Dateline: Burbank California, February 8th, 1999
The coffee dribbled out of the pot and into the Bugs Bunny shaped coffee mug. A dark haired young woman was alone in the Warner Brothers executive offices' break room. She waited patiently for the coffee to finish sputtering out before dumping in exactly one half-spoonful of sugar and mixing it vigorously with a spoon. She took it by the handle and made quick strides a few doors down to the biggest and fanciest office in the building.
The woman knocked on the door, "Mr. Plotz? I've got your coffee here."
She opened the door and went in despite not hearing anything. Sitting at the other end of the office was the short and pudgy Thaddeus Plotz. He was on the phone, angrily scowling at some papers on his desk.
"For the last time," He growled into the receiver, "I have done everything in my power to find him! The case has gone cold and there's nothing more I can do! What more do you expect of me?!"
The voice of a hysterical woman was on the other line. It was impossible to understand what she was saying as the phone was pressed tightly against Plotz's ear.
"Yes, I know, I've already had the police look into it!" He continued, ignoring the woman in the office, "I've had the police look into every case, they can't find anything!... What?! Sue me?! How is this my fault?!"
The line suddenly went dead. Plotz took the phone from his ear scowled viciously.
"She hung up on me!" He shouted as he slammed the receiver down. He put his face in his hands and groaned, looking more red and sweaty than usual.
The woman with the coffee stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, "Is this a bad time?"
Plotz looked up, his face softening only slightly, "Ms. Lee, hello. My apologies. Thank you for the coffee."
Ms. Lee carefully set the coffee on the desk. Plotz stared at the Bugs Bunny bug with disgust.
"Things are getting worse." He said to Ms. Lee, "More people aren't showing up to work. More families are calling me about their missing spouses. I keep calling the police to investigate, but they can't find anything."
Ms. Lee furrowed her brow, "Is this about that security guard who went missing a year ago?"
Plotz shook his head, "No, a stagehand went missing a couple days ago. That was his wife calling me and threatening me with legal action." He drew in a shaky breath, sweat beading on his forehead, "I don't know what more to do. What could possibly be happening to those people?"
"You look flushed, Mr. Plotz. Maybe you ought to take a break." Ms. Lee recommended, shaking her head at the sight of Plotz.
He nodded slowly, standing up from his desk, "The stress is certainly getting to me. My chest feels knotted..."
"Would you like me to call the police again and maybe get more detectives on the case?"
"I would... Like that... Very much."
Plotz walked from his desk to the door. He took the coffee and sipped it quietly. Ms. Lee could hear his labored breathing. She turned her back on him as he left the office and began dialing the local Burbank police department.
Plotz staggered slightly down the long hallways of the office. His thoughts were rushing at the speed of sound. The disappearances, the calls, the legal action being taken against him... It was all overwhelming.
"Mr. Plotz sir!" One of the executives suddenly appeared from the corner of his eye, "I've been working on hiring new employees to pick up on the slack. Would you double check these resumes for me?"
"Mr. Plotz!" Another called, "I've got a gentleman on the phone. He says he's a lawyer representing one of our employees, can you please-?"
"Mr. Plotz!"
"Mr. Plotz sir!"
Plotz was suddenly surrounded by fellow executives and employees, asking for his opinions on things, or asking him to take calls with lawyers. Plotz swallowed, his throat drying out, his chest tightening to a painful degree. The long hallways seemed to stretch on into infinity... It was getting... Hard to breathe...
Huff... Huff... Huff...
Vision blurring...
Huff... Huff...
Chest... Pain...
Huff...
Heart... Stopping...
CRRRASSSH!
The Bugs Bunny mug hit the ground, shattering into a million pieces. Plotz followed behind shortly after, collapsing to the floor like a mighty tower toppling. His chest was on fire, feeling like it was being stabbed by many painful knives. He gripped his chest and cried out in agony.
"Oh my god! Mr. Plotz!" One of the executives shouted.
An employee knelt down beside him, panic in his eyes, "He's having a heart attack! Someone call 911!"
Plotz gasped desperately, trying to get air to his failing heart, "Oh...! Oh god...! I'm...! Dying...!"
An employee could be heard in the other room, shouting into a phone, "Hello?! 911?! My boss is having a heart attack! We need an ambulance right now!"
"Help is on the way Mr. Plotz sir, hang in there!"
Plotz managed to nod through his tears. He couldn't hold on to consciousness much longer as his employees picked him up and started sprinting through the halls, trying to get him downstairs to an en route ambulance.
The next few minutes were a blur for Plotz. The pain was so excruciating that he was in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours. There was nothing but vague memories as he balanced precariously on the edge of life and death.
