Stockholm Syndrome

A Beginning

He sat on the sofa thinking about everything that had happened. He was finally ready. He leaned forward, opened the envelope, and began signing the divorce pap—

“The Office has requested your presence.” said the man in the navy suit.

She swiveled in her chair towards the direction of the voice.

“Come with me.” He spoke like he could be wearing sunglasses indoors, with one of those surveillance earpieces. But he had neither.

She arose and followed him.

The windows from inside the elevator seemed to flicker as they passed upward through the floors. The two of them stood in silence. He didn’t seem like much of a talker so she made up that they had to keep quiet as they went through a series of biometric scanners all the way to the top of the tower. At this point, she had been an employee for almost three months. This meant her visit to The Office was because she was doing something insidiously wrong or terribly right.

When the elevator doors opened, natural light cascaded everywhere. It’s so ‘windowy’, she thought. Things were arranged with a distinct calibre all around. A little flutter in her chest came about. Maybe the request for her presence was to acknowledge her for some kind of employee appreciation of sorts. Perhaps a promotion, even.

She sat across the table from a pair of Moderators. That was how they introduced their position and purpose.

The one in the grey suit took the lead while the one in the black suit hung back and played, let’s called it, good cop.

The grey suit wasted no time and began with, “When you got hired, you were assigned to the Heartbreak writing section. This meeting is to discuss your writing pieces. They’re not good enough. They need to improve. And they make us look bad.” she said curtly.

Clearly this setup was not to discuss merits. The phrase, ‘employee appreciation’ from a minute ago distracted her momentarily.

The grey suit continued, “First off, you simply cannot throw into your writing whatever you think is entertaining. There has to be some structure and rhythm to a piece of writing—do you hear those sounds?”

All of a sudden she heard some insect-like sounds clicking inside the walls and behind the ceiling fixtures. Things came alive as if on cue. “Yes, I do hear those sounds.” she said obediently.

“Those are a newly evolved species called, hematophagous Elateridae beetles. They now have an exoskeleton as strong as human enamel and are therefore hard to kill. They find us by tracing the carbon dioxide in the air. Do you know what this means?”

Do I know what that means? Do I know what that means? She asked herself. Everything was beginning to feel heightened. She tried to recall something from biology class, and then random kids’ science shows she might have seen on television. Anything? she asked herself. “No, I don’t know what that all means. Sorry, what did you say they were?” she asked the grey suit.

The grey suit continued, “This means that they are attracted to our breath. They’ll find us, pierce our skin, suck our blood, inject their paralyzing toxin, and leave us clicking our tongues as we die.” The mental image was ghastly.

“Oh, dear!” she said, rather frightened. Then realizing she just spoke out loud, adding to the carbon dioxide in the air, she quickly placed her fingers over her lips to seal her mouth.

“But fortunately, I have this.” The grey suit leaned to the side and lifted up a contraption onto the desk. It looked like a home humidifier, but it had the feel of something from a Ghostbusters movie. “It emits ions that fuse with the carbon dioxide molecules in the air; it changes the chemical compound altogether. Essentially, it offers solid protection from the beetles in finding us.” she explained in a tone that offered refuge and comfort.

As quick as they came, the clicking sounds in the walls and ceiling calmly faded away.

“Cooool!” she said enthusiastically. She couldn’t help it; she smiled with delight. It felt like the good guys had just won.

The grey suit’s tone was stern in her reply, “No. Not… ‘cool’. That was an example of how you cannot just throw random things into a story because you think they sound galvanic.”

“Oh.” She said quietly. She didn’t know what galvanic exactly meant. But it would just be added to the pile of things that were also not making sense these days.

“For example…” the grey suit began while sliding around some papers on the table. She looked downwards through her bifocal lenses, chin slight pressed forward, “the story you wrote of that child that was very sick on the oncology unit. The doctors suddenly turned into racoons on roller skates. And the elephant porter made balloon animals from non-latex gloves, blowing them up with his trunk. Is this true?”

“Oh, that.” she said. It sounded so silly when the grey suit explained it that way. “I was just trying to be respectful to the child’s imagination.”

