The disappearance of Steve Pearson was never explained. The case was filed among several others that year, all of them baffling. No connection could ever be made between them, other than that in each case, the victim had simply disappeared while on a routine errand and had left behind no clues. No sign of a struggle, no blood, no corpse.

Steve had vanished one day during his daily walk.

It was a routine that he had settled in to ever since the weather turned warm. Every afternoon after work, he would drive his pickup truck down to a secluded section of the highway and take a long walk through the woods. His favorite trail was along an ancient railroad line that had long ago been torn up, but which had left behind an elevated berm that snaked through some of the most picturesque forest in the state. He would often stroll along the crest of this berm and listen to the sounds of the woods and let his thoughts wander.

The last time he was seen, he was headed to that area.

That day he walked farther than usual -- curious, perhaps, as to where exactly the old rail line had once led. After all, for all the days that he had tramped along its track, he had never followed the railbed to its end. Following the winding berm, he made his way further and further into the wilderness until at last he reached the remains of a stone bridge. Little was left of it but for a sheer stone wall that dropped down into a rocky gully below. Peering ahead, he could not see any evidence of an abutment on the far side, and the berm itself seemed to dissolve into the terrain.

Disappointed, he thought about turning back, but decided to linger a while longer and simply enjoy the foragings of the wildlife around him. Sitting comfortably atop the wall, he watched as squirrels cavorted in the trees on either side of him. A red-tailed hawk, mobbed by a raucous gang of crows, rose from the treetops and soared out of sight -- seeking, no doubt, the sort of peace that Steve himself had found in this spot. The air was clear, with just a hint of Autumn lurking within it, and Steve drank it in gratefully.

It was then that he realized he wasn't alone.

At the foot of the wall he saw a figure slinking furtively along the gully. It was a boy, a teenager, clad only in the baggy shorts that were popular with kids his age and carrying a small burlap sack by his side. He was clambering over the rocks with youthful agility, gripping them with his toes as he climbed up to a broad swath of grass that lay in the shelter of the old wall. There he sat to catch his breath, directly below Steve, whom he had not seen.

Steve smiled to himself and decided to stay quiet. The boy was obviously worried about having been followed, and kept looking all around. At last he seemed satisfied that he was safe from prying eyes -- oh, had he only known! -- and relaxed back against the wall. He was a handsome young fellow, Steve noted, well-muscled and lean, the kind the girls probably whispered about in gym class. The only hair on his body was an unruly black mop atop his head, giving him a rough and mischievous air.

What's this?

Steve hunkered down closely atop the wall and peered downward as the boy rolled to his side, unfastened the front of his shorts, and began to fondle himself. Alarmed at first, but then barely able to contain his amusement, Steve kept quiet and watched. Deep down he felt a little guilty to be peeking in on a boy who obviously wanted to be very much alone, but he felt that if he moved off now he might make a sound and give the boy a fright that would scar him for life.

So he stayed still, and silent.

The boy soon worked himself to erection. He was impressively endowed for one so young -- probably the whispers in gym class came from both locker rooms, Steve thought with an inner chuckle. He continued to watch quietly as the boy caressed himself for a few moments more and then reached for the burlap sack he'd brought with him. Upending it, he dumped out a tiny, pallid figure. An action figure, it seemed, or a small doll, which the boy began to nudge closer to his penis.

Steve frowned. No wonder the kid is hiding in the woods, he thought. He likes to jerk off over dolls.

He kept watching as the boy positioned himself before the doll, and then his eyes widened. Something wasn't right. The doll was moving. Not just moving, but standing up. No strings, no whining of gears. It was standing and moving around, all on its own.

Steve gasped. It wasn't a doll. It was a man.

Frozen in disbelief, Steve could only stare at the bizarre scene unfolding below him. The tiny man was obviously alive, though a pronounced limp and a feebly dangling left arm hinted at unimaginable abuse. He staggered around, dazed, for several moments before the boy snatched him up and set him roughly down before his waiting penis. To the little man, the monstrous organ must have been the size of a treetrunk. As Steve watched, the boy gripped his erection in one hand and nudged his hips forward, shoving the moist tip insistently against his captive's chest. The movement pushed the man back and made him stumble before he steadied himself and began to caress the huge shaft with his one healthy arm. The boy smiled and closed his eyes contentedly. Encouraged, the man leaned forward and began to lap at the enormous member, his arm wrapping around it in a hug. Even that small expenditure of energy seemed too much for the little captive, who after a short time slumped exhaustedly, his arm dropping back to his side.

The boy appeared displeased. Raising his erection up with his hand, he let it fall heavily upon the tiny man's body with a meaty slap that Steve could hear even from his high perch. The man dropped in a heap, his good arm waving weakly in an effort to defend himself. The boy sneered and slapped him again, the heavy organ slamming down on the man and making his body jerk. For a minute, maybe more, the boy idly rubbed the head of his penis up and down the length of the little man's body, but his captive barely moved. At last, his patience exhausted, the boy snatched his errant plaything up in his fist, raised him high into the air, and crushed him to death with a powerful squeeze.

