*This is a piece of flash fiction*
When Beth pulled into her designated parking space at work that morning, she could sense something was wrong. She opened the doors to see all of her colleagues running around like chickens with their heads cut off while papers flew through the air. It was like each was a nerve pacing through the body towards the brain, all trying their hardest to lift one finger.
What was the limb that wasn’t working? Beth didn’t understand what all the fuss was. In the background of all of the commotion, everything seemed to be working just fine. The men were still in their cages, some working on frosting cakes while others iced cinnamon rolls. The whole time their elbows repeatedly hit the walls of the small square confinement. While others had their arms stretched through metal bars putting the baked goods in little plastic bags and then boxing them. All of them making sure each box was ready to ship out and line grocery store shelves with Little Debbie. Why was everyone chasing their tails? Beth thought until she laid her eyes on an empty cage in the far left corner.
A paper hit her square in the face, leaving a thin, red line dripping blood across the bridge of her nose. She whipped it away as her boss, Mr. Mun, strode heavily into the room. His feet hit the floor with enough aggression and intention that made the entire room stagnant. Heads bobbled to his direction then bowed low before the sight of his crisp suit and tie. The air turned stale as a cold glare settled onto the crowd. Nobody moved or dared to breathe, knowing that if someone spoke out of term then it would be them in that empty cage. He simply stated that he was going to interview everyone one at a time in order to get the facts straight. Beth Almon went first.
Pulling her into a dull room lit by a single desk lamp that was nearly pushed off the edge of the table, he motioned for her to sit. She made her way to the metal stool that froze her thighs to the seat across from Mr. Mun, whose chair looked soft yet just as cold as her’s. For thirty seconds straight, they sat in silence before he pushed his chair back, creating a long, dull creaking sound. While looking her dead in the eye, he paced around the table. He asked what time she had clocked out last night, and she responded 9:00 pm. He asked if she knew what was happening, and she replied that one of the bakers had gone missing. He asked her if she knew which one, and she muttered back that she had no idea because she had arrived mere moments before she was called in. He turned back on his heels and slammed his fists down onto the lament table. His eyes opened wide before turning into thin slits, like the paper that had cut her before. If this wasn’t rage in its purest form then she didn’t know what could possibly be more frightening.
“Tell me.” He said in almost a whisper. His voice husky and coated with spit and malice. “Do you know the Muffin Man?”