The sky was alive with flak and fire. The Chem-Dogs had been on planet only a few hours and they'd been tossed head first against the Tyranid splinter fleet that threatened this mudball called Orico. Captain Serevin Corr hustled through the trench, his men behind him as he barked orders.

"Covik! Take your squad, man those autocannon emplacements!" he shouted as he ran. "Bring down those bug bastards!" Seamlessly a unit peeled off of the group and took up position. The trench network was alive with guardsmen of the Orico Planertary Defense Force, many of them young kids and all of them scared out of their minds. Corr shoved a screaming boy aside and pointed at the bunker he'd been come out of.

"Papa! Secure the bunker! Get missile teams in there and take out the big ones!" he shouted. Papa strode out of the group and ducked into the bunker as Corr led them away. It smelled like a lower hive public restroom and a dozen eyes looked up at him. One of the kids stood and saluted.

"S-sir, we jus-" Papa raised his hand and the kid shut up.

"Don't call me, sir." he said, his voice cutting through the din of combat like a bone-saw through a femur. The PDF troops looked lost and Papa sighed and rolled his eyes. "You been through training?" he asked.

"Y-yes si-" Papa eyed him and the trooper swallowed the honorific. "Yes. W-we have." Papa pointed a finger at the lasguns resting against the bunker wall.

"Those work?"

The trooper nodded. Papa smiled and stepped closer to the terrified boy. Then his face twisted into a visage of pure rage.

"Then pick them up, get to that firing lip and start shooting!" he barked. The troopers jumped and scrambled for their weapons as if the Emperor himself had given them an order. "Move it! Move it! Those 'Nids won't rid the galaxy of themselves!"

Suddenly, from the firing slit came a feral scream. The troopers froze in place, the sound chilling them to the core. Papa turned and locked eyes with a snarling, drooling Tyranidas it slashed at the flak board firing slit with his talons until it managed to squeeze through and enter the bunker. Papa sneered and looked sidelong at the trooper. He was unsurprised to find them paralyzed with pants-filling fear.

He took off his helmet and handed it to one of the kids and then followed it with his lasgun.

"Hold this you worthless slime." he spat as he reached behind his back and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his blade. He drew the long jungle knife out slowly and took a few steps toward the hormagaunt. Beady red eyes set in pallid blue flesh locked onto Papa and ropey drool spilled from its open mouth.

"C'mon you ugly bastard. I have more to kill than just you tonight, don't think yourself special." he muttered as he held up the knife. The hormagaunt raised its talons and lunged forward. The PDF troopers squealed and backed against the bunker wall as Papa stepped aside. The gaunt lunged past him, its focus shifted to the terrified troopers. Papa lashed out with his free hand and dug his fingers under the purple chitin just behind the gaunt's neck and stopped it just short of eviscerating the troopers. He pulled with all his might and lifted the gaunt off its feet and threw it to the dirt.. Before it could react he slammed his knife down between its ribs with all his strength. Chitin crunched and thick red blood spilled from the wound as vital organ were sliced apart. The gaunt's feral growling became a pathetic whimper as its movement became sluggish. Then, as quickly as it began, the gaunt went slack, its tongue lolling out of its slack jaw. Papa stood up straight and wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. He turned to the PDF troops who were huddled together in shock. He moved over to them and took his lasgun and helmet back.

"What're you waiting for?! Get to that firing lip before another climbs in here!"

Orico was supposedly beautiful once. But since he'd set foot on it , Corr had seen nothing but landscape spoiled by Tyranids, combat, and a lot of death. The rolling fields at the edge of Cardis, the capital city, had been pocked by artillery fire, spore mine explosions and countless dead. The battle in this region was nearly over, and the Chem-Dogs had come out of it surprisingly well. Of the two thousand Dogs that made planet fall, almost seventeen hundred were still upwardly mobile and only a few dozen had needed cleaning off the walls. Corr stood on a 'differently procured' PDF Salamander as it drove over the mounds of dead Tyranids. Chitin crunched under the treads and Corr smiled.

