Eileen could not move; she could not scream. For all her efforts she only managed to squirm and dart her eyes around a room that was either cramped and poorly lit, or infinite in its darkness. A swaying figure lurched into view, a staid smile of welcome on a long, gray face.

In answer to her unasked question, he said calmly, “You are here because I need something of you, regretably.” He made a slight bow then proceeded out of her line of sight to the left. Something metallic clanged and jangled.

He swung back into view, “I should tell you not to worry, but I know you will. I would like to tell you it won’t hurt, but it will.” Again he slipped from her vision, more a shadow than a man. She prayed silently that the whole mess might be a fever dream, the effect of having stayed out too late on the bayou with the Jenkins boy.

Something pinched tentatively at her arm, and the man’s solemn voice came, “Should I apologize? Does that help? I never can tell. Perhaps best to just get on with it, hmm?”