Skinner eyes her through the darkness.
Her trembling, nearly shattered existence. Her still baby-like face, her big brown, tear-filled eyes, her smooth hands, one of them holding a knife. How delicious she looks. How tasty. How inviting. His little kitten. He wants to sing to her. Ring around the Rosie . . .
But for now, he simply wants to watch her from inside the hole in the wall. The darkness is his friend, his ally, his camouflage. When the time is right, he will use the darkness to his advantage and spring himself on her. He will take her back to his home in the ground and then he will have all his little kittens to himself. He will watch them dance together.
Their faces will become his own.