"No 'Nid like a dead 'Nid." he said as he fished a hand into his pocket for his lho sticks and put one between his lips. Mason held up his heavy flamer and Corr used the ignition flame to light his smoke.

"That sounds like something I would say, boss." Mason said. Corr smirked and exhaled a cloud of smoke at him.

"You're right. Maybe I should see Needles about that." he said. Mason waved a meaty hand at him and looked out at the blasted landscape.

"Boss, we got something up ahead." the driver called from the cab. Corr turned his attention forward and squinted in the morning sun.

"Is it the missing recon team?" he asked.

"I really doubt it." the driver responded. Corr was about to ask when he saw what he had meant.

"Mason, I'm glad you brought your flamer. We're gonna need it." Corr said. Mason stood and peered in the same direction Corr was.

Up ahead, stood three.... growths.



"The hell??" Mason muttered. Corr banged his hand hard on the Salamander.

"Stop the ride, Bash!" The Salamander skidded to a stop just a few meters from the growths. "Cut the engines!" Corr shouted. Bash complied and the Salamander engine cut out almost instantly. The growths were buzzing loudly as he opened the driver's hatch and poked his head out.

"Its a hive..." Corr muttered as he hopped down from the Salamander. Mason dropped down behind him and hefted his heavy flamer. They took a few slow steps forward and Corr pointed.

"Look." he said. Mason stopped. At the base of the hives was a body in the livery of the of the Oricon PDF, reduced to little more than bloody bones in a torn up uniform.



"That must be the recon team the colonel sent out earlier." Mason said as he scratched at the side of his nose.

"Part of it at least." Corr muttered. Corr took a step forward and the glistening tendrils that spread out from the bases of the hives twitched and pulsated, wrapping tighter around the corpse, and the noise of the hive grew louder. Corr stopped and his brow furrowed. The earth around them moved as the root system or... whatever it was, moved as the towers sensed a presence nearby. Shiny black beetles skittered from hidden pockets in the blue flesh of the hives and began to climb over its surface. Corr pulled his lho stick from his lips and flicked it at the towering growths.

"Bash. Put a call into PDF command, we need a Hellhound down here to take care of this. I doubt Mason would be able to get close enough to torch it himself."

"Sure thing, boss." Bash nodded and climbed back into the tank to make the call.

Corr strode back to the tank and climbed back up with Mason in tow.

"Where we goin'?" he asked.

"Back to camp." Corr responded. "We found the recon team. Nothing left for us to do here. Take us back, Bash." The Salamander engine roared into life and backed away from the hive growths.

You know how your parents always told you not to go out at night? It’s not for fear of muggings, maniacs and killers. Those can happen in the daylight as well. No, it’s because of what their parents told them and their grandparents to their children, and so on and so forth back through the ages. The night is dangerous not for who is in it, but what.


“Simon! It’s time to come inside now! It’s getting dark!”
Simon looked up and craned his head towards his home where his mom stood on the porch. He was a typical six year old boy, and rolled his eyes as he begrudgingly trudged towards his home.
“But mo-o-o-om! It’s not dark out yet!” he whined. His mom put her hands on her hips and fixed him with her ‘Don’t test me’ glare. He sighed and stepped past her into the house.
“Did you finish your homework before you went outside?” his mom asked, shutting and locking the front door behind them.
“Yes.”
“All of it.”
He rolled his eyes again.
“Yes mom, all of it.”
His mom smiled and reached down to ruffle his sandy blonde hair. “Good boy. Now go upstairs and get in to bed. You have school in the morning.” Simon sighed and his shoulders sagged.
“But I’m not even tired…” he muttered as he slowly climbed the stairs. If his mother heard him, she gave no sign as she returned to the other room to wait for Simon’s father to return from work. Once in his room, Simon shed his play clothes and slipped into his favorite pair of pajamas. Despite his earlier argument, the moment he began climbing into bed, a sigh escaped him. “Nope. I’m… not… tired….” He muttered to himself as his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep.

