Chapter 1

The motion sensor lights above my cubicle clicked off for the third time in an hour. I waved my arm frantically, a drowning man signaling for help, until the fluorescent tubes buzzed back to life. 11:45 PM.

I wasn’t staying late because I had to. The quarterly report was done. I was staying because leaving before midnight felt like a confession of laziness. It was the logic of the desperate: if I suffered more than everyone else, I was valuable.

Then I heard it. *Slap. Slap. Slap.*

The sound was wet and heavy, like raw meat hitting the industrial carpet. It came from the hallway leading to the breakroom.

"Hello?" I called out. My voice cracked. "Janitorial?"

Silence. Then, a giggle. It wasn't the echoey, innocent laugh of a child. It was multi-tonal, like three people laughing at the same pitch simultaneously.

I pushed my chair back. Liability. That was my first thought. If a cleaner brought their kid in and the kid got hurt, HR would have a field day. I needed to handle this. I needed to be the responsible Junior Associate.

I walked past the rows of silent, grey workstations. The air conditioning hummed, a low, constant headache. When I reached the breakroom, the motion lights flickered on, revealing a small figure standing in the corner, facing the wall.

It looked like a boy, maybe six years old. But he was wearing a charcoal grey suit jacket that was immense on his small frame. The sleeves dragged on the floor; the hem went down to his ankles. He was barefoot.

"Hey, buddy," I said, putting on my best non-threatening voice. "Are you lost? Where are your parents?"

The boy didn’t turn around. He just vibrated, a low shudder running through the oversized fabric.

"I’m Elias. I work here. Do you want me to call security for you?"

The boy spun around.

I flinched. He looked normal—too normal. Bland features, sandy hair, eyes that were a little too wide. He pointed a finger at me, the sleeve of the jacket swallowing his hand.

"You’re It!" he screamed.

He bolted.

He didn't run like a child. He moved with a jerky, stop-motion speed, darting out of the breakroom and into the main corridor.

"Wait! Stop, you’ll get hurt!" I yelled, chasing after him.

I rounded the corner into the Sales Department, expecting to see him near the elevators. But he was at the far end of the aisle, a small grey smudge against the darkness. He giggled again, and the sound seemed to come from the ceiling vents.

I started running. "Kid, seriously, stop!"

I passed the printer station. Then the meeting pods. Then the printer station again.

I skid to a halt. I looked left. The row of cubicles, which should have ended after twenty feet, now stretched out into an infinite, vanishing point of grey fabric walls and glass dividers. The motion sensors couldn't keep up with the expansion. Darkness was swallowing the office behind me, clicking off row by row, pushing me forward.

The child was still ahead of me, standing by the glass doors of the main conference room.

"I’m not playing!" I shouted, panic finally piercing my corporate composure.

I sprinted. My lungs burned. The distance to the conference room didn't seem to close, until suddenly, I slammed into the glass door.

The child was inside, standing at the head of the mahogany table, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city skyline.

I ripped the door open. "Got you. Okay. Game over."

I was breathing hard, my tie feeling like a noose. I reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the oversized suit. The fabric was cold, stiff, like it had been starched with concrete.

"We need to find your mom," I panted. "Turn around."

He didn't move.

"Turn around, now."

I spun him toward me.

The scream died in my throat, choking me.

The boy had no face. There were no eyes, no mouth, no nose. It was just a smooth, white surface, glossy and reflective like a dry-erase whiteboard.

The lights in the conference room hummed louder, rising to a deafening pitch.

A voice came from the blank face. It wasn't the multi-tonal giggle anymore. It was my voice. It was a recording of me, from earlier that day, speaking to my boss.

*"Time implies a deadline, Elias."*

The whiteboard face cracked, a jagged fissure running down the center.

* Click.*

The conference room lights died. The city lights outside the window vanished. Absolute darkness.

Then, from the infinite rows of cubicles behind me, the sound started. Not one pair of feet. Hundreds. *Slap. Slap. Slap.* A stampede of wet, bare feet rushing toward the door.

"You're It," a thousand voices whispered.

I backed up, hitting the cold glass of the window, and waited for the review to begin.