Beginnings - "And the Darkness Laughed."

The thick leather dog collar tugged at Joe’s throat as he pulled and lunged against the four feet of heavy steel cable attaching the black collar around his neck to the water stained concrete wall of the basement in which he was imprisoned. A glimmer of dusty yellow sunlight filtered through a small dirty window, the size of a loaf of bread. The window was pressed into an upper corner within inches of the unfinished ceiling. The bare wooden beams, covered in dust and cobwebs, ran the entire length of the room. The Whisperer was upstairs. Joe could hear him shuffle back and forth across the floor above, the Whisperer’s weight causing the floorboards to creak and groan. The dust cascaded down from the open ribs of the house and coated Joe’s head and arms. Joe stifled the urge to vomit as he choked on the greasy rag which had been used as a gag.
"How are we this morning?" His quiet voice sent chills up Joe’s spine. Joe spun around, which caused his head to be jerked back toward the wall. He gagged and then chocked uncontrollably. Low laughter came from the doorway. Joe straightened up and faced the voice.
"Did we sleep well?" The Whisperer hissed.
Joe struggled to see him in the shadows.
"Look out the window! Don’t you think that it’s a beautiful day to die?"
Joe swore bitterly through the greasy rags and again, defiantly, tugged at the restraints. He pulled at the bindings of cord which pinned his hands helplessly together behind his back. The Whisperer chuckled again as he watched Joe twist and jerk. He was unbothered by Joe’s flailing. The effort was futile. Joe would be dead before dark. He turned and walked from the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a click, a very quiet click.