Tap tap tap.
Simon’s eyes fluttered open and he looked around groggily.
“Mom?” he whispered as he rubbed at his eyes.
Tap tap tap.
Simon looked around his room. The hallway door was cracked and the light shined like a beacon across his darkened room, casting eerie shadows from the various toys and things that littered his floor.
Tap tap tap.
Slowly Simon turned his gaze to his window. He cocked his head to the side and rubbed his eyes once more. No… it couldn’t be. There, outside his window, stood a G. I. Joe. Not a real one, but… one of his toys, and it was tapping its hand on the glass. It looked right at him with its motionless plastic eyes and tapped again.
Tap tap tap.
Simon smiled and scooted out of bed. He opened his door and hurried down the hallway.
“Mom! Dad! My toy is alive! My toy is alive!” he said excitedly as he pushed open their door and rushed to their bedside. The hallway light shined directly into his father’s eyes and he winced and pulled the blankets up over his face as his son rushed over to him.
“Ngh, what is-” he grunted as his son grabbed at the blankets and pulled them away from his father’s face.
“Dad! Dad you gotta come look! My toy is alive! Come look!” he said, as he pulled on his father’s hand.
“It’s jus’ a dream buddy. G-go back ta sleep…” his dad said, as he pulled his hand free and waved his son off. Simon scowled and grabbed at his father’s hand again.
“No dad! Come look! You gotta see!” he said, his voice getting louder. His father inhaled deeply and pushed himself up to a seated position, his eyes blinking into focus.
“Okay okay, shhhh, you’ll wake your mom.” He said as he yawned. He stepped out of bed as Simon hurried down the hall back towards his room, his father shuffling along behind him. Simon hurried over to his window, and sure enough the toy was still there, tapping against the glass with a small plastic hand.
Tap tap tap.
Simon beamed. He KNEW he hadn’t been dreaming. His dad staggered into the room, rubbing at his eyes and yawning.
“Buddy, it’s so early, what’re you doin’ u-”
“Look look! See, I told you! My toy is alive.” He said, as he pointed at the window. His dad stopped mid-step and stared.
Tap tap tap.
The toy, tapped once more, and waved. Simon’s dad reached out and gripped his son’s shoulder and pulled him away from the window.
“C’mere son.” He said, not taking his eyes off of… whatever it was that he was looking at.
“But… but dad. We need to let him in. It’s cold outside.” He said as he father ushered him towards the bed.
“Get back into bed, Simon. I’ll… I’ll let him in.” he muttered. Simon climbed back into his bad, and scooted as close to the foot of the bed as he could as his father neared the window. Tentatively, his father reached out and opened the window, little by little. The cold night’s air drifted in and Simon pulled his blanket around him as he watched excitedly as his dad opened the window. The little toy bent backwards and looked up at the giant that stood before it. It raised its arm and waved once more, before falling on its side. Simon’s dad stared it for a moment and slowly reached out to pick it up. The plastic was cold to the touch, like it had been outside, but otherwise unremarkable. He turned to his son and sat back on the window sill.
“That was a good trick. How’d you do it?” he asked; a smile on his face. Simon stuck out his bottom lip and sat back.
“It wasn’t a trick. It was alive.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. His dad shrugged and tossed the toy at his son, who caught it.
“Well, whatever. I’m going back to bed. You should t-”
His words were suddenly lost as he was pulled bodily through the window and disappeared into the darkness.
“DADDY!!!!!”

