The second year after my biological parents took me “home,” our entire family was dragged into a horror game. A Glamour Ghoul, her robes slipping off a decaying shoulder, was painting a fresh layer of skin onto her face. She cooed at my brother, asking if she was beautiful. A disassembled Doll giggled and rolled across the floor, looking for a new playmate to "fix." I stared at the familiar circus tent, the familiar faces, and screamed, covering my eyes. "Melody! Julian! What are you two doing?!" The Ghoul froze, yanked her dress back up, and hastily reapplied her “normal” face. The Doll’s limbs snapped back onto her torso, and she stood up, dusting off her pristine vaudeville dress. "Our Little Terror," Melody gasped, "what are you doing back here?" 1 [All players, please note: You have entered the Nightmare Stream.] [Current Instance: Carver's Carnival of Curiosities] [Difficulty: SSS-Class, Fusion Instance] [Objective: Survive for ten (10) days] [Players: 10] [Good luck, players.] When the mechanical voice faded, I was numb. A second ago, I was at home, getting screamed at. It was a contest of who could cry harder: me or my “sister,” Claire. Claire was crying because her SAT scores were lower than mine, and she needed to look sympathetic to our parents. I was crying because I was terrified. I’ve always been able to see things. Right then, Claire had a decaying baby doll sitting on her shoulder and a drowned woman clinging to her back. I blinked the tears away, and the scenery changed. I looked around. My new “family” of five was here. So were five strangers. Claire was screaming, burrowed into our mother’s arms. "Where are we? What is this place?" Our father shielded our brother, Josh, scanning the environment like a paranoid guard dog. I stood off to the side, alone. The five strangers—three men, two women—looked like veterans. The one with a scar down his face looked at us in disgust. "Great. An SSS-class fusion, and we get five rookies." "This batch is low-quality. All they do is scream." "Shut them up." I cautiously approached them, picking the woman who looked the most competent. "Excuse me, ma'am? Do you know what's happening?" The woman raised an eyebrow. Her features were sharp, assessing. "Well, a rookie that speaks. That's a first." She shot a look of contempt at Claire. "Better than that shrieking mess." "This is a horror game. You get pulled in if you have a desperate wish. You clear instances, you get points. Points buy you anything—money, power, health. Anything." "And if you fail?" Her eyes darkened. "You die. You become fuel for the game." She paused, then looked me over again. "I'm Alex. Stick with me, kid. Don't touch anything." I beamed. Tough, but not heartless. I’d chosen well. "Thank you, Alex. I'm Vera." 2 Suddenly, a live chat stream flickered into existence in the air. [SSS-Class? This team is toast.] [Carver's Carnival? That instance has three bosses! Ten days? They won't last three.] [That rookie Vera got lucky, latching onto Alex.] [Man, Alex and Marcus (the scar guy) have the worst luck. Five dead-weight rookies. F.] I pointed. "Alex, I can see... comments?" "Normal. Every instance is live-streamed. Helps survival, sometimes. You can get intel from the chat." I nodded. The rusted iron gates of the carnival screeched open. We were standing in the middle of a bizarre, old-timey midway. It looked... familiar. It looked just like the carnival I grew up in before this family "found" me. Even the carousel horse with the missing eye was the same. [Task 1: Enter the Midway and survive the Doll's playtime.] [It's opening night! The Ringmaster presents his favorite act: Dolly the Living Doll! But Dolly is broken and needs new parts. She is looking for a replacement.] [Dolly will appear in 30 seconds. Hide. If Dolly catches you, you will be 're-made.'] [The show begins in ten minutes. Good luck.] 3 Chaos. Everyone scattered. Alex grabbed my arm and dragged me toward a midway game booth, shoving us into a deep storage cabinet. Claire and my mother, seeing us, scrambled in right behind us. The cabinet was tiny. Four people was a nightmare. Alex scowled, about to leave, but it was too late. A sound began: a thud... scrape... thud... scrape... A high-pitched, giggling voice sang, "Here I come... ready or not..." A dismembered porcelain torso, dragging itself by one arm, rounded the corner. "Are you in here?" giggle "Or in here?" The thudding stopped. Dolly let out a piercing shriek of laughter. "Found you!" A terrible, wet tearing sound, followed by a man's scream. It sounded just like my father. My mother burst into tears, her hands clamped over her mouth. [Player Mark Harding (Dad) has failed. Assimilated by Dolly. Remaining players: 9] The chat went wild. [That's SSS-class for you. Two minutes, one dead.] [His own son, Josh, shoved him out! Damn!] [The 're-making' is brutal. They're literally pulling his limbs off and snapping them into a doll body.] Seeing the chat describe my father's end, Claire and my mother shook violently. I just felt... nothing. In the year I'd been "home," I'd been blamed, framed, and hit. I couldn't find a tear for him. 4 The thud-scraping started again. This time, it stopped right outside our cabinet. "Someone's in the closet..." she sang. We all held our breath. "Hee hee hee... I see you! I see you!" "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Claire went rigid. Alex held up a finger: Don't move. The chat was frantic: [It's a bait! Don't open the door!] [This boss is smart. She's phishing.] [She won't leave. You have to sacrifice one. A monster won't hunt in the same room twice after a kill.] Claire and my mother looked at each other. In one swift, brutal motion, they grabbed me and shoved. Alex lunged—"Vera!"—but she was too late. I stumbled out of the cabinet and fell, landing face-to-face with the doll. She was beautiful, porcelain skin, rose-painted lips. And completely familiar. I burst into tears. "Melody?" I sobbed. "What did they do to you?"
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