“No. You’re the adult. Behave as such,” the grey suit scolded. “You need rhythm to your writing. Consider it the heartbeat of a story.”

Before she could catch up with her thoughts, the grey suit continued, looking back down through her bifocals, “And this note here says you described a marriage as being ‘bullish’ and then ‘bearish’. It would be quite inappropriate to use stock market terminology to describe the ups and downs of marriage hardship. In fact, as I understand it, it is common for your stories to end in divorce. Is that also true?” she was starting to sound like a prosecutor in a court trial.

She admitted to herself that divorce was an easy way to get a story over and done with. And because no one was providing feedback, she took it as a, no news is good news, and kept using it. It is clear now that those were not circumstances she was circulating in.

She surprised herself and began to defend her writing with, “Since they say people are the ‘products’ their childhood, I used divorce as a way for an adult reader to reflect back on that heartbreak, from a child’s viewpoint.” She fumbled and fibbed her response on the spot. Then, like she was giving a class presentation, she added, “And since divorce rates have increased, more adults who were children when their parents divorced can find the material more relatable.” A bar graph chart here might have been helpful to bring it home.

Thankfully, the grey suit ignored her reply and trudged on, “And this last piece with the story told from multiple perspectives. That was too… smutty. If people want sex they have adult picture ‘books’ sold behind-the-counter at 7 Elevens. You need to be 18 years old to purchase them, if you catch my drift.”

She was sweating so the thought of a sweetened 7 Eleven Cream Soda Slurpee seemed nice right about now. She swallowed at the thought.

“This leads us to the second thing we want to mention. We want less humping in your writing.” She was clearly annoyed. The annoyance tone was becoming her normal way of talking by now in the conversation.

Actually, all of this had the potential to cause the equivalent of a cold-Slurpee headache for her. But she understood. There was some sexual tension in her last piece. This was mostly due to insomnia and some chaotic hormonal arousal. Not uncommon for a PMS time of the month situation. She kept this rationale to herself.

Instead of relenting, the grey suit said, “If you don’t meet expectations, we’ll assign you to the ASCII art section.”

ASCII art. This didn’t sound so bad. She recalled as a child taking typing class in school on real typewriters. And because a room full of typewriters can be quite loud, the typing teacher had to yell out her instructions. She recalled the typing teacher say something like, “L-L-L-L! Q-Q-Q-Q!” The activity was to build muscle memory attached to the QWERTY keyboard, while making ASCII art. In the end, the final picture would reveal any errors. In her mind, her typing teacher now turned into an emphatic military officer calling out orders to type out ASCII military maps. But she was part of a rebellion troop that would secretly—

“No. You don’t get a flashback memory cut scene here.” Interjected the grey suit. “You’re not a character. Stop it.”

She blinked back to reality. “My apologies.” She cleared her throat. “I just thought because you did the whole ‘beetle thing’ earlier that it might be okay for me to elaborate on my...” she trailed off.

“Do you understand what we are asking of you?” asked the grey suit staring above the frames of her glasses sharply.

She stammered, “Yes. You said… less humping and more… was it thumping?”

The grey suit replied, “More rhythm. It’s the heartbeat to a piece, okay?” Her tone lightened.

“Okay.” She replied, not knowing what else to expect.

“And no more boring divorces. Surprise us.” the grey suit said with a slight smile.

“Yes, no more… boring divorces.” she replied and forced a smile.

The grey suit paused. She had been waiting to mention, “I find it astonishing that you are even here. Most of our staff are well versed in the classics and literature of all sorts. They have been avid readers their whole lives. But according to your background,” she slid some papers around, “it says you grew up in poverty… your parents had nothing more than elementary school education. And that you admit you also almost never read for leisure.”

The length of the table between them spanned the distance of two, very different worlds.

This background check struck her. It got personal. She sat in silence.

Finally, the black suit leaned forward, and with a calm voice he said, “Because of these traits, we believe you will offer a unique take on life. We look forward to your next piece. And we trust you will take our feedback into consideration.” With a smile, he finished with, “Please take the rest of the day off. Start the weekend early and come back fresh to us on Monday.”

