I push forward, heart pounding, adrenaline burning through my veins. A cracked glass sign is overhead a looming, dark, but see-through amusement.The Glass Maze. I glimpse my reflection as I pass, warped versions of myself sprinting and distorted.
Past the maze, the rusted tracks ofThe Slicerrollercoaster loom high into the sky, cutting across the clouds like jagged blades. Its cars hang limp on the tracks, swaying slightly in the wind, groaning on their hinges like the carnival itself is moaning in its sleep.
The Terror Wheeltowers dead ahead, its outline a monstrous, withered ring against the stars. Empty seats dangle in the breeze, creaking like coffins on rusted chains.
The whole place hums faintly under the silence, like it’s waiting and watching it’s next victim. I don’t even look behind me. Iknowhe’s somewhere.
I veer deeper into the carnival, further from the safety of the main paths, swallowed by towering games and rotting food stands. The smell of stale sugar and rust clogs the air, thick enough to choke me.
Then ahead, something suddenly flickers to life, and I skid to a stop, boots sliding across the cracked ground.
Tucked between two sagging booths, a lone, wooden machine stands, its glass front glowing weakly, almost pulsing like a heartbeat. Inside it, a doll-like figure sits frozen, its dead eyes staring straight through me.
A shudder slices through my spine. It feels like it’scallingto me, pulling invisible strings around my ribs, yanking me closer.
I throw a quick glance over my shoulder, realizing there’s no sign of him yet. No flash of those blood-red eyes cutting through the dark.
When I refocus, I look ahead, unable to stop my legs from moving toward it, slow and cautious.
The first thing I notice is the figure inside: A woman with pale, waxy skin and black hair twisted into a tight bun, her stiff hands hovering over a crystal ball.
Her features are faded and cracked, as if the entire thing is stuck in a time that’s long gone. And her clothes, they’re eerily similar to Madame’s. The red dress. The gold embroidery.
“Step closer, dear child, if you dare… but know this—some who seek their fortune never return.”A slow, bone-dry voice spills, her words stuttering like a broken record.
My gaze flicks upward, drawn to the name above the glass, the old paint peeling and worn:
Ezmeralda’s Unfortunate Fortune’s
I inch closer until I stop in front of it, eyes darting between the lit-up buttons on the front panel.
Yes.
No.
Choose Your Fate.
I shouldn’t touch it. Every part of me knows that. But my fingers lift anyway, trembling, and I jab theChoose Your Fatebutton.
The doll jerks violently, her head snapping upright with a sick crack of her neck joint.
“The spirits are laughing… they love a soul that doesn’t know it’s already lost.”She say’s followed by an evil cackle causing me to frown.
The crystal ball flares a deathly red before there’s anotherclick and the buttons flash again.
I hover overYesthis time and press it.
“Your future is fogged with screams... but not all of them will be yours.”
I recoil a step, pulse hammering, sweat slick on my palms despite the freezing air.
I pressNo, desperate for some kind of answer that makes sense.
The doll shudders, her head tilting so sharply it nearly snaps off. A low, wet grinding noise fills the machine as she croaks:
“You were marked the second you breathed in his name.”
“Useless thing,” I mutter under my breath, jaw tense, before smacking down onYes.