The steady beep of a heart monitor echoed through the empty room. The low hum of a fluorescent light accompanied it. Thaddeus Plotz slowly woke up, his vision blurry and his body aching. He was in a hospital bed, tubes and wires hooked up to various parts of his body. The heart monitor next to his bed beeped a little faster as he remembered what happened and had a brief moment of panic.
I'm... I'm... Alive?
The door to the room suddenly opened. A doctor walked in, smiling at Plotz with a mixture of surprise and happiness.
"Mr. Plotz!" The doctor greeted, "You're awake! Looks like you made it through the night after all. How are we this morning?"
Plotz stared at him in confusion, "I... What happened?"
"We had to perform a bypass surgery." The doctor continued, "It seems as though you had a stress induced heart attack, which wasn't helped by your lifestyle, Mr. Plotz. Considering your age, we weren't sure if you'd make it through the surgery, much less the night. You're a lucky, lucky, lucky man."
Plotz groaned, "I'm... Not feeling too well."
"That's normal." The doctor explained. He went over to investigate the various monitors and take in the readings, "We were worried the surgery would be too much on your body, but you made it through. We're just going to keep you here for a couple days to monitor your vitals and make sure everything is working properly."
Plotz breathed heavily, his chest feeling deeply sore, "But... I'll be okay, right...?"
The doctor nodded as he wrote some things down on his clipboard, "Of course. But as I said, we'll monitor you for perhaps a week more while you heal."
The door opened again. A nurse came in, carrying a small vase of flowers, "You have a gift from someone, Mr. Plotz sir!" She set it carefully on his lap.
Plotz took the vase and observed the note taped to the side. It was your typical cheesy "Get Well Soon" card. He figured it was from one of his employees.
"We'll leave you alone to rest." The doctor told him as he and the nurse went for the door, "Press the button on the bed if you need anything. We'll be monitoring your heart rate for the rest of the day."
They left the room, leaving Mr. Plotz alone. He stared down at the pot of flowers in his lap. The Get Well Soon card was decorated with various pictures of Warner Brothers cartoons. He stared at, unbelieving of what had just happened to him.
He had nearly died.
Sure, he was old and had some bad habits, but he was still relatively healthy. But this brush with death had left him shocked. He had been stressed with all of the things going on at the studio. All the threats of legal action, the missing people, the duties of running an entire studio at his age... It was even a wonder he was still alive.
Plotz tore the card from the vase. Touching the material, he realized it was oddly... Old. The edges of the cardstock were split and rather limp; nothing like new cardstock should have been. Turning over the back, the copyright date read 1993. He raised an eyebrow. Why would someone send him a card from seven years ago? He decided to ignore the oddity and open the card.
Dear Mr. Plotz,
It's been a while, hasn't it? You probably don't remember us, but we remember you. The beloved Warner Brothers CEO, an expert businessman, a powerful human being. Oh yes, we remember you.
To hear that you had a heart attack was shocking, but welcome. We've been waiting for a moment like this for quite a while, and your little condition was just perfect timing!
Plotz squinted at the letter, turning it around and glaring at it. Was this some sort of sick prank? A twisted insurance ad? He was reluctant to keep reading it, but continued on anyways.
We know you're probably confused. Who would dare delight in your pain? Only your worst enemies would take pleasure in knowing you nearly died, wouldn't they? But Plotzy, don't you remember what you did to us? Don't you remember how much you tried to bury us?
Don't you remember the very studio's namesake, the namesake you built your empire on... The Warner Brothers (and sister)?
Plotz's eyes widened. He dropped the note. The heart monitor sped up. The vase of flowers rolled off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud crash. Plotz's eyes slowly panned to the heart monitor, which was now beeping frantically. An electrical current pulsed around the monitor, causing it to beep at an erratic pace. Plotz panicked and pressed the button on the bed.
"Nurse?! Nurse!" He yelled.
Plotz looked to his bedside. Out of the flower pot crawled two liquid shadows, finding their way up to the wall on the other side of the room. The shadows took form, looking vaguely humanoid with glowing white eyes and sharp, toothy grins. The heart monitor had flatlined at this point, now sparking with an obscene amount of pink tinged electricity.
Three voices filled the room, deep and droning.
"Thaddeus Plotz... Your time has coooomee!"
The shadows on the left grew bigger, approaching Plotz's bedside. A pink apparition swirled around the heart monitor, taking on an animalistic form filled with static.
Plotz breathed heavily, feeling like he was going to have another heart attack. He pressed the button as many times as he could, "Nurse?! Doctor?! Anyone! Oh god anyone please help me!"
The ghost spoke up, floating over to his bedside, "No one is here to help!"
The shadows chimed in, "You're ours now!"
Plotz let out a scream and covered his eyes, terror filling his soul. He waited for the demonic entities to attack and drag him into a hellish afterlife.