Simon sat up like a shot, cold sweat dripping down his face and his heart pounding in his chest. He snatched up his cell phone, and with trembling fingers he punched in a number he’d long since memorized. The phone rang several times before a weak voice answered him.
“H-hello?”
“Doctor Carlton! It’s S-Simon!” he said frantically. “I-I-I had the dream again!” the man on the other end of the phone inhaled deeply.
“It’s okay, Simon. Calm down. Tell me what happened.”
“It’s the dream, Doc. The same dream. With the toy and my dad and everything.” The doctor was quiet for a long moment.
“I thought we’d gotten past this, Simon.”
“Yeah, well so did I! Y-you think I like waking up in a cold sweat, seeing my father ripped out of my window right in fron-”
“Let me stop you there, Simon. We’ve discussed this. Your father wasn’t taken. He left you and you mother in the middle of the night fifteen years ago. This, imagining, that he was taken from your bedroom by some unseen force was just your mind trying to cope with the sudden void his absence created.”
“But… that’s just it Doc, the dream was so much more… vivid this time. I remembered little details that-”
“Simon.” The doctor interrupted. “You know what really happened that night.”
“But Doc, it was-”
“I know it SEEMED real. But you know the truth. It’s traumatic, and unfortunate, but it’s the truth. Your father left you.”
Simon grew quiet and looked down at his hands.
“Yeah Doc, you’re right.” He muttered.
“Look, it’s very clear that this is really bothering you. How about you come see me at my office in the morning? Does eleven o’clock sound alright?”
“Yeah… I’ll be there. Thanks Doc, and… I’m sorry for calling so early.”
“It’s alright, Simon. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.” The phone clicked and Simon slowly lowered his hand to his lap and clicked off his phone.
“Yeah… goodnight….” He muttered.

Doctor Russell Carlton’s office was plain and unassuming. It tried very hard to convince people that the good doctor wasn’t making a small fortune at what he does. But its location, right in the heart of downtown, was a dead giveaway. The lobby was just like any doctor’s office. It smelled of disinfectant and had magazines sitting on the table that were atrociously out of date. As he thumbed through the stacks he paused and stared a time magazine that had been there since he started his sessions with Doctor Carlton more than a decade ago. He smirked as he flipped through the pages. It was the only kid-friendly magazine the doctor had had.
“Simon?” Simon jumped as a sweet voice broke his silent concentration. He looked over at the receptionist, a small woman by the name of Mallory and smiled sheepishly. “Doctor Carlton’s ready for you.” She said, gesturing towards the door behind her.
“Y-yeah. Thanks.” He said, as he set the magazine down and opened the door. Doctor Carlton sat behind his desk, reading over Simon’s file as Simon shut the door behind himself.
“Rough night, huh Simon?” he said as he lowered the folder, a smile framed by his well-trimmed goatee.
“Yeah…” Simon said as he took a seat on the couch. “You could say that….”
“What do you think prompted last night’s little episode?” Russell asked as he stood up and moved to the chair across from Simon.
“I dunno,” he shrugged, leaning back in the couch and staring at the floor. “It just... prompted itself, I guess.”
“We both know that’s not how it works. There had to have been some sort of trigger event that prompted your nightmare. So, let’s start from the beginning of your day yesterday. What’d you do?” he asked as he crossed one leg over the other and sat back. Simon sighed and rubbed his face.
“I woke up, went to work, came home, fixed dinner and watched television until I went to sleep.”
“What’d you watch?”
“Glee.”
“Ah. Well, I suppose we can’t blame that for your nightmare, can we? What else did you do? Read anything?”
“No Doc, just Glee, then bed. I don’t actively seek out things that give me panic attacks!” Simon said as he stood up and began to pace back and forth.
“Calm down, Simon. It was only a question.”
“Yeah, well it was a stupid question!”
“Well, we can’t get to the bottom of things without asking questions, can we?”
“No…” Simon relented. “I guess not.”
“Please. Sit.” Russell said, pointing at the chair. Simon sighed and lowered himself back down.
“Let’s talk about your childhood some more.”
“Yeah… let’s…”

