[ WP ] `` Once the idea of secret selves had begun to spread little roots in his mind , he began to look at everyone differently , half as a game , half as a dangerous piece of research . ''

So I read your quote as `` secret elves''. Needless to say, I went and typed up an entire story before I noticed my mistake, so this will likely be far from what you expected, haha. Anyway, here it is. 
 
 -- 
 
 At first it seemed ridiculous. Tiny men, operating the minds of the world's most powerful people? I laughed it off, and threw the manuscript in a trash bin, where it belonged. The thing was probably written by some Illuminati conspiracy nut anyway. 
 
 At times like these, I do hate my job as a publisher. Little did I know back then that me reading those pages would set into motion a chain of events that would send me tumbling down a vicious path of despair. 
 
 The first discord struck when I read the newspaper, that Sunday morning after. It was only a small paragraph amongst the obituaries, but the name of the conspiracy guy had stuck with me, and there he was, black on white. Dead. 
 
 I scanned for a cause of death, but nothing of the sort was mentioned. For some ludicrous reason I felt guilty for throwing away his manuscript, earlier on. I mean, after reading several pages of someone's work, you ca n't help but feel like you've peered through a tiny window into their heart, and whether I liked it or not, I felt a bit saddened by the conspiracy writer's death. 
 
 That evening, after an entire day of it nagging in the back of my mind, I finally decided to call his family. 
 
 `` Miss White? Yes, yes I heard. My sincere condolences.'' 
 
 The woman on the phone seemed upset, but then it would have been weird if she had n't been. What had it said in the manuscript? *The Elves are masters at emulating the ordinary. Suspect the ordinary. Place your trust only in what seems wrong. * I shook my head, clearing it of the nonsense. 
 
 `` Yes, miss White. I'm a publisher that was contacted by your son, he sent me his manuscript. Needless to say, I felt quite shocked when I read his name in the newspaper this morning. If I may ask, what was the reason of his passing?'' 
 
 The voice on the other end was quiet for a while. `` You read his manuscript, then?'' 
 
 `` Yes, miss White.'' 
 
 `` Are you planning to publish it?'' 
 
 `` I'm afraid not miss White. It lacked the specific, uh, atmosphere that my company tends to look for.'' *An atmosphere of sanity, maybe. * 
 
 The voice on the other hand sounded almost relieved. `` Oh, yes, I see. Since you asked, Bertrom, he...'' There was a sniffing and the blowing of a handkerchief to be heard on the other end, and I empathically waited for miss White to recollect herself. ``... he died of a heart attack. I never thought he'd die of something so ordinary, he always seemed such a... such an unusual boy.'' 
 
 `` I see.'' 
 
 `` Well, thank you so much for calling anyway, mister Bell. Have a nice day.'' 
 
 I hung up the phone, almost as relieved as miss White had sounded. Apparently even the guy's mother had disliked his manuscript, and I did n't blame her. But somehow, I felt reassured that Bertrom White had died of something so simple as a heart attack. Something so... ordinary. 
 
 *Suspect the ordinary. * 
 
 I froze for a second, then shook my head and smiled. That's how all the conspiracy theories gained popularity, they relied on convincing you to *expect* something was wrong. No, everything was fine. 
 
 I lit myself a cigar and poured a glass of brandy, settling into my most comfy chair with a good book to push the entire thing from my mind. 
 
 That night was the first time I saw the elves.
