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HANNAH
Day three of my captivity. At least, I think it’s day three. I’ve eaten five meals. Slept a few times, but one of those was a nap because there’s nothing to do in my current prison.
I’m in a cave, and it’s impossible to tell how much time has gone by when there’s no daylight. No sound either, except for the ticking of my pocket watch.
Pitch blackness occupies my vision as I grasp my beloved watch. It’s hanging from the chain around my neck, and the shape and weight of it is familiar. When I hold it in my palm, a little comfort cuts through the fear and boredom I’m constantly plagued with.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I could see.
When I first woke up here, I felt well-rested. In a good mood, even. Then I opened my eyes, and I couldn’t see anything. I thought I’d gone blind overnight until I felt around and realized I was on a stack of blankets that was definitely not my bed. And instead of my hand landing on my nightstand, it was a cold rough surface. Like rock.
Within seconds of my panic setting in, I heard a match scrape. A fiery glow illuminated the jagged, reddish-brown walls of the space while a stranger lit a candle. When he stepped closer to me, the light was below his face at chest level, exaggerating his features with long shadows, reminding me of how my dad used to put a flashlight up to his chin while he told spooky stories around a campfire.
Then my captor smiled.
And although his incisors were a normal size, the light glinted off the extremely sharp points of his teeth.
He had actual fangs.
Before he could get a word out, I started screaming. I screamed so loud I hurt my own ears and made my throat raw.
We haven’t actually spoken yet.
He’s tried talking to me several times. Once about every few hours, he’ll ask me if I’m ready to discuss the situation. I just cover my ears and shout random, hysterical obscenities at him.
Instead of pushing the issue, he leaves me alone and gives me space.
What the fuck is that about? I don’t understand it.
Maybe he’s trying to get me to trust him just by doing nothing. I hate that it’s sort of working. Because yeah, I was terrified of him the first day. Then yesterday I was confused. Today I’m just curious and, quite frankly, pissed off.
I should probably ask him some questions, but the silent treatment is the only form of protest I have. I’m certainly not going to go on a hunger strike. I guess it’s probably dumb of me to eat what he offers, but I’ve never been able to skip a meal.
Hugging the rocky wall of the cave, I feel for evidence of a door.
This is what I always do when my captor is gone. I become familiar with my surroundings by touch. I look for a way out. And there must be one, because the guy comes and goes as he pleases.
So far, though, I haven’t found an exit. In the other “room” of the cavern, there’s a long vertical crack in the rock. It’s only about a centimeter wide, but a slight wind blows through it, so it has to lead somewhere. Maybe there’s a trick to getting it open, and I’m determined to figure it out.
As I head toward that crack, my heart pounds at the thought of getting caught snooping.
My kidnapper hasn’t tried to hurt me. Yet. But I know it’s just a matter of time. After all, decent men don’t abduct women with good intentions in mind.
What I can’t figure out is how I got here. I don’t remember being taken. I don’t frequent bars or parties, so I couldn’t have been drugged. Maybe I got hit over the head by my attacker, and I’m experiencing some brain trauma. Only, I’m not in pain. I’ve felt around on my body, and I’m not aware of any injuries.
A strong gust of wind suddenly ruffles my messy, unwashed hair, and I know what that means.
My kidnapper is back from his latest excursion.
Scurrying back to the pile of blankets, I burrow under the sleeping bag and pretend to be asleep as I hear the man shuffling around in the dark.
There’s a scrape of a match, then the dim glow of a small flame comes through the five-foot tunnel between the two rooms.
My heart pounds as I anticipate my captor’s appearance.
Soon, he’ll come through the walkway, ducking because of his height. He’ll be carrying a plate of food for me. Usually, it’s some kind of cooked meat and berries, which leads me to believe we’re in the wilderness because the menu has some serious hunter-gatherer vibes. The candle he carries will be planted in an old-fashioned holder.
Just like the first time I saw him, I won’t be able to tell what he looks like because of the shadows casted on his face. Aside from his sharp teeth, his eyes are his most striking feature. They’re so light they almost glow. And those eyes will look at me with a readable anticipation. As he slides the ceramic plate over to me, he’ll do it with an air of expectancy. Like he wants a thank you or something.
