“—the table, and I saw a lady standing there. She had pretty shoes, but then I saw it—spiders! They were crawling all over her feet and up her dress!”

I blinked, unsure whether to laugh at the vivid imagination of a 4-year-old or to feel uneasy at his earnestness. “Spiders, really? Are you sure they weren’t just shadows?”

Ben shook his head vehemently. “No, Mommy. They were real. Moving like this!” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis, a frown of concern creasing his small forehead.

I glanced around the room, where guests sipped their drinks and murmured in hushed voices about my father-in-law’s storied life. Could Ben have mistaken some intricate lace for spiders? The thought was plausible. As curious as I was, I didn’t want to cause a scene.

“Okay, Ben,” I said, trying to maintain a light tone, “thank you for telling me. But remember, we have to be good and stay close.”

He nodded solemnly and snuggled into me, momentarily subdued. But part of me couldn’t dismiss his story. If nothing else, it served as a reminder of how perceptive children can be to things adults overlook or dismiss.

As the afternoon wore on, I couldn’t shake the image Ben had painted. Eventually, Arthur joined us, looking perplexed about our hushed conversation. I relayed Ben’s story to him, expecting a chuckle or a rational explanation.

Instead, Arthur went pale. “You’re sure about what he saw?”

I nodded, surprised at his reaction. “I mean, he’s four. Imagination is his currency. But why…?”

Arthur leaned closer, lowering his voice. “My father was a superstitious man. He always told this family legend, or rather a curse, about an old business deal gone wrong. He claimed that those involved used to see spiders as an omen of bad luck.”

My mind raced. Could Ben’s vision be tied to some old tale his grandfather had shared with him? Perhaps my father-in-law’s superstitions had seeped into our son’s subconscious. Or maybe, just maybe, he had seen something more than a figment of imagination.

An eerie chill settled over me. The idea of a family curse or the possibility of Ben having seen something unexplained weighed heavily as the event drew to a close.

As guests started to leave, Arthur and I exchanged glances. We both recognized a need to investigate further, not just for Ben’s sake but for our peace of mind. My husband’s family had more stories buried in their past than I’d ever realized, and perhaps it was time to unearth them.

That evening, after we returned home and tucked Ben into bed, Arthur and I sat with a box of old letters and photographs from his father’s estate. We sifted through fragments of history, looking for clues, for explanations, for truth or myth.

In the days that followed, we would come to realize how deeply stories and perceptions shape our realities, even those seen through the innocent eyes of a child. Whether Ben truly saw something or not, his simple observation opened a door to family secrets that would reshape our understanding of the past and its shadows lingering in the present.