She took the elevator down. Back to where she came from.

A Middle

Walking home the usual way, things appeared as they usually did. But she felt different. An involuntary sigh came out of her.

Which one of these usual things could be turned into heartbreak, she wondered. A cyclist passed her, but was gone before anything came to mind. A couple sitting on a patio only reminded her not to divorce them. There was a single dog tied to a park bench. It looked too happy to have anything heartbreaking happen to it.

When she arrived home, she checked her mailbox. She pretended that she was receiving a sensual love letter. But that the sender died shortly after mailing the letter. No, the sender moved on with another lover so it was too late for her to confess her love back to him. No, this was it: the sender was her long lost fraternal twin and the love could never be. A relationship forever strained by—

She sighed again and walked up the stairs to her floor.

When she opened the door to her suite, she turned and hung her coat on the hook, this would be a good time to get bonked on the head, just like they do in the movies. She needed a break.

No such luck.

She went straight to the bathroom to have a sit down. Tinkling in-between thoughts. Replaying parts that happened earlier in her day. It was inevitable, she had to find a new job. Find something that makes you happy, she thought. In the meantime, she would have to stick to her writing job because—

Clattering glass being swept on flooring was heard nearby. Still from a seated position, she opened the bathroom door to peek out.

Nothing.

It was summertime and she left her balcony door open to let the breeze in, even when she wasn’t home. Perhaps that sound came from another suite that also had their windows open.

They say your home can reflect how your mind is operating. To coincide with a fresh start for Monday, she thought it was a good idea to give the place a good once over. It was time for some detailed cleaning.

She barely got started on the cleaning when she kicked a small piece of glass that skidded across the floor. After careful inspection of all the cupboards, of the ceiling, of the table, she could not figure out what broke or how the glass got there.

“Huh. How did this get here?” she said out loud to herself.

“I know how it got there.” said a voice from behind her.

She yelped and spun around. The shard of glass fell from her palm and bounced on the tile floor. It echoed a clinking sound.

There stood a furry creature that looked so familiar as though it was from an old movie she once saw. It was cute and scary at the same time.

“I’m your Gremlin.” it said.

If it were a human, she would have unlocked the door to the suite and screamed her way down the hall. But the situation seemed so unreal, she just stood there in awe.

After a day like today, her mental capacity was running out of space.

She spoke slowly and calmly to it, “Okay… I see you. I acknowledge you. But I don’t think you’re supposed to be here. The Moderators would not like it.” De-escalation talk.

“The moderators don’t like you interjecting what they consider to be randomness. I’m not random. I’m part of your main story.” it said. It had a nice voice. This was helpful. “Let me explain.” it said.

Her Gremlin explained that it had to stay for three full moons before it would either be passed on to someone else or it would crystallize with its host. And three days before crystallization was possible, it should provide an appearance to the host to give the host a choice in picking another person. If crystallization occurred, then the Gremlin would permanently cause havoc to the host, increasing in intensity as time went on.

Curious, she asked, “So did someone send you over to me?”

“Do you remember that guy Jackson from your old job?” it asked.

“Yes. But what did I ever to do to him?” she asked quizzically.

“You were too nice to everyone. It took attention away from him.” it answered.

She tsked and grumbled, “He’s such a… jerk!”

“He’s a fucking cunt.” it stated.

She thought it was kind of funny that a cute monster should cuss like a human.

“Jackson got himself into bad debt. He’d give out innocent peoples’ names to gangsters looking for shakedowns.” it explained. “Gangsters can do bad things to good people.” it concluded without going into too much detail.

The Gremlin was patient and gave her time to process.

She asked, “Were you the one who broke this glass, then?”

“No.” it answered.

“Did you steal one of my spoons?” she inquired. The spoon went missing about a month ago.

“No.” it answered.

“Oh. Well, did you take one of my… undergarments?” she asked hesitantly, but needed to know.

“No.” it answered.

She said, “No?” in a surprised manner. She was beginning to see his mischievousness coming through.

Rather, it explained that on the first night it was sent to her, it undid both of her anklets while she was sleeping to give her a sign.

