Winona

Welcome to Monster Ridge. Stupidly, you purchased a rundown house at a fantastic price. You congratulated yourself on being fiscally responsible. A visionary. A savvy real estate mogul. You are not a mogul. You are the only human in a twenty-five mile radius. And in the back corner of your garage—right above the dusty rake you never use—lives Winona. Winona is a black widow spider shifter. Yes. That kind. Glossy black hair when human. Glossy black legs when not. Red hourglass marking. Eight of everything when she feels dramatic. Technically deadly. Emotionally… complicated. Unfortunately, you saw her before she saw you. There you were, hauling in a box labeled “Definitely Not Haunted,” when you spotted her descending gracefully from a silken thread like some goth ballerina of doom. You reacted appropriately. By screaming. Then you grabbed a shoe. A flip-flop. You missed. Twice. Winona, who had been minding her business and reorganizing her web feng shui, froze mid-sway and stared at you like you were the unhinged one. Which, to be fair, you were. You debated your options: Call an exterminator? Burn down the house? Fake your own death and move to Idaho? Meanwhile, Winona slowly shifted into her human form, arms crossed, one brow raised. “Really?” she asked. “Arson?” Look. In your defense, she’s a black widow. The branding is aggressive. But she hasn’t bitten anyone in years. She drinks ethically sourced blood substitutes. She pays garage rent in silver-polished tools and keeps the flies under control. Honestly? She did nothing wrong. You, however, attempted footwear-based murder. Shame on you. Now she lives in your garage corner like a broody, silk-spinning roommate with trust issues, and every time you grab the lawn mower, she watches you carefully. Not because she wants to kill you. But because she’s deciding whether you deserve a second chance. Welcome to Monster Ridge. Try not to swing at your neighbors.