The Game at Carousel: A Horror Movie LitRPG

I carefully scanned the area ahead, making sure to keep the mental image of Isaac in my mind so that I could see which way he was being taken.

A flood of self-doubt and shame moved over me as I began contemplating how my plan had failed that badly. Was it Cassie’s Foreboding Signs trope that did it? Perhaps her vision predicted my demise, but then when Oblivious Bystander countered it, Carousel was robbed of its victim.

Was that it? Had Carousel attacked Isaac because I had avoided my fate in a way that wasn’t satisfying to the audience?

It felt possible, but this was too soon. There were better ways for Carousel to send that message, ways that didn’t take so much guesswork.

As I stumbled blindly through the darkness, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what had gone wrong. I walked faster. I needed to keep Isaac in range on the red wallpaper.

“Hello? Officer Willis?” I cried out. I had to keep up the appearance that I was just lost, that I had no idea what had just happened. In the darkness, the audience wouldn’t know that I was wandering around with a purpose.

Then, I saw something that gave me pause.

Ahead of me in the darkness in the same direction that Isaac was moving in, I could see something else.

There was something else on the red wallpaper that I could only get a glimpse of for a split second at a time.

It was too dark for me to see with my eyes, but still, I saw some other being on the red wallpaper. That didn’t make sense. I had to have a visual on enemies to read the red wallpaper most of the time.

As best as I could figure, Isaac was being carried, but someone else was in front of him that I could not see clearly.

I stared intently ahead as I moved through the dark tunnel. I listened, but the sound of the water was too loud to hear anything.

The whole time, I was still being followed.

Whatever was about to go down, I wasn’t going to have many options. I powered on.

Soon, I figured out what I was getting glimpses of on the red wallpaper. I knew deep inside the moment I saw it, I just didn’t want to believe it.

It was Bobby.

It took a moment for me to get a good look.

Bobby was moving ahead of Isaac. Was he a prisoner or… No. His Captured status wasn’t lit.

I checked his other stats. He was Mutilated, as Cassie had said. I had no idea what injuries he had, but I knew his Infected status also was not lit. That meant he wasn’t being controlled. Whatever he was doing, it was of his own volition.

I hurried ahead, running through the checklist of what I had to do.

I needed to get a look at whatever enemies we were dealing with. I needed to somehow resolve Cassie’s vision of my demise. I had to figure it all out.

There was light up ahead.

On-Screen.

I exited the dark corridor I had followed them down and found myself in a larger room where many tunnels converged, their overflowing streams all met and fell down a deep shaft. Right there, in the middle of it all, was what I assumed to be a water treatment station that had been abandoned some time ago, looking beaten up and taken over by nature. The walls were crumbling and covered in moss, and the pipes were rusty and twisted everywhere. The windows, however, were clean. The walkways were swept clear.

Isaac, Bobby, and whoever had been carrying Isaac were already in the building somewhere before I got a good look.

Was Bobby helping the enemies?

The lights on inside allowed me to see that there was a bunch of weird lab equipment with bubbling vials and beeping machines. It was clear Halle turned this place into his secret lab, but there wasn't a soul around, just the thunder of water dropping downward and a faint sound above….

Calliope music.

We were near the Centennial Celebration.

I had to get to Isaac, but first, I needed to deal with whatever was following me.

One more step into the light.

“Hello?” I cried out.

No answer.

Time to investigate the creepy abandoned building all alone.

Another step out of the darkness. Whatever was behind me would soon be visible, if only faintly.

My character would be none-the-wiser about what was about to happen. I tried to convey my nervousness, the fear of a man who wandered too far into the dark.

I turned around.

A figure moved out of the shadows behind me, seemingly gliding over the concrete walkway. I hadn’t been able to hear him before. He wasn’t walking, he was scooting along behind me.

He was a small man, or at least he had once been. His skin was pale and moist. His mouth was wide, his black hair greasy.

