Chapter 032 - Eerie Night Fair 04

  No. 137 lingered off to the side, still holding the cotton candy she had completely forgotten to eat, too overwhelmed by anxiety to even consider enjoying it.

  She sniffled, her gaze shifting nervously from her ticket to the room around her, making sure no one was watching. Satisfied with her covert inspection, she cautiously took a bite of the candy, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke, "So... which game should we play?"

  The rest of us exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond.

  No. 25’s lips curled in frustration. With a quick motion, she slapped the top of No. 137’s head, hitting the tuft of hair sticking out. "Hold up, don’t rush to pick a game. Did any of you catch what the system just said?"

  I nodded, my voice steady but serious. "‘Failure of the game’."

  Elliot's face darkened. "If we don’t complete three games, we fail the round... and die. But finishing three games doesn’t necessarily mean we’re out of danger. Worst-case scenario..."

  Her voice trailed off, the unspoken dread hanging in the air.

  I pressed my lips together, my eyes narrowing. "We might survive one more round, but that’s far from the end."

  I took in the group—Old Man No. 9, No. 25, No. 137, Elliot, and a few others who had stayed to hear us out—and continued, "In the first and second rounds, there were multiple stages, each with its own restrictions. But just completing them didn’t guarantee we’d clear the game."

  I raised my voice slightly, ensuring everyone was paying attention. "So here’s my suggestion: for these three games, we go for the easy ones—the ones that are simple and safe. We’ll figure the rest out as we go."

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  For the first game, we ended up in front of a claw machine.

  There were no elaborate mechanical contraptions or hovering platforms. It was simple enough for a toddler to play.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The booth was manned by a puppet with a stiff, unsettling smile. As we approached, it suddenly perked up, almost too eagerly. "Do you want to play?" it asked, its voice strained, forced with unnerving enthusiasm.

  I couldn't shake the feeling that No. 137 wasn’t fully grasping the situation. Her eager steps forward made it clear she was all too ready to jump in.

  I quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Let me go first."

  I handed my ticket to the puppet, which took it with its cold, wooden hand and punched a hole through it, marking me for the "Clawing for Dolls" game. Then, with an exaggerated bow, it gestured for me to begin.

  The area around me was lined with rows of small, delicate toys—mostly plush dolls, but there were a few wooden puppets scattered about as well. Each one was crafted with such care that they almost seemed alive, neatly arranged in perfect rows, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

  Next to each toy were four or five rings, scattered about as if previous players had failed to catch anything.

  I turned to the puppet attendant, my confusion mounting. "How many rings do I get?"

  The puppet’s voice was flat and emotionless as it responded, "Rings? There are no rings for the players."

  I frowned, perplexed. "Then what are all those rings for?" I pointed to the iron poles supporting the tent, tapping one with my finger, and gestured to the rings beside each toy.

  To my surprise, the puppet’s dark eyes shifted, locking onto mine with an unsettling, unreadable gaze. It didn’t speak, its silence hanging heavy in the air.

  Instead, it simply motioned for me to enter the area where the toys were arranged.

  I hesitated, a strange unease creeping up my spine. But something—curiosity, perhaps—or maybe the oppressive sense of being watched, compelled me to step forward. As I walked into the space, an awful realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

  A cold shiver ran down my spine. Sweat beaded on my forehead as an overwhelming sense of dread settled over me. Something was wrong—deeply, unnervingly wrong.