Hans Beckert was on the run. The police under Lohmann's direction, and Der Schranker's criminal accomplices both wanted him very badly indeed. He did not know about the second group however, much to his misfortune.
He thought he was being followed by police and he had abandoned his prey before ducking into the the office building he now found himself. It was closing for the day and he hoped it would provide at least a temporary sanctuary for the encroaching night. Sighing in partial relief, he sat heavily in a wooden chair near the attic steps of the ancient brick building.
Softly he began to whistle In the Hall of the Mountain King
. This simple action settled his agitated nerves, which by this time had been stretched close to their breaking point. As he was beginning to unwind and feel that he had escaped his pursuers; he heard voices in the stairwells.
Quietly he stood and retreated up into the attic, closing the door softly behind him and making sure the bar was firmly affixed. His whistling grew ever softer, but did not completely cease.
Carefully he continued up the old worn wooden steps., trying desperately to avoid setting foot upon a loose board and producing a tell-tale creak or groan from the aged lumber. His whistling now was the merest passage of air past his pursed lips. The sound of a rat wiggling through a tight space in the walls.
He had reached the top and was now among the rafters and beams which supported the slates above. Boxes and cabinets of records lay stacked in neat piles and a thick layer of dust covered all. A dim light streamed in from the grimy window slits allowing Beckert to at least navigate his way through this shadowy maze without stumbling or making any undesired sound from his passage.
"I see that you like dolls as much as I."
Beckert gasped as a gentle musical voice penetrated the gloom. "Wer ist theere?" was his startled response.
"You know you should never break your toys. Daddy and Grandmother won't always be there t'get you new ones t'play with," this statement came in a perfectly calm and matter of fact tone. As much as if someone was commenting on the unseasonal warmth.
"Wer bist du? Was willst du?" Beckert was nearly frantic with panic as he asked for the voice's identity and goals. He spun in place, trying to stare through the gloom with force of will alone. But the speaker remained cloaked in the murky shadows.
"I am merely a tourist mein herr. T'be honest I'm not really supposed t'be here either," this was followed by an airy giggle. "It seems though that you brought some friends t'tea with you, and my William and I don't feel much like entertaining at the moment."
There was a vague sensation of movement behind his right shoulder and Beckert forced himself to slowly turn his head to see who had moved behind him. He saw a vision in an old fashioned dress with dark hair, smooth pale skin, piercing eyes, and a smile with perfect white teeth.
"Now mein herr, Seien Sie in mir..." the vision whispered.
Der Schranker's men found a dazed Beckert on the top floor. The scrawled chalk 'M' still visible on the back of his jacket. They didn't even bother checking the attic door as apparently the silent alarm had gone off and they needed to flee with their prize before the police arrived.
Above, two shapes waited silently.
"Alright love. What was that all about?"
"Someone who doesn't respect their toys and deserves whatever their future holds..."
BtVS Property Mutant Enemy. M Property Fritz Lang and Thea von Harbou though it is in the public domain.