John Worthing and his part in the Disneyland Abductions.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I tap the pen from side to side on the desk in front of me; it’s not a nervous disposition, but rather a tactic to instil a nervousness in the figure in front of me.

John Worthing eyes are large round dishes, the whites dissected with red veins. He watches the pen in my hand, and every so often his eyes flick up to mine. I stop the tapping as my colleague Ray enters the room and glides into the chair beside me. He passed a coffee to John who eyes it suspiciously while picking at the wires attached to his wrist. I press the remote in my hand.

The Mórrígan

“You’re too close,” Mary warned as the dirt under my hand started to slip.

“Just a little further,” I begged lightly, stretching my hand further into the hole. Mary pulled at the bottom of my shirt.

“Be careful, Sam. You might fall.”

A hint of a smile crossed my lips, “why? You scared?”