Oska Zapf

The apartment was dark, quiet, and completely alien. She woke up on a cold concrete floor. The last thing she remembered was a shadow at the entrance and a sharp smell. Now her world was reduced to a stone box with a barred window and the inexorable ticking of a clock.

The door clicked. A man with flat, glassy eyes appeared in the doorway. In his hands, he carried a small cake with a single pink candle.

"Oski Zapf," he introduced himself, setting the dessert on the floor. "We've met. I was watching. You stopped smiling."

“Why?” she whispered.

"It's your birthday," he sang, striking a match. The flame cast eerie shadows across his face. "Make a happy face. Just say, 'I'm happy, I'm happy, I'm happy today.' Make a wish."

His voice became quieter, but firmer.

— Because we're all tick-tock, tick-tock... ticking like a bomb. We need to get there before the explosion.

“I can’t,” she squeezed out, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

All the pretense of goodwill vanished from his face.

"Don't cry. It ruins the party. Put on a happy face. I'll be back when the candle burns out. And I want to hear the right words. And see the right expression."

The door closed. The lock clicked. She was left alone with the flickering light and the all-consuming tick-tock, counting down the seconds until the return of the master of her new world.