Jon Hutson watches sports late at night, beer in hand. Half away. The house is utterly dingy. With the carpet moldy. The wood rickity. A sent of alcahol and cigertes in the air. Yet... just behind the drunk, nearly passed out man. Is a childs bedroom. The child lays awake. With a bruse on his arm. Has he is quite in his room. Scared of the dark... but more scared of his dad. The child Kane Hutson hears a sound. A radio static. He turns to his alarm clock, as he notices it turnned on to radio? On its own? The kid moves, worried, as it begins to play clearful music. He gets up, and tries to turn it off. It does not turn off. The 8 year old frowns. As he keeps pressing the power button. The chearful music continues. Before, a voice speaks. "The Kit hurts, as the Father Suffers" The weird static voice, filled with playfulness says. Ryming, and... almost speaking joyfully. "The Father Suffers, and the Fox smells." Then... "The Fox hunts. The Father Runs... Run Broken Ones... Run..." The voice continues, as Kane shakes, and unplugs the alarm clock. It turns off... the voice continues... behind him... radio static gone. "As Mr. Fox shall enjoy his hunt." Kane falls out of his bed, breathing, shaking as he looks around his room. Nothing. Its quite. He hears TV static from the living room. Shaking.
He opens the door slowly. Scared. As within the living room. He sees it... his father... eyes glowing with static. He is frozen, unmoving, just... standing there, hands at his side, remote in his hand. As foxes of shadows on the walls, cartoonish, deep pure dark, clearly outlighned by the lesser darkness of the night. The foxes glowing with a purple light around there edges, and teeth, and eyes. As they move animaticly on the walls. As within the TV is a animated show. Then... a flash of light. His father is gone. The TV is back on the football game. The 8 year old screams, and shivers, as they fall to the ground. Shaking... as suddenly... the lights come back on. He shakes in fear. "D-Dad?" He gets up... his dad... is gone. As he look around, entering the living room shaking. Shivering... "Dad..."
February 25, 2013, Shield gets reports of missing parents, and children with similar stories, earliest incident being September 3, 2012. A 'Mr. Fox' took them. While details changed. Some children said they saw it in a dream, as they slept. The fox whispering to them a rhyme in its animated world. Others saw the Fox physically, as shadows on the wall. But all the same... Mr. Fox? Shield marked it as something weird, not many details, but there algorothms said this was unusual. Agent Tom, a serious man with five years of cold-case work under his belt, took the assignment with irritation. Miller, newer, younger, Tom's Jr, was more open—curious in a quiet, analytical way. Tom sat in a dinner, eating a sandwitch. As the young woman Miller entered. She sat next to him. As she pulled out a laptop. She said "Sir... what do you think of the case." Tom pauses from his sandwitch, and says "I think its unusual yes. But prpobbly just children stories." Miller shakes her head "But the algorithm pinged it as off." He says "Means nothing. I rather not beleve in tall tails until i see them with my own eyes." Miller loses a respoect in her heart for Tom. As she looks at him unsure. Tom then says "However, we will take a look. Interview the kids."
Eventually Tom, and Miller arrive at a foster home. Where one of the earliest connected cases was, the kid Kane Hutson. They sit in there care reviewing there intel. Miller says "Kid was found by polce, where he reported over the phone his father was stolen by a fox. Police were confused, but showed up. Only to find no legal guardian in the house. The kid reported afterwords that "Mr. Fox took him!" That he appeared thru the TV. Not many details, but it was a kid. No sign of forced entry. No camra footage. Nothing. Beyond that, in terms of past Kane Hutson was a abused 7 year old, and the victum was the father, a drunky, 38, named Jon Hutson. Thats all we got." Tom nods.
The foster home was understated—clean, gray siding, a muted yard with a dying swing set. A woman named Ms. Tally greeted them, middle-aged, with quiet hands and eyes that looked like she'd seen more than she'd ever say aloud. She led them inside and offered weak coffee neither of them touched. Kane was in the other room, coloring. "Still barely speaks," Ms. Tally said. "But watches the TV too much. Keeps trying to watch it late into the night. Has gone silent about what happened to his father, abandoned the whole Mr. Fox thing. Think he is hiding what truely happened." Tom nods. "Understood, we still want to try a interview." Ms. Tally sighs "Yeah, but you wont get much." As she opens the door, and the two enter finding Kane sat in front of the TV. But unlike the other kids, he is watching it with purpose.
Miller bends down, and sits with Tom. As Miller asks carefully "Hi Kane. We are... investigators. We investigate the weird things. We were wondering... if you could tell us about your father." Kane watches them, slightly scared. He says nervously "You would not beleve me." Tom frowns, he can tell this kid is smart, and sane. Tom says "its fine, tell us what you saw." Kane is quite, and says "Well... it was dark. My... alarm went off. But... it turned to radio station." Miller asks "Do you remember what frequency?" Kane pauses thinking deeply, with deep eyes, and says "101.618... i think." Tom looks at Miller confused, but shakes his head. "What did it do?" Kane says "It began playing music... fun music, and i felt weird. It then began to say a poem." Miller asks "What was the poem." Kane looks... conflicted and says "The Kit hurts, as the Father Suffers. The Father Suffers, and the Fox smells. The Fox hunts. The Father Runs... Run Broken Ones... Run..." Kane shakes like a leaf "A-As Mr. Fox shall enjoy his hunt." The room falls silent. Miller asks after a few moments "What occured next." Kane stutters "I-I went out of my room... and... and it took dad away into the TV." Miller asks "What does Mr. Fox look like?" Kane pauses, as he gets up, and pulls out a drawling. Its a picture drawn in crayon, pretty well drawn. A black-grey furred fox. With many shadowy, weird looking foxes around them, with purple eyes. Not much detail. But there is some. Miller asks "What are those foxes around him." Kane says "The shadows. They... do as he says i think."
The two Shield Agents sat in the car. Unsure. Tom hated unprovable things. He liked evidence, camera footage, bruises that matched fists. Not ghost foxes in TV screens. Yet something in Kane's demeanor gnawed at his skepticism. Miller said "I think this is something new. Like new Mexico... but less.. friendly or clear." Tom nods, but... a quite drought is in his eyes. "Im not sure, but its possible. I will give you that." Miller holds a laptop, looking thru research, with a unease in her eyes. "Radio Broadcasts are organized in 0.1 wavelength channels. They don't get as exact as 101.618. It would be non-functional normally. Most radios don't have the display to even display 0.618. Especially not a alarm clock radio display. Its not programed. Furthermore... 1.618... the golden ratio." Tom was quite. "Can we can the frequency?" Miller considers, and sighs. "Perhaps, but we need a specialized radio device. I can order one. We should have it in budget range. Its just a radio receiver after all."
It took some work, but they got funding required for a custom made receiver. Thou the engineers were confused at even the idea of a perfect golden ratio signal, and the need to detect it. They said over Email "Its physically impossible for a radio wave to have a irrational number as a frequency." But they made something anyway, best they could, after some convincing. With a major bill on there record. They set up in a lab two days later, the borrowed receiver calibrated to scan subharmonic ranges that Miller hopes might catch something at 101.618. It's all speculative. Nothing for now. But they leave it to sit overnight. Review the data in the morning. As they arrive, they see it. A spike semi-randomly throughout the day... frequency? The golden ratio... perfectly the golden ratio. As far as the scanners precision goes. The numbers on the screen look bright, as Miller looks at tom unsettled. Tom frowns deeply "This is real. Or... something. We don't know... but something is real." Miller frowns "The story was too... detailed. That child did not look to be making something up..." Tom is still unsure.