Two: Encounter

  Finding mystery food outside his door became a part of Peter's daily routine. The morning after he first received the chicken pasta, he made sure to wash the dish it arrived in, leaving a note on it that said:

  "Thank you so much for the pasta. You have no idea how much it meant to me last night."

  Peter made sure to leave the platter as he found it outside his door that night before heading to work again. After another long day of work, he found the platter full again, covered with saran wrap, with another crisp note set atop. He'd checked the halls to see if the person who'd left the platter was still lingering, but it appeared no one else was around. "Anytime ;)" the sticky note read. 

  That night it was homemade rice and beef curry. And the next was pancakes and bacon. Every night was something new and delicious, and each time Peter would leave a note trying to find something out about his mystery cook or thanking them only to receive some one-worded ambiguous answer in return.

  It became such a routine that Peter began to feel guilty. Then, the day came that he needed to do laundry. The apartment building had a shoddy laundromat complete with a few cheap washing machines and dryers. He learned that certain newer types of detergent literally broke the machines, so he'd have to bring older branded detergent that didn't smell like old woman. What made things worse was that the laundry room almost always smelled of mildew.

  He'd done laundry a couple of times there, but this time, he had to leave his laundry unattended for a few hours when he received news of an incident several blocks away. 

  Upon arriving at the scene in his suit, several cars were flattened or flipped over with no passengers inside. Several buildings lining the streets were missing chunks or sections with thick claw marks running through them. The ground beneath Peter quaked in sync with a series of crashes down the street. Pedestrians flooded past him in a panicked frenzy. The skies turned blood red.

"What the..." he muttered beneath his mask. 

  What he saw looked like something straight out of a horror movie. A freakishly tall humanoid creature of the night bent over with long black arms pulled at the top of a taxi. Charcoal pooled off the creature onto the pavement while shadows billowed off its back. It looked near transparent in the daylight. The creature paused its motion then suddenly turned, eerie crimson glowing eyes met Peter's chocolate hues. 

  Peter could feel sweat collecting on his brow. Trembling, he took one step back. It was as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs. He couldn't move. It took one long step in his direction. Move. Move. Move. Another step. Move. Move. MOVE.

  With a gasp of fresh air, Peter rolled out of the way as the shadowy creature came charging in his direction, just narrowly missing a swipe from its intimidatingly long dark claws. He let out a quick puff of air, but his relief was short-lived. It once again rampaged after him. He took to the air with a shot of webbing, swinging around the night being and shot webbing at it, just barely missing his shot. 

  "Shit," he breathed out, taking a long swing to a building on the opposite side of the street. The creature launched itself after him, its claws digging into the siding of the building. It parted its jaws unbelievably wide and let out a shrill screech. Peter yelped, just narrowly missing his shot at another building. He lost his stability and plummeted to the street.

  He groaned, his back crying out in pain at the sharp rubble he'd managed to land himself in. But there was no time for recovery. Scrambling to his feet, the boy once again made a last-ditch effort to shoot webbing at the creature, barely managing to dodge another swipe. He gawked. It should have hit. Why didn't it hit?? Another shriek resounded through the barren streets. 

  It pounced on him, trapping him between its arms. Pounding a hefty claw against his chest, it seemed as though he'd lost an escape. Its claws dug in, eliciting a cry from the boy. The creature snarled and reared its shadowy head back. With quickening breaths, Peter braced himself for the worst.

  It roared just inches from his face, black pooling from its gaping mouth onto Peter's cheeks. In a last attempt to escape, he desperately tried to pry its heavy arm from his chest, and just as he touched the creature, it grew more transparent in the spot he touched and then spread to the entirety of the rest of it. One last howl echoed through the streets. The creature became vapor, freeing a shaken Spider-Man.

  With jelly legs, he collected himself and stood. No black substance was left behind. What he thought would've left punctures in his chest had all but vanished. The sky was clear as the sun set, the only remnants of any evidence of the creature having existed lay in the clawed up buildings and trashed vehicles and rubble. 

  Nothing else appeared to be out of the ordinary. No other attacks and no one seemed to be in need of help. Nothing left to do. So Spider-Man disappeared into the alleyway he left his bag in and went home as Peter. Then, he remembered his ditched load of laundry. It probably smelled of mildew by now. Just how much time had passed since he left? 

  When he got back, Peter was shocked to find his laundry dried and neatly folded in his laundry basket, a single sticky note left atop the pile of clothes with a smiley face drawn on it.