And, in doing so, he caught sight of Steve atop the wall.

Their gazes met and locked. Time stood still.

The boy's face, a mask of shock and dismay, suddenly hardened with rage. Flinging the broken body aside, he shoved a hand into his pocket and withdrew what looked like a cheap plastic water pistol, the kind that all the kids had. He jerked it angrily upward and pointed it at the intruder.

Steve recoiled, a purely reflexive motion. Still numb with horror he fell backward onto his rump, and watched as a wave rippled through the air ahead of him, like the heat from a campfire. The wave rose up past the rim of the wall and shot skyward. A passing crow happened to fly past and was caught squarely in the center of the distortion. Steve watched as its body convulsed in midair, and then rapidly shrunk to a pinpoint and disappeared from his sight. He felt his guts turn to ice as realization began to dawn on him, and then he heard the sound of feet scrambling up the embankment toward him, and he decided it was time to run.

Leaping to his feet, Steve tore back along the old railbed with the speed born of pure panic. The unearthly spectacle he had just witnessed replayed again and again through his mind. What he had seen was impossible -- could not be possible. It had to be a hallucination, or a tasteless joke. Nevertheless, he wanted to get as far away from the spot as he could before...

The hair at the back of his neck stood on end. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the boy emerge onto the railbed and peer in his direction. The slender arm rose once again, pointing at him. There was no cover.

Steve leaped to the side. He felt rather than saw the wave ripple past him. Staggering down the slope, he plunged into the cover of the woods and kept on going. Roots reached up to trip him with every step; branches whipped at his face and chest, but he kept running, dodging side to side lest the incredible ray target him again.

At last he could run no further. He darted behind a stout old tree, pressed his back tightly against the bark, and stood panted hard. When he could manage it he held his breath, listening desperately for sounds of pursuit.

Minutes passed. With only the rustle of leaves through the branches stirring the silence around him, he finally sank down against the tree to collect his thoughts.

What would he do? Who would he tell? And what would he tell them? Report to the police that he'd seen a teenager kill a living action figure? They would put him away. Tell them the boy had a gun? That might convince them to come out. But what good would it do? He would have to search for the body, if the boy hadn't already disposed of it. He wouldn't do that alone, though. He wanted the police -- hell, he wanted an army out here.

First, though, he had to get back to his truck. He knew that it lay just at the edge of the woods, where the railbed began, but then he realized with a start that the boy would probably guess that he'd parked there and would be waiting to ambush him. No, he didn't dare try for the truck. He would have to make his way through the woods all the way to the highway. Maybe there he could flag someone down to take him to the police station. There would be plenty of time to come up with some sort of story that would get them to --*

The air around him rippled and swirled, and even before Steve realized what was happening, he felt as though he were falling, saw the ground rushing up to meet him from an incredible height. His terrified shout shrank down to a tiny squeak that was lost amidst the rustling of the branches.

Steve landed hard on his left side, the wind knocked out of him. His ears rang and he felt sick to his stomach. When he finally managed to scramble to his feet, he stared around at the bizarre landscape and knew immediately what had happened. Where there had been trees, there were now mammoth blades of meadow grass towering around him. Where there had been grass at his feet, there was now a thick carpet of moss. A fallen leaf nearby was the size of a parachute.

The ground beneath his feet shook with a heavy impact. There was a pause, and then it shook again, harder. A pause, and then another tremor, stronger still.

Then the boy's face, dark and angry, loomed in the distance over the grasstops.

Choking in despair, Steve turned and ran blindly. The trunk of the old tree loomed ahead of him like a mountain. He made for it, stumbling around to the far side and huddling down. The strength of the tremors increased but the stillness between them grew longer, and then they stopped entirely.

Hours seemed to pass. Steve's heart raced wildly, pounding so loudly in his ears that he was certain that his giant pursuer would hear it. There was no other sound, though, and the silence terrified him. He stayed motionless, straining to hear, and finally edged along the rough bark and ventured to peek around it.

A mammoth bare foot settled to the ground just a few yards away and Steve froze. The foot had come down slowly, stealthily; the boy was stalking him. Petrified, Steve struggled to lift his gaze, moving along the muscular pillar of a leg and up at last to the boy's face. He was still scowling, his eyes darting side to side. Abruptly he bent forward and reached down, brushing his hand probingly over a swath of weeds in the distance.

Steve crept backward, hoping to place the tree between him and his pursuer. Then the other foot swept through the air ahead of him and settled down on the mossy ground, and Steve froze again. He looked up at the two towering legs vanishing into the great tent of the boy's shorts high above, and held very, very still.

An eternity passed, and then the boy took another furtive step. Steve was behind him now. Past the curve of the boy's rump Steve could see the huge head turning slowly side to side, hair swishing, still hunting for him. Gathering his courage, Steve began to inch along the base of the tree again, moving gradually around to its other side. He kept the boy's massive form in sight, though. Suddenly, the boy clenched his fists tightly in frustration, then raised one foot high and stomped down forcefully. The impact nearly jostled Steve off his feet, and was followed by a terrifying silence. The boy was standing very still, waiting for a response. The message was clear: show yourself, or die.

