It stared at him. All it ever did was stare at him. Smiles all around for Mr. Pickles and Mr. Trout, even laughter for Mr. Gristle, but not Mr. Snatcher. Only two weeks ago Archibald Snatcher stole the infant from the local inventor Herbert Trubshaw, and each day since then he was faced with the same blank stare.

"How long you think we'll have this little guy around for?" Mr. Pickles had asked just that morning over breakfast.

"Obviously until the machine is built, Mr. Pickles." Mr. Snatcher hissed as he rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes.

"Are you alright boss? Did the baby keep you up with it's sad wailing again?" Mr. Trout asked as he placed a breakfast of scrambled eggs before the tired man.

"It always cries around me." He grumbled before shoveling the fresh food into his mouth, not daring to look up from his plate. He already knew the baby was staring, he could feel it's tiny piercing gaze upon him as always.

Sitting in it's makeshift highchair, Mr. Pickles and Mr. Trout flocked to it, cooing and making ugly faces, eliciting giggles from it.

"Who's ready for breakfast?" Mr. Trout asked as he prepared a bowl of orange mush, stirring it with a miniature spoon dwarfed by his enormous hands.

"Hold on, gotta put the bib on him first. Don't want a messy little hostage do we?" Mr. Pickles laced a tiny cloth napkin around his neck which draped well past his knees.

Archibald was in disbelief over how the pair of stooges could coddle such a thing. Thinking at least Mr. Gristle, as dimwitted as he was, had some sense to stay focused on the task at hand.

"Hah hah, tiny spoon for tiny baby!"

Or not.

The third stooge now watched on in childish delight as Mr. Trout fed the adorable captive, the trio couldn't help but laugh as the baby spit up the last bit of food all over the bib. As Mr. Pickles used the bottom of the napkin-bib to clean the mess off it's face, it's head began to turn. Turned and stared right at Mr. Snatcher, still seated across the room at the table, uncaring of the mess it made or the men who cleaned it.

"Enough!" He yelped suddenly.

The three men froze as he stood up from the breakfast table and strode across the room towards the hostage. It still stared at him, head craned upwards to meet his gaze, beady eyes unblinking. Archibald felt a chill run down his spine, but continued to stare back, refusing to show fear.

"Erm, boss. Is everything alright?" Mr. Trout broke the silence, concern plastered on his face as well as the faces of Mr. Pickles and surprisingly Mr. Gristle.

"I'm putting it back upstairs until lunch." Mr. Snatcher announced hoisting the infant out of it's seat. He carried the child with arms outstretched for as much distance between them and, of course, facing away from him.

"I don't think that's quite a good idea boss." Mr. Pickles interjected nervously, yet his feet did not move to follow after his superior.

Once upstairs in his bedroom Archibald was quick to place the infant back in it's makeshift crib, which was a spare cage lined with a pillow, quite suitable for a hostage. He sat upon his plush bed and looked over at the child, who for once was far too preoccupied to stare, instead choosing to suckle the bars that confined him. Pleased to be rid of the child, Archibald grabbed his embellished red coat and matching red hat before leaving his quarters.

Downstairs, the exterminators had busied themselves by cleaning up all traces of breakfast in his short absence. Archibald smiled and donned his red hat as he announced he was stepping out to visit a certain inventor, adding that the Trubshaw baby was not to leave it's crib under any circumstances.

—

Archibald smiled through the streets of Cheesebridge, bustling with busied people shuffling to and from. He didn't even have to knock on the door when he arrived at his destination, Herbert was quick to usher him inside, and Archibald was even quicker to make himself at home. He took a seat on the living room sofa, placing his hat on the seat beside him and his feet upon the short table before him. Herbert scowled as he stood before his criminal guest and huffed.

"Where is my son? I want to see my baby boy!" He demanded.

"You want to see your son and I want to see some progress. You gotta earn your visitation rights Trubshaw." Snatcher snapped.

"I have only drawn up some designs for your killing machine so far, is that satisfactory enough for you? Will I be able to see my boy?" He pleaded, his eyes filling with fresh tears.

"Maaaaybe," he teased, "show me what you've got."

Snatcher brought his feet off the table as Mr. Trubshaw splayed various parchments before him, each one bearing a different design for the boxtroll capturing machine he needed to obtain his white hat.

"No. No. No." Snatcher said simply as he began to crumple up design after design, tossing the wads in any direction. He was about to crumple one more when he paused and gave it another look over, his eyes widened and he bared his crooked grin.

"Yes. This is the one!" He exclaimed. He rose and shoved the drawing back into the inventor's hands.

"This is perfect, Herbert, this is the one! I can see myself manning this masterpiece of machinery now, marching up to Portley-Rind's manor and-"

"I want to see my son."

Snatcher sneered at this interruption but agreed, he would bring his son home to visit for only 2 hours. The visit would be supervised by himself and his men, no authorities and no funny business. Or else.

—

As he made his way down the beaten path to his home, Archibald daydreamed of his destiny. The design of his extermination machine would one day soon be a reality, there was, however, the problem of builders as well as a location to house such a fine invention. A problem that he would think about in the days to come, after the next days visitation.

