Chapter 5: Welcome to Smart Shopper

The service corridor was barely wide enough for two people, lined with exposed pipes and electrical conduits that hummed with dying power. Alex pressed his back against the cold concrete wall, listening to the sounds of pursuit echoing from the main mall floor.

"Please return to the shopping area," Brittany's voice carried through the thin walls, still maintaining that sickeningly cheerful tone. "Our employees are standing by to assist with all your needs. Remember, customer satisfaction is our number one priority!"

Matt was hyperventilating beside him, the pistol shaking in his grip. "They're everywhere. How are there so many of them?"

"It's a mall," Alex whispered back, his mind racing through the building's layout. "Probably had two, three hundred employees across all the stores. Plus shoppers who were here when it happened." He paused, listening to the mechanical footsteps growing closer. "All of them still reporting for duty."

The jingle started again, but now Alex could hear it was coming from multiple sources—speakers throughout the mall, all playing at slightly different speeds, creating a nauseating cacophony of overlapping melodies.

"♪ Smart Shopper values every customer! Please proceed to checkout for processing! ♪"

"Processing," Matt repeated, his voice hollow. "Jesus Christ, they're talking about us like we're... merchandise."

A new sound joined the chorus—the screech of metal on metal as something heavy dragged across the mall's tile floor. Through a ventilation grate, Alex caught a glimpse of the main corridor and felt his blood freeze.

They were bringing in the mascot.

It had once been the Smart Shopper Squirrel—a seven-foot-tall cartoon character designed to delight children and encourage family shopping. The costume was bright orange with an oversized head and a permanently fixed smile, but the thing wearing it now moved with the same inhuman precision as the other marionettes.

And it was looking for them.

The mascot's head turned a full 360 degrees as it scanned the area, its plastic eyes reflecting the emergency lighting like black mirrors. When it spoke, the voice came from speakers hidden in the costume, but the words were wrong—too slow, too deliberate, like a recording played at the wrong speed.

"Come out, come out, little customers," it said in a voice that might have once been cheerful but now sounded like audio from a nightmare. "Uncle Nutkin wants to play!"

"We need to get higher," Alex whispered, pointing up at a maintenance ladder built into the wall. "Food court's on the second level. Better sight lines, more exits."

Matt nodded, though his face was pale with terror. They began climbing, the metal rungs cold and slick under their sweating palms. Below them, the sounds of the hunt continued—dozens of feet moving in perfect synchronization, the scrape of the mascot costume, and that horrible jingle playing on endless repeat.

The ladder led to another service corridor, this one running parallel to the second floor. Through gaps in the wall panels, Alex could see into the food court—a wide-open space with scattered tables and chairs, surrounded by the dark storefronts of chain restaurants. It looked empty, but Alex had learned not to trust appearances.

"There," he pointed to an emergency exit sign visible across the food court. "If we can reach that—"

The ceiling above them exploded in a shower of acoustic tiles and dust.

A marionette dropped through the hole like a spider, its strings glittering in the emergency lighting. It was wearing the uniform of a mall security guard, complete with badge and radio, but its neck was bent at an impossible angle and its smile never wavered.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to return to the shopping area," it said in the flat, official tone of someone used to dealing with unruly teenagers. "Loitering in maintenance areas is strictly prohibited."

Alex swung the fire axe without hesitation. The blade caught the marionette in the chest, sending it spinning backward, but the strings kept it upright. Black fluid spattered the walls as it advanced again, arms outstretched.

"Sir, please comply with mall regulations," it repeated, grabbing for Alex's throat.

Matt's pistol cracked twice in the confined space, the muzzle flash blinding in the darkness. The marionette jerked backward with each impact, but kept coming. The strings were pulling it forward, overriding any damage to the host body.

"The strings!" Alex shouted, raising the axe toward the ceiling. "We have to cut the strings!"

But the gossamer threads were barely visible, and they moved constantly, swaying and pulsing with their own rhythm. Alex swung wildly, feeling the blade pass through empty air while the security guard marionette closed in.

A new voice echoed from the food court beyond—young, female, terrified.

"Help me! Please, someone help me! I'm trapped in the kitchen!"

