Night Games

NIGHT GAMES

Jim felt that he was suffocating. What the hell! was his first thought as he groggily regained awareness. His head was encased in a covering and he couldn't see, couldn't breathe.

Reaching to remove it, he felt his hands restrained as corded knots bit into his wrists. Awareness came as realized that he was naked as well.

Calming his panicky breathing, he thought he heard a sound. "Hello?"

"Awake are we?"

The new voice startled him. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Why am I..."

"You're in no position to ask questions!" Her voice, it's female, was calm and measured.

Suddenly, he remembered. At the bar – the young lady I'd been hitting on ... Samantha? Sarah?

Images flashed through his mind. Her smile, dark hair, laughing eyes ... walking with her. She had invited him back to her place. He remembered crossing a street, the apartment, pouring wine ... He moved his head as if it would shake the memories loose. Nothing more came.

He felt her hands move up his chest and loosen the covering; the soft fabric moved over his face and he could see again. The room was dark – still night, he judged, by the pale light coming from outside. An "old" smell – part stale air, part rotting fabric - came to him as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.

"You said you like games," the soft sibilant voice came from the darkness. "I know a game." He felt himself involuntarily start toward arousal.

Her face took form as she moved closer – not the youthful face he had recalled, but a grotesque visage. A trick of the light? flashed through his mind as he tried to recoil but the bindings held.

He saw her lips curl back, revealing gleaming incisors. Her fetid breath gagged him as she lowered her mouth ... and he screamed.



Notes:
An entry for the 1/07/11 round of "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"  [13+]
Prompt: Write a story that includes the words: crossing, night, trick
Word Count: 300

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Please, as long as you're here, leave a comment. Criticisms, thoughts, reactions, yes – even praise – are all equally welcome

Ken