Another session down and another paycheck down the drain. Years of therapy with Doctor Carlton and yet no real progress to speak of. And if that wasn’t enough, he then had to go in to work and put in extra time to make up what he’d missed for his latest session. He sighed as he tapped away at his keyboard, his eyes locked on his computer screen. It seemed like once a month, he was having these nightmares, and more than once it had affected his work. Not that his work was terribly important. He worked for the paper, and was in charge of posting various articles and ‘newsworthy’ items on the paper’s webpage. Most of job duties involved browsing other news websites and trying to one-up their stories. Simon sighed as he browsed The Tribune’s news.
Mayor Worthington to be indicted on fraud charges.
Old news.
Local mule predicts big game winning play.
Nonsense.
Boy claims a toy stole his mother in the middle of the night.
His blood ran cold. Surely it’s a coincidence, and nothing more. He moved his mouse over the link, and clicked.

“Late last night Billy Masterson, a six year old local boy, called the police claiming that his mother had been stolen. Police arrived on scene to find that his mother was indeed not home though all signs point that she had been at one point…”

Simon’s heart began to pound.

“Billy claims that his mother, Teresa Masteron, was tucking him into bed when they both noticed a teddy bear dancing on the window sill. He goes on to say that his mother opened the window and was promptly pulled away. Police checked the window, but found no sign of his mother, a struggle or a teddy bear…”

Simon leaned back in his seat and stared at his screen in disbelief. His heart felt like it was going to beat its way free of his chest. Maybe he wasn’t as insane as he thought.
“Uhhh… Bill!” Simon said as he stood up. Bill Waters looked up from his desk as Simon approached. He stared at him over his glasses.
“Ah, Simon. Have another little video link to share?” he asked, already sounding bored.
“No, I… I need you to cover for me for a bit.” Bill sat forward, his interest suddenly piqued.
“Why? What’s going on?” he asked.
“Um… I just… Uhh…” Simon stammered as he rubbed at the back of his head.
“Um uh what? Feeling ill? Have to meet a girl? New video game just get released?” Bill guessed. Simon rolled his eyes and sighed.
“There’s a story I want to follow up on… okay?” he muttered.
Bill’s grin widened.
“You’re a webmaster, not a reporter.”
“Yeah, which means I’ll also need to borrow your press pass.”
Bill shook his head and unclipped the small badge from his jacket.
“Tell me the real reason you want to go there.” Bill said, holding the ID card out like a tennis ball to a dog. “And then I’ll give you the card.”
Simon sighed and his shoulders sagged.
“It sounds a lot like what happened with my dad when I was about that kid’s age. I… I need to look into it.”
Bill’s eyebrow peeked.
“And what are you hoping to find?” he asked.
Simon shrugged.
“The truth?” he said. Bill scowled.
“If you get in trouble, I’m telling them you stole this from me.” He said as he held the badge out. Simon took it and quickly tucked it into his pocket.
“Thanks Bill, I’ll be back as quick as I can!” he said, and hurried off.
“Yeah you better!” Bill called after him.

