How would you end this story?

Here's the beginning of the story the Anchorite gave me, and my ending (in bold):

Initiation

        The others always told me that the first time would be so special and make me like them. I always felt like I was missing out, but now all I can think of are the nerves, the sweat, the writhing, and feeling so sick afterward. It wasn't anything like they told me, it was neither accomplishment nor triumph, so here I am curled up trying to forget the whole horrible experience.

        But that's just my upbringing, my guilt complex, all the childish things I've put aside. Tomorrow I'll feel better. Maybe I feel better already.

I think--I think I like killing.

How would you end this story?

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Story: Fear of Spiders, a Stolen Ring, and a Sinister Stranger

Fear of spiders, a ring and a sinister stranger ... how bad can things get?

My writing prompt was to write a short story based on three elements: fear of spiders, a stolen ring and a sinister stranger. I tried to make it as unexpected as possible

Fear of Spiders

I don't know how it got here and it's not my fault, the nasty hard, harsh, glaring thing--round, cold and not delicious at all. I almost broke a stinger on it. I didn't take it. I don't deserve for the monster to come for me, but it's coming, it's coming, so ugly, so pale, with curling tendrils on its head the same color as this inedible ring, and only four appendages rather than eight glorious ones like mine. It lumbers toward me, dressed in pale polka dots and lace and carrying a small version of itself.

Now its shadow falls across my web.

I'm sorry I stole your ring.

I am so afraid.

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