Sleep like the dead

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It always began in the dark. Not the crepuscular velvet blue of romantic nights but the sort of total blackness one would find deep underground – a coal-black cleft where one wrong move might mean stepping out into a bottomless void.

Darkness heightened every other sense, even the rank smell of fear prickling skin that was already damp and chill. And there was something else; something foul and rank as though some dead creature was buried underfoot.

The sound of a heartbeat hammering within a tightening chest was the only sign of life until… until that voice called out, soft and heavy within the thick blackness.

Then a sigh, relief that he had come again. That it would soon be over. Knowing he was here was better than the anticipation that had made this feverish sweat trickle down between thin shoulder blades.

Knowing he was here made what was to happen next inevitable.

The fingertips touched an unresisting throat, moving slowly in a mock caress. Then a pause, as though to consider the next move. But it was only the hesitation of a cat toying with its prey.

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