The drive to the boy’s house took more time than it had to call up various reporting contacts to find where he lived. He lived on the outskirts of the city but his grandparents had taken him into their custody when his mother had gone missing. He wasn’t much interested in speaking to the child. He’d been distressed enough without having a twenty-seven year old man dredging up what will clearly haunt him for years yet to come. No, he didn’t need to help someone with their developing neuroses.
Simon pulled to stop in front of the Masterson home and shut off his car. Aside from the police cordon, the house looked every bit the cheerful place it was intended to be. He opened his door and stood up, resting his elbow on his open door and the other on the roof of his car.
“Can I help you?” a voice called out. Simon turned, startled by the sudden noise. A police officer stood behind his open squad car door, eyeing Simon suspiciously.
Was that here a minute ago?
“Uh… yeah. Sorry, officer. My name is Simon Cord. I work for the Gazette.” Simon said. “I have my ID if you need it.”
The officer shut his car door and sauntered over.
“Please.” He said. Simon fished his hand into his pocket and pulled out his borrowed ID card and handed it to the officer.
“I’m here about the missing woman. It’s… very similar to something that happened to my father.” Simon said, his voice trailing off.
“I see.” The officer said as he handed back the ID. “Sir, this is an active crime scene. I’m gonna have to ask you to move along.”
“Before I go, I’d like to ask some questions if I-” Simon said, as he pulled a small notepad form his jacket pocket. The officer sighed and rolled his eyes quite theatrically.
“Always so inquisitive…” the cop muttered. Simon looked up from his pad, his eyebrow raised.
“I’m… I’m sorry?” he asked. The cop shook his head and waved at Simon.
“Nothing. What’s your question?” he asked.
“I just wanted to know more about this… dancing bear.” Simon said. The cop sighed loudly and pointed.
“Look you whack-job. You need to leave. Now.”
“B-but… I’m serious… I-” Simon began. The cop placed his right hand on his pistol and then pointed at Simon’s car.
“Get back in your car, sir. Now.” Simon stepped back and put up his hands defensively.
“Okay. Okay. I’m going.” He said. He sat back down in the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut. He looked into his rearview mirror as the cop slowly started to walk back towards his squad car. Simon squinted and leaned towards the mirror and then shook his head. For a moment it looked like there was some kind of… thread or wire coming off the officer. Simon shook his head.
“That’s crazy…” he muttered as he started the engine.

“Hey Simon. I take it you found what you were looking for?” Bill said as Simon trudged back into the paper. Simon dropped the ID onto Bill’s desk and hunched over.
“Not even close. All I found was a cop with an attitude problem. Couldn’t get a single question answered.” He said as he took a seat.
“Well, you’re in luck.” Bill said with a sly smile. He rolled his chair to the filing cabinet behind him and fished for a moment before pulling a manila folder out. He rolled back over to Simon and dropped the folder in his lap.
“What’s this?” Simon asked as he opened the folder.
“Well… you mentioned your father before you left. So I did some digging. I pulled up your story. Then I pulled up the kid’s today. And then I found similar stories that date back the last… hundred years or so.”
Simon flipped through page after page of newspaper copies, the pages getting older as he did so.
“It… its almost the same. Children see a moving toy, and then a parent goes missing. Some of its glossed over, some gets better coverage like the Masterson Kid… some… wait. Some of these are just missing persons reports. How did you get these?” Simon asked as he looked up a Bill. Bill, decidedly pleased with himself stood as he grabbed his coat of the small hook in his cubicle.
“Don’t you trouble yourself with the how, Simon. Just appreciate that I did.” He said as he pulled on his coat. “Now, I’m calling it a day. You, my friend, have about three hours to make up.” He pat Simon on the shoulder as he moved past him. “Enjoy your reading.” He called, but Simon didn’t hear him. He was lost in his own little world of thought.

1908 – Wilson and Marietta Carter are missing. Young Trevor says the night took them.
1913 – Aaron Jones reported missing. Last seen at home with his young daughter, Mallory.
1920 – Warren Alter flagged down an officer early this morning in hysterics that the devil had taken his mother from their house.
1921 – Elizabeth Johns found sitting in the road outside her home, muttering incoherently about her mother and father, neither of which could be found.
1928 – Frederic Alan wanted for questioning in the disappearance of his wife Rita. Jessica Alan, the daughter, claims that her father is innocent and that her mother was stolen from her bedroom by her dancing dolly.

