Chapter 9

Bad Change, Good Change, Bad

Ty woke up the next “day” disoriented and unsure of where he was. He sat up, attempted to stand, and quickly tripped on the pile of toys on the floor. That brought his memory back.

He landed face-first in toys—plastic figures, bricks, and swords poking every inch of his body. He didn't seem to mind, as his face broke out in a wide grin. He cleared a space around him on the floor and took a closer look at the contents of his new room. He picked toys up, tested them out, then went onto the next before the poor object had a chance to get comfortable in his hand.

The stuff lived up to his first impression the day before: everything he had ever wanted—and more—was in this room.

Ty lost himself in the toys, his troubles completely forgotten. Even his grandfather.

#

San watched over Ty very closely, unbeknownst to the boy. His initial diagnosis of him was that something was... different. Many things, actually, and very different. The boy seemed to see parts of the truth much better than any child before. His whole mind fought against San's influence. The frog's attack? Never should have happened. It puzzled San, even worried him if he was in a truthful mood.

As Ty's stay progressed, San's worries began to subside. His usual tricks were working wonders on the boy, despite his insightful nature. It seemed that a child was still a child and fun and games still had their holds in the young.

Pity, thought San. He almost welcomed a challenge. His job had become far too easy in this day and age, driving San to the point of boredom. What happened to the days when it was a struggle for his side of things to win? When did humans become so comfortable with childishness? It would have been sort of nice if Ty was the breath of fresh air that he seemed to be at the start, but alas...

Oh well. If the humans won't change things, I will.

In the safety of his office, he set free the uncensored version of his smile.

#

As the wizard said, time at the factory was meaningless. Soon, ideas of “hours” and “days” were lost to Ty. If he still cared to try to track time, he would have guessed that more than a week passed since he arrived here. Within that week Ty slowly forgot everything.

The fact that he was from another world? Erased. The fact that this was a dream? Unimportant. His home? The factory was his home. His family? San was all he needed.

His grandfather? Even he was an abandoned memory.

Fun replaced everything he lost. All Ty wanted was to play and explore all the rooms in the factory so that he could find even more things to play with. Happiness was there, too. Without memories of his troubles—school, the fight with his father, his grandfather's death—Ty was without hardships. He was light and free...naive and childish.

Sometimes, though, a small voice in the back of his head tried desperately to call out to him, to tell him that he had to snap out of it, to remember, to escape. Ty ignored it. Snap out of what? Happiness? No way! Here he could have everything he always wanted, why would he want to run from that?

And so Ty remained imprisoned, happy and content...for a time.

After a while, things began to change. No, that wasn't it. Nothing changed, and that was the problem.

Within that week Ty explored virtually every room in the factory, played with every toy currently available. The meals in the dining hall were the same as the one on the first day (minus the plush creatures, to avoid any further incidents). Sure, there were still new rooms he would stumble upon and new models of toys were invented, but they began to lose their hold on him. But he didn't know why.

A feeling of wrongness and boredom grew within him like a disease, gripping his mind in much the same way as a new toy had just a short time ago. He spent less time exploring and playing and more time in his own mind, thinking and pondering.

For the first time in his life, Ty welcomed a little change.

#

With the slight renewal in his thoughtful nature, Ty decided that he should not let on what was happening to him. He knew on an internal level that San must not suspect what was going on inside his head. So he faked the same mindless interest in toys and fun.

The only time he was able to lower his act was when he walked the halls, alone. He walked for hours—yes, his sense of time was returning—while his mind wandered. He drove himself mad as he searched for what happened, what was different, what was missing.

His search was fruitless. All he managed to accomplish was make himself feel even more miserable. To be honest, he considered giving up, wondering if it was possible to throw all these annoying thoughts and emotions away like before. He thought, maybe, he should tell San in the hopes that he knew how to fix him.

As if spawned by the mere idea, Ty felt an uneasy tingling run up his neck. He stopped. As he was thinking, he zoned out, unaware of his surroundings nor where his feet had planned for their final destination.

He stood in the mouth of a hall he never came across during his many hours of exploration.

A dead end, was his first thought. Which was curious, because he could clearly see that it wasn't. A closed door awaited him, not a wall.

As he started into the hall, he was able to read the plaque on the wooden surface:

“San's Office”

A normal door with the name of his gracious host on it, nothing wrong with that. So why, then, did the very sight of it automatically fill his mind with the phrase “dead end,” and tell him to go back?

For the very same reason that the hall was dimly lit in comparison to the rest of the factory, and from the increasing feeling of evil and dread with each step Ty took toward it. It was not a good place to be, and any sane person should turn away, content with a factory full of toys.