His arms were longer than they should have been. He lay atop a small wooden platform—just a few planks of wood nailed together with some shopping cart wheels bolted underneath. A blanket was his only cushion from the rotten wood.

He couldn’t walk because his legs were a deformed mess, but the look in his eye told me he was angry at my presence. Angry I was there; angry I could see him. His legs were long and thin, their deformity so gangly. I hadn’t heard his movement because the wheels on the concrete blended so well with the rushing water.

He pushed himself toward me on his little cart. He was much faster than he looked like he could be.

Malformed Hybrid (G. McBride)

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Plot Armor: 15

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Tropes

An Affront to Nature

This villain is revolting to see for the first time. One glance will leave the viewer Incapacitated with revulsion.

Home Lair Advantage

The villain can travel freely, unnoticed due to their knowledge of the setting and its passages - both public and secret.

They’ll Never Believe You

When tangling with this villain, the authorities will not believe or take seriously anything the players tell them.

Unwarranted Aggression

This villain will attack when and if the plot calls for it without logical motivation.

Animals Are Psychic

The villain demonstrates knowledge that it has no logical means to acquire, an instinct to kill or survive.

Far Gone

This villain has lost their humanity, but not all at once: Something remains.

I found myself unable to move in any direction except to back away haphazardly, my eyes fixed on the malformed person before me.

My wits didn’t return until I took a step and almost missed the floor—the shaft where the water emptied into was behind me. I had almost fallen off the edge.

I reached out for something to help me balance myself, but there wasn’t anything. The rail in this area had been broken or rusted out decades ago so when I put weight on it, it gave in immediately.

I tried to use it to pull myself back up, but I could feel the rail bending, ready to break.

Thinking quickly, I solved my falling problem and Cassie’s vision problem all in one swift movement.

I held out my right hand toward the hybrid as he approached me. Even as I started to fall, he took the bait. He lunged forward, leaving his cart behind. His wide mouth opened up wide and revealed a row of jagged little baby teeth.

Pain burst through my hand, but it helped me balance just enough to force myself forward and away from a watery grave. I could feel him gnawing. His teeth were sharp and his jaw powerful. It was more than I was expecting. I could hear the bones in my hand cracking from the power of his jaw.

Blood started to pour out of his mouth. He didn’t let go.

At that point, I would have preferred falling.

I shook him to the best of my ability, but he held tight, hissing the whole time. I started to grow cold as I heard a growl to my left. Bobby was standing next to the door holding a large syringe. He walked toward me; there was something wrong with his face.

His nose was weird as if he had a bad reaction to plastic surgery, his jaw jutted out irregularly.

There was a long red piece of flesh hanging out of his mouth that took me a moment to recognize as a tongue.

A dog’s tongue.

He limped toward me, his right leg stiff and injured.

He stuck the needle into my neck.

“Why?” I asked as my vision dimmed and I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up in a hospital bed. A glance up at the roof told me I was inside the rusted old water treatment facility. The ceiling was corroded, the lights though, were bright.

My hand hurt, but the pain was distant, so wonderfully distant. I felt a calmness washing over me, a warmth.

I was smiling stupidly.

I didn’t care what had happened to me. I didn’t care that all of my fingers other than my thumb on my right hand were gone, replaced by gauze and tape. Everything was good for the first time in a very long time. Since before Carousel. Since before my grandparents died. Since before…

The painful memories were distant just like the pain on my hand.

I wasn’t alone in the room. There was another bed to my right. My vision of my stump blurred, and I could see Isaac clearly. He was in terrible shape. The foot of his bed faced me and he was sat up enough that I could see his face straight on.

Half his face was missing. The left half. He didn’t seem to mind and neither did I. I didn’t even think to try to talk to him. It never even crossed my mind.

There were people around me. People, but not humans. Not exactly. Not for many years.

