Available Darkness Season 1

of the amber lights. She looked, in a word, undone. Her breasts were two small sacks without nipples. Her face wore the landscape of a nightmare, lacking eyes, ears, or even a mouth, constantly changing as bones, or something , shifted beneath the skin as if in a blind attempt at completing its form.
    The sound, the crunching of bones beneath the monster’s flesh, reached into Abigail’s gut and twisted like a blade.
    The thing moved slowly, its long skeletal fingers reaching out blindly to feel its way around the room as it stepped forward with trepidation. Its footfalls slapped like wet fish against the floor as it moved closer. As the creature’s fingers searched the room, now just three feet away, Abigail began shaking violently in her chair, trying to break free. She wasn’t sure what it would do to her if it touched her, and that made the creature all the more terrifying.
    “No, don’t let it touch me!” she cried out, pleading to Jacob who merely looked down at her, that ever-present smile on his face.
    “Please,” she said again, her voice almost choked in panic as she saw the thing step up just a foot behind her in the mirror, its fingers just inches from finding her in the darkness.
    “Please, Jacob!”
    Jacob held up a hand, almost casually, and the thing recoiled, its limbs flying over its unformed face like a scolded child, or misused animal. An unholy shriek filled the room, though the thing had no mouth. Abigail was certain the shrieking was not something she heard with her ears, but rather her mind.
    “Go!” Jacob commanded and the shrieking stopped instantly.
    The undone monstrosity retreated, its hands finding the doorway before leaving the room.
    Abigail was still shaking and shame flushed her face as she realized she had pissed herself.
    Jacob smiled.
    “Remember now,” he said, smiling. “No lies.”

    TO BE CONTINUED …

::EPISODE 2::
    CHAPTER 1 — Caleb Baldwin

    Caleb was hard pressed to remember a bigger bunch of fuck-ups than the local law enforcement he was currently saddled with.
    How could they blow a felony stop like that?
    After processing the crime scene with his team and deftly maneuvering through a media blitzkrieg, Caleb retreated to the rolling headquarters seeking relief from the throbbing headache cleaving his concentration to pieces. He sank back into his chair and reached into the inside pocket in his jacket and found his relief.
    Fuck.
    The pill bottle was empty and he’d have to wait until he got home to hit his stash. He lowered his head and unleashed a string of muttered curses, chastising himself for not planning. He prided himself on always being prepared.
    He stared at the reports canvassed across two open laptops on the table in front of him. He had already spent 20 minutes staring at them earlier, but it didn’t make the impossible any easier to swallow. Every eyewitness account read exactly like something from The X-Files . From the ’monster’ who had burned two people to near vapor, to the van that snatched the little girl and shot the cop, this case was quickly mounting to a massive clusterfuck.
    He called a buddy in Missing Persons and asked for help identifying and locating the seemingly kidnapped girl. Caleb had enough shit to deal with without having someone in a van kidnapping an already missing child.
    What the fuck is going on here?
    While information was coming in, it was all bullshit so far. It seemed almost as if fate were conspiring to make this case as difficult as possible. He was close to the killer, for the first time in years, and now the killer was on the run again.
    Weight on the carpet outside his office pulled Caleb’s attention to the doorway. Agent Garcia was standing in the doorstep. He’d been dealing with a half dozen reporters and looked visibly battered, broken, and maybe even burned from the glowing coals they’d spent the day raking him across.
    “The press are asking about the video, and they are demanding to speak to you.”
    “The video at the house?”
    Garcia shook his head and pointed towards the bank of television monitors just past Caleb’s laptops, a flashing mosaic of local and national news feeds. Caleb followed Garcia’s gaze. All but one of the channels was broadcasting varying frames from the same video; shaky footage starring the same leading man from the home video earlier. Only this time, he was bloodied and battered. The suspect was standing on top of his victim, hand fused to the man’s