It goes on, and on; one story after another for years. Hundreds of missing persons, all with similar stories to his own. Simon set the folder down on his desk, at some point having wandered back to it from Bill’s cubicle. He felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck and a rising panic in his chest. He fished his hand into his pocket and pulled his cell phone out with fear numbed fingers and hastily pressed buttons.
“Hello, this is Doctor Carlton.”
“D-doc! It’s Simon. I-I-I… I need to talk to you.”
“Simon? What’s wrong? You sound anxious.”
“Doc! I-I told you I wasn’t crazy! There’s hundreds of them! People with stories just like mine! Stories of their parents being stolen away by… by something!”
“Slow down, Simon. You’re not making any sen-”
“This has been happening for over a century Doc, and that just as far back as our newspapers go! I bet if we could look into it, the local tribes might have some kind of information on-on…. Whatever is happening here!” Simon said as he hastily tapped at his keyboard, looking up information on local tribal myths.
“Simon. Do you realize what it is you’re convincing yourself of? Perhaps you’ve been watching too many crime dramas on television. You’re seeing ridiculous connections and grasping at strings that don’t actually exist.”
“But… but Doc, there’s so much evidence and all of it seems to fit together! I-I can’t be wrong on this! There’s too much certainty!”
“Simon, be reasonable. You’re forcing patterns to exist where you desperately want them to.”
“No Doc. I’m right about this, you have to trust me.”
There was a long pause, and for what seemed like minutes all Simon could hear was breathing and the scribbling of a pen on paper.
“Doc?”
“You… you are too inquisitive…” came a faint whisper over the phone. Simon took the phone away from his head and looked at it strangely.
“W-what?” Simon said, moving the phone back to his ear.
“I didn’t say anything, Simon. I’m making notes in your file. I think you should come in and talk to me in person tomorrow.”
“But… I just heard you say… I just heard someone say I was too inquisitive.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Simon. Perhaps it’s best if we put you back on Chlorpromazine for a little while until you calm down.”
“No Doc! No more drugs! I swear I’m not yanking your chain here! There is a real connection here! I know it!”
“Simon, you’re being irrational. You need to calm down and-”
“And what?! Medicate up to my eyeballs and pretend that everything is hunky dory! No Doc! I need to look into this!”
Again, there was a long pause, only this time, the breathing seemed… loud and slow.
“Foolish meat…” came a voice like rotting flesh sloughing from bone.
“What? Who is- Doc? Are you alright?” Simon said.
“You, who were granted life, now seek to throw your gift back in my face.”
“Who are you!?”
“I am the one you fear.” The voice responded matter-of-factly.
“That doesn’t ans-”
A hand clamped down on Simon’s shoulder and he jumped out of his chair and spun around. Bill was standing there, head hung low as he looked at Simon with cold, unblinking eyes.
“Bill? I thought you le-”
“I am the one you seek.” He said through slack lips, his voice rasping as though something were wrapped tightly around his throat. Simon felt his throat go dry.
“Wh-what?” he stammered.
Slowly Simon craned his head around. The entire news floor had gone silent and everyone was standing and looking at him.
“I am the Holder of Strings.” they spoke in one voice. Simon’s heart pounded in his chest and he stumbled out into the aisle and out of his cubicle.
“What’s going on?”
“You have given up the gift I have given you.” They answered. “Like so many before you.”
Simon backpedaled down the aisle, every head turning to follow him as one.
“Gift? What are you talking abou-OOF!” his own words were cut off as he backed into someone, he spun around and saw the cop from earlier, staring at him just as everyone else was.
“The gift of your mortal life.”
“What are you talking about?!” he shouted as he pushed past the cop and sprinted to the elevators. He jabbed his finger into the button repeatedly and looked over his shoulder. None of them had moved. The elevator chimed and as the doors parted Simon came face to face with Teresa Masterson, the missing mother from the news, still dressed in her sleep clothes.
“I didn’t take you that night, Simon. I took your father. As I took this woman here.” she said, stepping off the elevator. Simon backed away from her in a hurry.
“You… you what?” Simon said barely above a whisper.
