is filled with other cocoons, hanging from the ceiling like grotesque fruit. Some are old and dry. Others still shudder occasionally.
She hangs him up. He will keep for weeks.
Returning to her rock, she assumes the form of the woman once more. She picks up the biwa. She begins to play. The music drifts down the valley, sweet and sad, waiting for the next traveler to stop and listen.
