Have you ever wondered why things disappear around your house, my loves? Or why, perhaps, you go into a shop and see a thing you really want but don't have enough to pay for, and then when you come back for it, it is gone? Some might chalk it up to bad luck. It’s much simpler than that. Socks, watches, t-shirts, keys, wallets, tools, pens, belts; anything small that you value and have difficulty locating, even though you keep it in the same place always, I know where they go, dear ones. Yes, I do.
I'm not saying I took them, exactly. I'm also not saying I didn't take them. I don’t care about the things themselves, dears. I care about your feelings for those things. When you understand what power that has, you may thank me for my mischief. Madness would drown you all, dears, if I didn’t do my little job. No, I am not the root of the madness, but I serve it, and when you finally understand what that madness is, you will he grateful these little things are the only toll I take.
Am I a gremlin? That is certainly one term for my kind, though it falls utterly short of the reality. I’m not a god, really. I am no demon, either. Wings! Pshaw! No, I hail from an ancient folk, more akin to goblins or the wee folk. I am no pixie or piskie or of the Sidhe. I'm far older than those frail human scapegoats, though I am partially those things and more and less and greater and smaller and more harmful and more harmless, my dears. I am not avoiding the question. I have been called an imp, and that is surprisingly suitable, if you like it.
My name? Well, they call me Gancho nowadays. Who’s “they”? Well, those who know me, of course. That was not my original name, even when they gave it to me before. It comes from the Chinese, “gwong cho,” which means ‘get me something to eat’. That's pretty close to what I do, so it stuck. No, I don't eat your stuff. I steal it is all. And when I do, it causes you a thimbleful of grief, sadness, maybe anger, maybe despair. All of those things combined, maybe? That is a delicious, intoxicating, effulgent, scintillating draft for the One for Whom I Steal. The One For Whom I Steal wants me to feed its excellency, and so I do, and I accomplish this by creating just a little chaos, just a little misery. This keeps The One For Whom I Steal just so happily inebriated. Me going out to get your lost things, that's how I got the name, but over millennia it's just become Gancho, and that's perfect for me, now. I go and get Its Excellency food that keeps it docile, contented. I cannot ever stop, because if I do, Its Excellency will sober up, and when it does, it will be angry and it will devour your sanity whole, and when The One For Whom I Stea is angry and starving, it tends to eat too much and then it expels what it eats, but then it is just pure chaos.
The times in human history where the world has been in terrible trouble—wars and calamities and catastrophes—that is Its Excellency devouring your madness and unleashing chaos. By comparison, it doesn't seem so bad to have me take a little something from you, now does it?
That's why, of late, my dears, you’re feeling the ever more powerful strain. People are more careful with their possessions. And I have a harder time taking them when you can tap a screen and see where your lost phone is. So I graduated up. I started sneaking your reason. Turns out, thinking for oneself is an even more potent liquor for the One for Whom I Steal. That keeps Its Excellency even more tipsy, though for shorter periods, and it keeps your world from erupting into chaos and, let's face it, you weren't using your reason anyway, were you, loves? And when it’s gone? We’ll soon find out, won’t we?
It’s a fair trade. Your loss of reason is better than You-Know-Who waking up with a raging hangover, destroying everything, and driving you mad, right? That’s why Gancho’s here, my loves ...
... for now
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