As he neared the door to his factory he heard shrill cries and panicked voices from within, whipping out his keys he quickly unlocked the heavy door and bolted inside. Mr. Trout and Mr. Pickles unsurprisingly had the Trubshaw baby with them, Mr. Trout rocked the screaming child in his bulky arms while Mr. Pickles tried to keep him calm with silly faces. Mr. Gristle came running over to them with a bottle of milk ready, but the baby refused.

"Gentlemen!" Archibald bellowed, his booming voice echoing throughout the factory.

The men stood at attention, the horrendous screaming child still softly rocked in Trout's arms.

"M-Mr. Snatcher! We can explain! Not too long ago the baby just got fussy and we've been tryin' to make him quiet. But nothing we do is working, we don't know what's wrong! Honest!" Mr. Pickles blurted out at once.

Mr. Snatcher's face contorted in anger, the lower eyelid of his left eye twitching. He wanted to scream, though he doubted he could raise his voice loud enough to contest the child that was still screaming. He inhaled deeply to calm himself and noticed a foul stench that invaded the normally stagnant air of the factory.

"Not again," he thought.

"Mr. Gristle fetch some towels. Mr. Pickles prepare a clean diaper. As for you, Mr. Trout, hand it over."

The towels were laid upon the only table they had, the same where they had eaten breakfast earlier that morning. Mr. Trout carefully laid the infant down on the changing station they made and began to peel off the layers of clothing it wore, with each layer removed the smell grew stronger. The burly man hesitated when he finally made it to the dirty diaper, his hands shaking and nostrils flaring at the odor.

"Hurry up, you fool!" Archibald snapped. Trout did as told and undoubtedly regretted it once he saw what waited inside.

"How could such a little baby make such a mess?!" Mr. Pickles coughed as he pinched his nostrils shut.

"Gross! Gross! Eww!" Mr. Gristle turned away in disgust.

Mr. Trout's eyes watered and Mr. Snatcher felt his begin to as well. His eyes trailed from the unspeakable diarrhea to the baby's face to reveal child was doing more than just simply staring. Though it wasn't the first dirty diaper this baby produced, it certainly was the worst. For the first time, the child smiled at Archibald Penelope Snatcher.

"Mr. Trout, clean the hostage!"

"I-I-I can't! I can't! I'm gonna-" He didn't finish his sentence, instead clamping his giant hands over his mouth before hurrying to the loo.

"Mr. Pickles!"

"Me, sir? I-I don't believe I have the stomach for it either!"

"Bah!"

Archibald grabbed the dirty diaper and threw it in the trash, Mr. Gristle grabbed the trash and took it outside to air out. The baby thrashed, kicking at Mr. Snatcher's hands as he wiped away the mess.

"He's clean now, diaper him Mr. Pickles."

The slender man's hands moved to clothe the child but, truth be told, he had never changed a diaper before.

"That's not how you change a diaper! Do I have to do everything?!" Mr. Snatcher pushed the thin man away and stood before the child, but the Trubshaw baby would not go down without a fight. Mr. Snatcher had just slid part of the diaper under the baby's bottom when he felt it, a warm and wet sensation on his paunch. When he heard Mr. Pickles audibly gasp he had an idea of what it was, when he saw the child smiling at him once more he knew he was right.

—

The child fell asleep immediately after dinner, having been upstairs alone between the diaper changing and feeding. Mr. Snatcher retired early and sent his men home, his head pounding worse than morning and he hope the child would stay asleep through the night. He would need as much sleep as he could get, the two of them had a big day ahead of them visiting Herbert Trubshaw. Archibald laid down to sleep, sparing one last glance at his prisoner still silently sleeping. He laid on his back for quite a while, eyes shut, waiting for sleep to overcome him. He was almost there, feeling himself drifting away when he snapped back into reality by a harsh screech coming from the right of his bed. His limbs thrashed as he jolted up, the baby squirming and fussing uncontrollably. Archibald got out of bed and begrudgingly held the child, human contact calmed the child a little and even in the darkness of his room he knew it stared at him.

"Child," he sleepily sighed, "why must you scream? Have you any idea how late it is? Babies are supposed to like sleep, why don't you?"

He began to lower the child into it's cage only for it to emit another ear piercing shriek. Desperate for sleep, he laid the baby on the bed beside him, hoping to transfer it back to it's cage once it had fallen asleep. The minutes felt like agonizing hours spent beside the child who did little more than play with it's fingers and toes with no intention of going back to sleep. Archibald laid on his side watching the child entertain himself and sighed, he outstretched a slender finger towards the baby. It's little hands softly gripped his finger and brought the tip to it's mouth, lightly suckling and slobbering. Archibald felt his lips contort into a smile as he withdrew his digit, with the absence of his finger the child began to blow drool bubbles. He couldn't help but chuckle, whether it was beacause of his sleep deprivation or how ridiculous his situation was he couldn't tell.