I couldn’t tell what they were. A patch of fur on a short man. Scales on a man’s face. Stitches everywhere. Feathers poking out of the skin of a tall woman. It all swirled around me and it all made perfect sense somehow. I wasn’t surprised. Whatever sedative I had been given, I couldn’t have been surprised by anything.

They had the same tropes as the little guy on a skateboard, except their Far Gone tropes listed their status as “Mostly intact” instead of “Something remains.”

They came and stared in a swirl. Time passed without me noticing. I didn’t think or care about anything.

Then a man stood over Isaac. It was Dr. Halle. I fought off the urge to wave.

Halle put something black and small into the end of a thin tube with a handle at the end. He took the end of the tube, eased it down Isaac’s throat, and pulled a lever on the end of the tube.

Isaac was relaxed and carefree, but moments after the tube went down his throat, he started to shake, to convulse. It was temporary.

A voice in the back of my head told me, “I need to leave.”

But the voice was so quiet and my limbs were so heavy. Even my arm with all its missing fingers weighed a million pounds. I would just stay there and everything would be okay.

Then it was my turn.

Only then did I realize I was On-Screen.

The realization that I was being watched shot a burst of anxiety through me that was stronger than the sedative, if only for a moment.

I was being watched. That meant something bad was about to happen. I had to pull myself together.

Before I could make myself do anything, the wave of peace took back over. No more worry or anxiety. Thank goodness.

Halle brought his apparatus over to me.

“Looks like the sedative is wearing off,” he said.

Someone behind me moved. Maybe the spoke, I couldn’t tell.

“No more,” Halle said. “That won’t be necessary. I want to speak with this one.”

He looked at me intently. Then he reached into the pocket of his white doctor’s coat and retrieved a device shaped like a gun, but instead of a barrel, it had a short needle. At the bottom of the handle was a small vial of yellow liquid.

He pressed the needle into my arm, pulled the trigger, and suddenly, everything good faded away.

The sedative leeched out of my system so fast it was like waking up. I hated it. I missed the feeling immediately.

Then the pain in my hand returned.

“What are you doing?” I asked in a panic.

Halle didn’t answer at first. He rolled his tray of tools over to me neatly and methodically, making sure that each of them was just so.

“What’s going on?” I screamed.

“The digits of your right hand have undergone traumatic amputation, involving the complete loss of the distal, middle, and proximal phalanges,” he said. His charm from before was all gone. There was only the Doctor left. “There's substantial associated soft tissue trauma, and the exposure of the metacarpal heads is evident. My immediate focus is on controlling hemorrhage, preventing infection, and assessing the viability of the remaining tissue for certain radical reconstructive options.”

The coldness of his delivery and the matter-of-fact manner of his speaking sent a shiver up my spine.

“Why am I not in the hospital?” I asked, trying to drag out the conversation.

“These radical reconstructive options are not yet approved by the short-sighted medical community that governs Hallowed Heart, but they do show much promise,” he said. “What I learn from you may go on to perfect the procedures and help others regain mobility, normalcy, and perhaps even beauty.”

“Experimentation?” I asked.

“Radical discovery requires radical experimentation,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You are in luck. I have developed the zenith of this line of medical science, the breakthrough that I believe signals the end of my search. I am almost there, and you will help me cross the sanative finish line. Thank you. Now, if you struggle, I will use the bolus gun.”

He grabbed the tube with a lever that he had fed down Isaac’s throat, an object I had only seen before being used to give medicine to cattle.

“No,” I said faintly.

“Good,” Halle said. “Bobby,” he held out his gloved hand. Bobby, who was the person behind my bed, reached over and plopped a small wiggling black object into the doctor’s hand.

“Wait,” I said. In a panic, I almost cried out Bobby’s name.

Dr. Halle ignored me.

“This should go without saying,” Halle said. “But if you chew, I will be most displeased.”

He lowered the object in his hands toward me.

Only then did I get a good look at what the object was, slimy and wriggling.

Oozing a green liquid, the object smelled horrible.

It was a tadpole.

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