The study was silent save for the soft clicking of the grandfather clock. Henry Mulholland closed his laptop and sat back in his chair. It was three am and he was beat, yet his head still swam with numbers. He poured himself a generous malt whisky and lit a cigarette. Closing his eyes he breathed out a sigh of smoke. It had been a long day. The markets were still volatile, as they had been for weeks, and on top of that he had spent most of the day negotiating with the GMB union over the closure of the steelworks. His offer had been more than fair but they were becoming greedy. Maybe if…      

His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by his subconscious.      

Henry opened his eyes and focused back on the room. The atmosphere had changed. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was different. He felt cold and the back of his neck was starting to tingle. He tried to take a drag of his cigarette but found himself unable to move his arm. In a panic, he tried to move each limb in turn. It was no use: he was totally paralyzed.      

 “Don’t bother trying,” said a voice from behind.      

The man walked slowly round to the front of the desk and stared hard at Henry. He was Oriental and dressed in black from head to toe. Henry tried to speak, but found that too was impossible.      

 “I’m going to release you now Mr Mulholland. When I do, I want you to stay still and quiet. Only speak when I ask you a direct question. If you understand and are willing to comply, blink three times.” His voice was calm yet commanding.      

Henry blinked three times. The man made a zigzagging motion with his right arm and Henry felt life come back to his body. He stubbed out the cigarette which was nearly to his knuckles.      

“I’ve come for the box Mr Mulholland. Where is it?”      

Henry looked quizzical.

“What box?”      

“The box.”       

“I really don’t know what you mean.”      

The man made a sign in the air and immediately Henry was paralyzed again.      

From his trouser pocket the man drew a six inch stiletto blade. He leant over the desk and pushed it to Henry’s throat. “Mr Mulholland, I will not hesitate to kill you if I don’t get what I want. I suggest you think very carefully about this.”      

He slowly withdrew the knife and put it back in his pocket. From the desk he took a notepad and pen and drew a symbol. He released Henry again and held the symbol in front of him. “The box I’m talking about is made of wood and is covered in symbols, this one,” he pointed, “is larger and is positioned directly in the centre. Now again, where is it?”      

Henry shook with fear. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes. He had no idea what the man was talking about.      

“I…I…don’t know. I have no box like that,” he stammered.      

“I thought you might say that…Very well.”      

Without another word he paralyzed Henry again and drew the knife. The blade entered Henry’s heart with surgical precision and he died instantly: eyes wide with horror and helpless as a newborn kitten. The man put his mask back on and crept out of the window into the shadows of the night.