Mr. Scratch made his way through the hallways. His shadow danced along the walls under the lanterns and their flickering glow. The clicking and clacking of the broomsticks did not faze him. They scurried around like lunatics, their breaths filling the voids of sound between the clacking. The air-cooled his skin, warm to the touch from the nervous excitement within him.

He pulled the end of his shirt down on one side. A piece of loose string irritated the side right side of his back. It wasn't long before he found it with his hand and pulled it out, tossing it to the side. The small relief was fleeting as he noticed just how unkempt the place had become. It never bothered him before but for some reason, it had during that moment.

He wondered why it was such a dirty place. Those women with broomsticks were everywhere and yet nothing ever got cleaner. Was it not the Father's job to keep the place livable? Had they been too occupied on their specific tasks that they lost sight of the bigger picture? He'd begun to wonder if that was his own doing. If he'd been negligent of the big picture as well, then of course the place would become so horrid to see.

It was so easy to trail off from one experiment to the next that losing sight of what needed to be done was inevitable. But the time had slithered away by then. He'd become so focused on William and the possible outcome that he'd let Father slip up without repercussions. It was unlike him to fall into such a strange, narrow-sighted path. But he needed to know what William was capable of. He had to see what a man with nothing could do when allowed the opportunity for anything.

Mr. Scratch made his way down, passing by the shrinking hallway and past the blue barrel. A few times, he had to kick away the broomsticks when they got too close. They were like dogs following their master.

"Scraaaatch!" They'd say.

Ahead of him were a set of stairs leading to a door. As he climbed each step, scratching his back where the string had been rubbing, he continued to kick back at the broomsticks. The door creaked as it opened. Once on the other side, he was sure to lock it. The kitchen smelled like mold and the dishes in the sink hadn't been washed in weeks. Dried scraps of food draped over the plates and silverware while old liquids stained the cups on the countertops.

The living room smelled of cigarettes and every ledge and protrusion were ridden with dust. There was a brick wall behind an open door; a small hole had been busted through it. He picked up one of the pieces of brick, rolling it around with his fingers as he discovered the old television. He tried flicking the power switch but the thing wouldn't turn on. A few tapes sat beside it: westerns with photos of cowboys and policemen on the covers.

The couch was just as stained as the cups in the kitchen. He smacked the arm of it and dust flew out in a small cloud. He winced and backed up, noticing the ashtray on the end table. He couldn't remember allowing for cigarettes, but it wasn't easy to recall every single rule. In any case, the smell disgusted him. He wondered if the bigger picture that he'd felt he was losing sight of was right there in front of him. The little things he overlooked could have made all the difference for the bottom line.

Walking into the short hallway there, he saw a room. For as long as he'd been the new Mr. Scratch, he'd never even taken the time to see all the different areas and rooms. There simply wasn't enough time. Either that or he never made the time. But he dismissed the thought, telling himself that was never necessary. He shouldn't have to see everything. But he saw it then. The large, steel door and a red carpet that seemed oddly clean. A table was in the corner, bolted into the floor, smaller than he'd ever seen. A window that loomed over him at a great height caught his attention the most, however.

Mr. Scratch stood and observed it for a long time. His face wore a grin as he wondered just how many years that William had been stuck there. It amazed him what the human being could withstand. He relished in the thought of it. He picked his brain about how many people could be in there at one time and for how long. He thought of ways to make the room smaller or bigger and the differences it could make in the person living in it, however small the differences would be. It was the little things that turned his wicked crank.

He wondered about the Fathers and what they might be up to at that moment. Was Father in hiding somewhere, afraid of the punishment for letting William escape again? Was Ed readying the next girl for her time in the hole? Was the third Father dealing with a cesarean in the birthing room or with his family on the outside?

The time seemed right for taking risks, it seemed. One tiny rebellious act had led to another and he felt he was doing the same. There'd never been someone who escaped before, let alone someone letting it happen. What did that mean for the entire system? What did that mean for himself? It was too much to ponder without an answer. It wasn't as if anyone in Will's withering state would make it more than a day on the outside, anyway. If the cold didn't get him, then the third Father would. If not him, then a wild animal. Thirst or starvation would be close behind any attempt to flee into that endless wilderness.

Even if William made it alive, that would only mean the end of that one location. That's if he would say anything at all with the fear that he would have about being captured again or killed. Mr. Scratch turned towards the white sheet and planks that made William's bed. He stepped over to it, pulling his shirt down once more on the right side, still feeling like a piece of string was hanging there touching his back. He leaned forward, reached out his hand, and began to slap William's face.

"William," he said as the sleeping man twitched and twisted from a nightmare. It was then that he noticed a hammer in his peripherals.

Mr. Scratch slapped him again, "William!"

William woke up in a daze, gripping some kind of leaf in his hand. He looked up, confused, at the healthy-looking man standing above him.

"Bout time you woke up, Will." Said Michael.