“I do what I must as often as I must, this is the right I have been granted by all that is.” she said as she padded towards him, her arm hanging limp at her side. Simon fall backwards, tripping over his own panic numbed legs and quickly scooted backwards. The others had begun to step from their cubicles, following the Masterson woman down the aisle after Simon.
“This is my land. It has been since long before your kind first crawled from the festering waters and polluted it. I was content just to be. But as humanity rose to the seat of power, they encroached upon my domain. I found myself pushed to the edges as you built and revolutionized. I was torn asunder by your petty wars and left at your tender mercies. I began to fester, before I learned how useful you could be.”
“What are you?” Simon whispered. Teresa’s lips drew back into a wicked smile.
“I am the Holder of Strings.” She said.
“What’d you do with my dad?!” Simon said as he scrambled to his feet. Teresa licked her lips.
“I used his flesh as fuel to survive. As I have done with those before. As I will do with this one.” Simon’s stomach churned.
“You… you ate him?!?” he said, choking the bile back down that had begun to rise up.
“I made sure he served a purpose.”
“My dad’s purpose was not to be your dinner!” Simon screamed.
“That was the purpose I gave him. One that he fulfilled perfectly.”
“And all the others? Were they dinner too?”
“I used them as was necessary at the time. Food, messengers, whatever my needs may have been.” The chorus responded.
“You’re a monster! I will put you in the ground if it’s the last thing I do!” Simon shouted, pointing at the crowd. The chorus laughed as one, an altogether eerie sound.
“You would not be the first. You will not be the last.” Simon grit his teeth and grabbed scissors off a nearby desk, brandishing them menacingly.
“Show yourself! Or I swear I’ll-”
Immediately the tone changed. The eyes locked on him grew angry and voices rose.
“You would threaten me!” they roared. “I who gave you your life when you too would have served as fuel!” The crowd moved forward quickly, and Simon backpedaled until his back hit the wall.
“You ruined my life!”
“Your life was mine when you were born to my lands!”
“Show yourself! And we’ll see just whose life is forfeit! Stop hiding behind these… these people!” The crowd froze, eyes locked on Simon. Suddenly Teresa dropped limp to the floor, like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. Then Bill, and then one by one, each of them dropped to the floor until Simon and one figure at the far end of the room were left standing. Simon glared at him and pointed the blades of the scissor at him.
“Are you him!?” he shouted across the quiet news floor.
The figure spread out its long arms, a black shroud hanging off its limbs.
“I am He Who Holds The Strings.” the chorus spoke from their prone positions.
“No more games!”
“Dear little mortal. You pose no threat to me.” A single voice rang out from across the room. The same voice Simon had heard over the phone, the voice of meat falling from bone.
“Come here and say that!” Simon shouted. Suddenly the figure was gone, like a figment of Simon’s imagination. Simon looked around the barren room but saw… nothing. Slowly he lowered the scissors. Then he felt it, the warm wetness at the back of his neck. A chill ran down his spine but try as he might, not one muscle in his body would move.
“But you will not be fuel.” A voice whispered in his ear. Slowly his hand rose up, the blades of the scissors exposed. Simon wanted to open his mouth, to plead, to swear, but the Holder of Strings had not deemed it so. The blades pressed against his throat on either side and then quickly snapped shut.

“Bill!”
Bill looked up from where he’d been writing his next story and smiled cheerfully at Susan.
“Hey Suzy.” He croaked as the petite blonde sidled up to his cubicle and looked around like she was about to spill a secret.
“Yikes, what happened to your throat?” she asked. Bill shrugged.
“I think I have the same sore throat that everyone else on this floor seems to have.” He said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope you feel better. Did you hear about Simon?” she asked.
Bill smiled wide.
“Course I did. I’m the one who recommended him for the promotion.” He said proudly.
“How long is he going to be gone?” she asked.
“I dunno. Last I heard he was being sent to the Europe. But he seemed excited to go. He was eager to write about something bigger than himself. He kept muttering something about being a messenger.”
“That does sound important. I hope he stays safe.”
“Me too.” Bill said as he looked back at Simon’s no empty cubicle. “Me too.”