She quickly replied, “It was as though someone undid them. That was you!” she was oddly excited at knowing this information.

It explained that when she was applying for a new job, it sent her resume to the wrong place, instead of where she intended.

She fell to her knees like a weight had been lifted. “Finally, something makes sense! I was wondering why I had to go to that place for work. I would never apply to be a writer.”

It gave her more time to process.

She started putting things together. She asked, “You said you didn’t break the glass, but you also said you had an explanation.” She didn’t want to sound like she was accusing it of lying in the first place, but she needed honesty.

It paused, then said, “You have a stalker.”

“I have a stalker?!” she exclaimed. This was all too much. Good thing she was already kneeling on the floor.

“You shouldn’t smile at strangers.” it warned.

“I never smile at strangers.” she corrected. “Well, I only smile at people walking their dogs. And even then, I only smile at the dogs.” she replied.

“But do you know the dogs?” it jeered at her.

She laid herself down on the carpet.

“You smiled at her dog—” it began to explain.

“My stalker is a her?!” she moved her head in its direction as she spoke to it. That was all the energy she had left.

Her Gremlin explained that the stalker climbed her balcony this very afternoon but didn’t expect her to come home so early. Her stalker panicked and broke the glass. The stalker swept it under the stove thinking to come back soon to tidy it up. It also explained that it was her stalker that stole her spoon.

She reflected, “I saw her eating yogurt on the park bench a few times.” She shook her head and asked the question, “was that with my spoon?” but she was already getting a sense of what the answer could be.

“Yes.” it offered.

The Gremlin explained that her stalker saw her cleaning her home in nothing but flip flops and knickers. That’s when she took a pair of her underwear.

Not only would she need a new job, but she’d also need to look for a new place to live.

Her Gremlin reassured her that on this visit, the stalker twisted her ankle when she jumped off the balcony and would not be back. Nor would the stalker be walking her dog this far away from home for a while.

“You seem nice.” she said to the Gremlin. “What else have you done to me?” she asked defeatedly.

“Not much else.” it was honest. “Do you have a person’s name in mind?” it asked before it had to go back to the space of otherworld.

“Not right now, I don’t. You said three days… that leaves me until Monday after work, right?” she asked sleepily, still lying on the floor.

An End

She arrived to work on Monday. She sat at her desk, but nothing for writing came to her. The first few hours passed, but now when she looked at the clock, it was only seven minutes from the last time she looked at the clock.

She was overthinking and underthinking at the same time. Today was the day she had to give a name to her Gremlin.

Write anything down, just get started, she told herself.

Legend has it—she could hear the grey suit say, “No.”

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far—she thought just to joke at the grey suit in her mind. A “No.” came curtly.

Once upon a time…—“Absolutely not.”

She swiveled in her chair and gave a heavy sigh.

And something finally came to her. She knew what she needed to do. She left for lunch. The whole afternoon was waiting until it was time to go home. She left her desk neat and tidy.

She walked home the usual way, but this time it was different.

She checked her mailbox the usual way. She walked up the stairs to her floor, the usual way. She opened the door to her suite and hung her coat on the hook the usual way—

Then, she got hit on the head! It was lights out.

Blackness surrounded her.

She was in the space of otherworld.

Before her gremlin left the night before, it explained that in addition to it being passed on to someone else by name or by crystallization to a host, it could also be set free if the host happened to die. She was sleepy when it explained this.

Earlier in the day on her lunch break, she went to see Jackson and purposely started a quarrel which wasn’t that difficult. From what she gathered she knew Jackson would give her name to the gangsters.

Her Gremlin seemed so nice and she didn’t want it to be trapped. And she also didn’t want to cause havoc for someone else. The only option she had was to set him free by a good deed by using Jackson’s bad deeds.

She suddenly felt hands around her ribs. They were carefully lifting her up. The blackness surrounding her was from the inside a magician’s silk hat.

A black rabbit appeared and the crowd was surprised with glee.

The rabbit was gently placed on the table and its foot went thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, to the rhythm of the crowd’s clapping.

What a surprise.