Fuck that, Steve thought.

Casting desperately about, Steve caught sight of a weathered rock that stood atop a hillock far in the distance. At its base was a dark hole, a snake burrow perhaps, or a gopher hole. Whichever it was, the growth around it seemed to indicate that it had been abandoned for a long time. Even if it wasn't, whatever might be down there could not be as bad as the monster that was hunting him up here.

Between him and this possible refuge, however, lay a broad stretch of open ground scattered with leaves. He would have to cross in the open, exposed. If the boy happened to turn around while he was en route, he would be surely be caught, and then who could say what torments the sadistic giant would subject him to?

The same ones he would suffer if he remained where he was for much longer, no doubt. The boy would surely realize soon that the big tree was the only real cover within reach.

Chewing his lip, Steve glanced back at the boy, who had moved further away and still had his back turned. Steve looked back to the hole, and made his decision. Hastily he rose to his feet and darted out across the plain. It seemed to stretch for a mile. He slowed to a trot to wind his way past dry leaves whose rustling might give away his location. Every few yards he glanced back at his pursuer to reassure himself that he'd not been seen.

The hole slowly, painfully, drew nearer. His heart pounded as though it was about to burst from his chest. He began to run faster, jumping over the dry leaves lying like land mines all around him. Again and again he glanced back, making sure that his escape went unnoticed. The hole was nearer still, almost beckoning to him, promising salvation.

The hair on his neck stood up again with the same uncanny sense of danger he had felt at the bridge. He looked back again, and his worst fears were realized.

The boy was turning around. Lips pursed tightly, worried, he was scanning with growing desperation the terrain that he had already searched. He seemed almost frantic, no doubt terrified of what might happen should his victim manage to escape and alert others. For a moment it seemed he himself might flee, but then his gaze fell at last upon Steve and he broke into a triumphant grin.

Steve let out a yell and began sprinting toward the hole, which had lay so close a moment ago but yet now seemed miles away. He felt the earth shake beneath him again, a hollow thud echoing within it, and he tried to force his legs to run faster. Waves of panic crashed through his being. The earthquake footfalls drew nearer, the sound of their impacts growing louder and louder, echoing.

The hole was closer now. Steve leaned forward, like a marathon runner stretching for the wire. A close impact behind him sent a gust of wind across his back. Only a few more yards. An ominous shadow overtook him. He strained frantically, legs pumping, arms reaching out ahead of him for the sanctuary of the hole.

Something huge fell from the sky and landed in his path, barely inches away. The boy's right foot slammed into the earth, the broad heel sinking down into the soil from the immense weight behind it. Steve had no time to react; his momentum carried him headlong into it. He struck the ankle and careened away, stunned. His legs tangled with one another and he fell hard, rolling several times and ending on his back. Through a dull haze he saw the boy's enormous body towering over him, eyes narrowed, face set in a savage grin. The massive foot that Steve had collided with rose into the air and slowly swung over him. It hovered there, the broad sole looming menacingly, seeming to fill the whole sky.

Steve screamed in terror, and the foot came rushing down.

The hard flesh knocked him down onto his back and shoved him down flat, immobilizing him. He grunted from the impact, and then once again as the foot began to press down harder. He struggled to move, but it was hopeless. The vast sole pinned him tightly, and with each passing second was growing heavier upon him. He felt his ribcage bending inward, compressing his lungs. His breathing grew labored. His guts felt ready to burst out through his sides. White hot stars flashed before his vision as the pressure grew and grew.

My God, Steve thought as his vision began to fade, he's crushing me! He felt a rib crack, and then another...

Abruptly the pressure abated. The gigantic foot rose off of him and swept sideways, then settled heavily to the ground nearby, sinking a little into the earth. Steve choked in great lungfuls of air and clutched at his chest, sitting up painfully. Every inch of his body ached, but other than the cracked ribs no bones seemed to be broken.

Slowly Steve raised his eyes. The boy was standing over him, hands on his hips. His face was set in a scornful sneer. A moment later his mighty foot rose and swept backward, and he sat down suddenly. Without taking his eyes from his little toy, the boy stretched out on his side. His belly, a vast expanse of smooth muscle, loomed before Steve like a stone wall. A massive hand rose above its summit and then descended, gripping and tugging open the fabric of the boy's shorts.

Steve whimpered helplessly as the gigantic penis flopped free, half-erect, immense and growing ever larger before his eyes. The boy's fingers closed about it and stroked it several times, then held it away from his body with the wide glans pointing directly toward his captive.

Steve stared a moment, and then with a groan of resignation he climbed to his feet. He brushed the dirt from his body, wincing at the terrible throbbing in his ribcage. The task ahead of him was appalling, and he had no doubt that the boy would prove to be a cruel and wanton master. Steve had seen the price of failure, though. Raising his arms before him, he shuffled forward and set to work.