Blackwater Islands silver spoons

There was water dripping somewhere.
Drip drip drip. . .
It filled his head.

Mmmn, the corpse-man moaned, dragged his palm across the rocks beneath his body. Crooked; he was crooked, everywhere. How many legs? He watches a spider crawling up the wall and thinks, I cannot escape.
Tap tap tap tap . . .
The spider loses grip, falls, scuttles to shadow before his one pinpoint-pupil can find it again. Was it ever there?

The dripping is acute now. It gets loud, and then it stops. He stares at the wall, and if he were to move his eye the slightest, he would see the shadow in the hall outside.