"Boo boo boo." He cooed at the child as his stooges had earlier in the day and the child smiled. He held his hand out with fingers spread, the baby grabbed his thumb in one tiny hand and ring finger in another. When he wiggled the digits in the child's grip he erupted in squealing laughter.

Two weeks. It took two weeks but he finally got the baby to smile and laugh as it did with all others.

Before he even knew it, he began to sing to the baby. Softly at first, barely a whisper, captivating the child before him. He sang, making up rhyming lyrics as he went, the baby expressing it's delight in squeals all through out. The playful interaction between them continued well into the wee hours of the morning until sleep overcame them both.

The next morning Archibald awoke on his right side, his eyes groggily refusing to stay open causing him to blink countless times until they adjusted. His eyes focused on the empty crib, he knew it was missing something but in his sleepy state he couldn't remember what. His memory was quickly jogged by the painful tugging of his long greasy strands, he carefully turned and saw the Trubshaw baby tangling himself in his hair. Archibald softly pried open the child's hands but he only grabbed more handfuls in his iron baby grip. Once he freed himself of the grabby baby he sighed in relief, glad that in his sleep he did not manage to accidentally roll over and crush the child under his weight. If that had been the case it would have made today's visitation and any further blackmail difficult. Archibald scooped the child up in his arms, cooing to him once more as he did the night before.

"Let's get ready to see your daddy, shall we?"

—

The exterminators paid Mr. Trubshaw a visit around noon, the man having waited on his porch for them to arrive before quickly ushering them in. As promised, Herbert Trubshaw's son would be reunited with him just for two hours before returning to the factory. Mr. Snatcher had carried the baby boy himself and as he tried to pass him to his father he felt the tight grip of his little fist around yet another strand of hair. Herbert was quick to pull his son away and clutch him close, tears beginning to roll down his face as he sputtered about how much he loved and missed him. It was also now that he noticed how unruly the inventor looked. He still wore the same clothing from the previous day, his unkempt hair now oily, he most likely hadn't shaved since in weeks and his bloodshot eyes were lined with dark circles. The scene before Snatcher made him feel something, he couldn't quite place what it was. A heavy and hollow feeling on the inside he hadn't felt in quite some time.

Snatcher seated himself on the same sofa from his last visit, his men also got comfortable as Mr. Trubshaw sat on the floor with his son and began to play with him. He laid on his back and lifted the baby high above him, only to bring him down face to face and blow raspberries at him before raising him above once more. The child screeched in delight, sounding happier than they had ever heard him before.

"Wheee! Wheee!" The inventor would exclaim each time the child ascended. "Look at how high up you are, Arthur!"

Arthur. It hadn't dawned on him before, but Mr. Snatcher never even knew the child's name till this moment. He hadn't even given it much thought, originally seeing little Arthur as the only power he had over the playful man on the ground. He continued to watch him play with Arthur, now having the infant lay on the ground to play peekaboo. Each reveal of his face making the child laugh hysterically.

Jealous. Archibald Snatcher was jealous of this man. Jealous of the love his son had for him. Jealous of the life he lived. Jealous of how he accomplished what men like him strove for, success, love and a family. When he would finally exterminate the boxtrolls with the glorious machine this inventor would build for him, then he could go about getting his white hat claiming he had done Cheesebridge a great service. Earning a white hat would mean success for him, and one out of three wasn't so bad.

The two hours quickly passed and Herbert tried to reason with them to let the child stay for a little longer, but Mr. Snatcher would not allow it. Tears began to flow freely down the inventor's reddened cheeks, he sputtered and pleaded, even so much as reaching out to his son who Snatcher held. Mr. Gristle stood between the two men, baring his crooked teeth in warning like an animal.

"Please, my boy means the world to me. H-He's all I have left." He faltered.

"We'll be in touch." Is all Mr. Snatcher said as he took his leave.

—

The next couple months had flown by, Mr. Snatcher had established that the construction of his destructive machine would be in the basement of his factory. Herbert had no choice to comply. On a brighter note for the inventor, as his work kept him in the factory he was closer to his son and able to interact with him every day he worked. The downside is that Trubshaw and his son were not the only ones confined to the factory, because the exterminators were not good help for building they had to find Herbert some help. Help which came from shackled boxtrolls they had captured, the same creatures the inventor had only months ago befriended he now felt he betrayed. Herbert felt nothing but shame in his actions and his work, and each time he would enter the factory and see Arthur sitting upon the lap of Archibald Snatcher he felt nothing but guilt.

As for Snatcher, he no longer minded his little hostage. The child had begun to really grow on him, and already he had learned his first word. Just that morning as he finished feeding him breakfast he heard Arthur's tiny voice.

"Da-da!" It was only a split second but he felt nothing but pride. He smiled as big as he could as he clutched the boy to his chest. Mr. Trout and Pickles both smiled with him as they cooed the child in his arms. In the back of his mind he knew that one day, with the completion of his machine, Mr. Trubshaw would want his son back. He had plenty of time to decide if he would oblige, but already Mr. Snatcher had begun to plot various ways to avoid doing so.