Matt froze, his finger still on the trigger. "That's... that sounds real."

"It's not real," Alex grunted, dodging the marionette's grasping hands. "Remember the bar. Remember what you told me."

But the voice came again, more desperate now: "They're in here with me! The employees, they're trying to... Oh God, please help me!"

The marionette's hands found Alex's shoulders, its fingers digging in with inhuman strength. Up close, he could see the badge pinned to its uniform: 'FRANK - SECURITY - 15 YEARS OF SERVICE.'

"Fifteen years," it said conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather. "Fifteen years of keeping this place safe. Now I get to keep it safe forever."

Alex brought his knee up hard, connecting with the thing's sternum. It didn't seem to feel pain, but the impact was enough to break its grip. He rolled away, coming up with the axe ready.

The voice from the kitchen called out again, but this time Matt recognized it.

"That's Sarah's voice," he whispered, his face going white. "That's my sister."

"No," Alex said firmly, but he could hear the doubt creeping into his own voice. What if they were wrong? What if there really was someone alive in there, someone who needed help?

The marionette security guard lunged forward again, but this time Alex was ready. He swung the axe in a wide arc, not aiming for the body but for the space above its head. The blade caught something—a brief resistance, like cutting through silk—and suddenly the marionette collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Because that's exactly what it was.

"The strings," Alex breathed, staring at the motionless body. "Cut the strings and they stop."

But even as he said it, he could see new threads descending from the darkness above, seeking out the fallen marionette. Whatever controlled them wasn't giving up easily.

The voice from the kitchen came again, closer now: "Matt? Matt, is that you? Oh thank God, I knew you'd come for me!"

This time, Matt broke.

He ran toward the sound, ignoring Alex's shouts of warning, the pistol clutched in his white-knuckled grip. He burst through the service corridor door and into the food court proper, calling his sister's name.

Alex cursed and followed, the fire axe ready, just as more marionettes began emerging from the darkened restaurant stalls around the food court's perimeter.

They weren't just employees anymore. Mixed in with the red-vested staff were shoppers—families who'd been here when the strings came down. A mother pushing a stroller with something small and still inside it. A group of teenagers in letterman jackets, all moving with that horrible synchronization. An elderly man with a walker he no longer needed, his steps as fluid as a dancer's.

All of them converging on Matt as he ran toward the kitchen where Sarah's voice continued to call for help.

"Matt!" Alex roared, but it was too late.

Matt reached the kitchen entrance just as a figure stepped out of the shadows. It was a woman in her late twenties, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a college sweatshirt that read 'STATE UNIVERSITY.' She looked exactly like the photo Matt carried in his wallet, exactly like the sister he'd described during their desperate flight through the city.

Except for the strings.

"Matty," she said, and her voice was perfect, absolutely perfect. "I was so scared. I thought I'd never see you again."

She opened her arms for a hug, and Matt ran straight into them.

Alex was twenty feet away when he saw the strings tighten, saw Matt's expression change from relief to confusion to horror as his sister's arms locked around him like a vise. He could see the moment when Matt realized the truth—that this thing wearing his sister's face was just another puppet, just another lure in an elaborate trap.

But by then, it was too late.

More strings were descending from the ceiling, gossamer threads that caught the emergency lighting and threw it back in oily rainbows. They moved toward Matt with deliberate purpose, seeking out his wrists, his ankles, the back of his neck.

Alex raised the fire axe and charged, screaming something wordless and primal. Around the food court's perimeter, dozens of marionettes began closing in, all smiling, all moving in perfect unison. The jingle played louder now, the cheerful melody building to a crescendo that sounded like the laughter of something vast and alien.

"Welcome to Smart Shopper," the fake Sarah said, her voice multiplying as every marionette in the food court spoke in unison. "Where the fun never ends, and nobody ever has to leave."

The strings reached for Matt's throat, and Alex swung the axe toward them, knowing he was too late, knowing the dance was about to claim another partner.

In the darkness above, something that had never been human pulled its threads tighter and prepared to welcome its newest customers to the family.

The mall's PA system crackled to life one final time: "♪ Thank you for shopping Smart Shopper! We hope you'll stay forever! ♪"