Ty ignored these feelings, pushing them far out of mind. Part of him knew that if he didn't feel safe in the office of his host, how could he feel comfortable staying under his factory roof? And the other part... the other part wanted the truth.

Compelled by both, he continued toward the door. The hall seemed to stretch and grow, keeping the door away from him at all times while behind him, he got farther and farther away from his only guaranteed exit. Panic grew, and just as he was about to break down and run back screaming, the door kindly came for him, stopping inches from his face.

Ty put some space between himself and the door and raised his fist to knock. At the last possible second, however, he noticed the door was already open, just a crack. He stopped mid-knock, got on his knees, and pushed the door open a little more, putting his eye to the crack.

There was a room on the other side—that much was certain—but the details past that were hazy. He could only see San, standing at the far end of the room, facing a wall. A little to the left he could make out the corner of a desk, and a small portion of the arm of a chair behind it.

“What were you thinking?” asked San.

Ty’s eyes grew wide, thinking it was to him San spoke, and at any second San would whip around and look right at him with a gaze that could paralyze or even kill. But it wasn't, and he didn't.

San paced back and forth, and Ty saw what he was looking at, and to whom his question had been directed.

It was the frog with one eye, the frog that – so he'd been told – had tried to eat him. He (was it even a guy?) was chained up to a wall, his hands and feet bound by pairs of cuffs and chains that had been placed on the wall for just such occasions, apparently. And what was that occasion? Ty feared that he would soon find out.

“No answer?” San asked when the frog did not reply to the question… unless you consider whimpers suitable. San didn't, but he appeared to enjoy it. “Or is your silence the answer? Are you implying that you were not, in fact, thinking?” San grabbed the frog by the chin. San's body was completely out of sight from the crack, such was the length of his arm. San moved the frog's head up and down. “Yes? I agree.”

San jerked the head down once more, hard, and then released his grip. He continued his pacing.

“Do you know why you are here?” San asked, calm and controlled. Then, when the frog did not answer he roared, full of malice, “Speak!”

“I,” the frog said, finding his voice at once. “I did bad.”

“Yes, you did. Your unthinking action could have very well led to the breaking of an unbreakable rule. Key words being breaking and unbreakable. You see, even if you'd had actual thought and planning behind it, even the force of an army, you still would not have been able to kill that boy. On this night, our world and his mind are intertwined. If it was possible for the boy to die, what do you think would happen to us?

“Oh, don't bother yourself with answering,” he cut himself off. “I will show you.”

He moved before the frog even closed his mouth. San was at the frog's side in one step. He drew his right hand back, extended his middle finger, and thrust it into the frog's chest.

Ty almost fell over, he wanted to fall over, but he was glued to the crack and the horrible scene beyond it.

He could see the frog over San's shoulder, its eye doubled in size with surprise and fright. It was so large Ty imagined someone could tap him on the back and the eye would fall right out.

San moved his finger down, still deep inside the frog's chest, tearing it open. White fluff billowed from the wound, quickly turning blood red. San did not stop there. He used the tips of two fingers to pluck out bundles of fluff and throw them to the ground. The small amount of the room that Ty could see was filled with falling stuffing, like a fog, cloudy and red. And the frog's howls of pain were all he could hear, blocking out Ty's own thoughts.

Ty actually fell back from the door this time, such was the horror of what happened behind it. Ty got up with haste as quietly as he could, and fled the “dead end” as he should have done when he'd first seen it. Instead, doing it now, his picture of San’s world had been turned upside down.

#

San withdrew his hand from the creature's chest, turned his back on it, and crossed his arms. Mission done and boredom back in its place.

The Elves standing on either side of the door where Ty had been hiding didn't speak, but San looked to them and answered an unvoiced question:

“Yes, yes, I know that he was there. Do not worry, all is going as it should. That boy is different, and a different mind calls for a different strategy on our part. I believe this time we will need to use more… force... than usual.”

Be it a trick of the light or one's own warped imagination, the Elves' painted smiles gave the appearance of movement, scribbling out farther along their masks.

“Now, take that,” San gestured in disgust at the frog's remains, “and hang it somewhere all can see, as a reminder of what happens when someone breaks the—no. When someone disobeys me.”

The Elves leaned away from the wall and into a low bow, walked to the frog, each taking it by an arm and dragging it behind them. The frog's eye stayed trained on its master. San just smiled back at it until all three of them exited through the office door.

San strode over to his desk and sat down in the large chair behind it. He opened a small drawer underneath and pulled out a glass orb. He held it with great care as he pushed it into his left eye-socket.

“Run all you want, little mouse. We will meet again,” San said as he ran a finger over his glass eye, a shape moving below its murky surface.