Available Darkness Season 1

prisoner by the men who stole her. She had only seconds to stew in the alternatives before she heard the sound of keys jingle against the other side of the door.
    The lock clicked and the door swung open.
    A tall bald man wearing all black materialized in the reflection. He appeared to be in his late 40’s, but truth is always more difficult in the dark. His face harbored no color and his cheeks were sunken. Two black pits bounced against the mirror toward Abigail from the grey pools sunken in the man’s face. He smiled, perhaps the creepiest smile she’d ever seen — even worse than Randy’s. He made her think of a drawing of a scarecrow she once saw in a book.
    The man in black disappeared from the doorway for a moment before Abigail heard a long, drawn out scraping sound coming up the hall.
    Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape…
    What the?
    She watched the mirror, her heart beating loud enough to echo as she tried to imagine the source of the din.
    Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape…
    The man reappeared, dragging a heavy looking black wood chair slowly and deliberately behind him, his eyes never leaving her reflection; the crooked smile never leaving his face.
    Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaape…
    “Hello,” he said, his voice so smooth it was almost soothing, which only added to its menace.
    The scraping grew louder as he circled her with the chair before coming to rest just a few feet in front of her. He yanked the chair up, surprisingly quick and Abigail flinched. His smile widened.
    He then slammed the chair down with a thunderous crack which echoed off the walls. The chair’s back faced her. The man sat down, his legs straddling the seat back, arms draped almost lazily off the back of the chair, his fingers dangling just inches from her chest.
    “Cat got your tongue?” he asked, “I said, hello.”
    “Hello,” she whimpered, her bravery evaporated.
    Abigail’s heartbeat seemed to harbor the decibels of thunder in the confinement of such narrow space. Somehow, the man not only seemed to notice her quickened pulse, but appeared to take great pleasure in her obvious fear.
    “And what is your name, sweetie?”
    She saw no sense in lying, so told him in a scared whisper. He extended his fingers, gesturing a hand shake before pulling them back, as if he had absentmindedly forgotten that she was bound.
    “My name is Jacob,” he said, “and I’d like to ask you some questions about the man you were with.”
    Abigail hesitated then asked, “What man?”
    Jacob ― if that was indeed his name — cocked his head to the side. The same smile that had haunted his face a moment before returned, though wider and this time more terrifying.
    “Listen, Abigail, I am going to ask you some questions and I’d really hate to be you if you lie.”
    She stared at him, silent. She wasn’t trying to be defiant, but rather trying to buy time while she considered how she’d answer questions about her angel.
    Jacob leaned in to Abigail until his fingers were a mere inch from her face. A blue spark shot from his skin to hers and she jumped back with a squeal.
    Is he the same as John?
    She tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. She imagined his hands seizing her and burning her alive.
    He pulled his hand back, tilted his head slightly, and furrowed his brow.
    “Oh, I’m quite sorry,” he said, wearing sincerity like an ornament, “I really didn’t mean to do that.”
    He stood up, then faced away from her and into the mirror, where his eyes met Abigail’s in an embrace she couldn’t break.
    “You see, sometimes I forget…” he trailed off for a moment, lost in thought, “I certainly don’t wish you any harm. You are only a child, after all. A poor, innocent child caught up in something far beyond her understanding.”
    The sincerity on his face seemed to deepen alongside Abigail’s confusion. She began to wonder if maybe this man could help John. Perhaps the two of them were friends, part of some secret group of whatever they were?
    “Unfortunately,” Jacob said, still staring in the mirror, “my ugly lovelies don’t share my compunctions about children.”
    A sound snapped the unsteady quiet behind her and Abigail watched in horror as something unthinkable writhed through the doorway; something so wretched it devoured the image of the deputy being shot in the head.
    An almost skeletal woman entered the room, nude and hairless, her skin almost featureless, save for a nearly translucent membrane that glistened in the glow