I hadn’t eaten in two days. I didn’t even have the strength to stand. My mother—the kind of woman who regularly “forgot” to pay my school fees—suddenly announced she was taking me to the carnival. She promised that if I was a good girl and followed her out, she’d buy me a warm meat pie on the way back. But we didn't end up at a carnival. We stopped in front of a derelict, rotting Victorian mansion on the edge of town. The moment I stepped into the overgrown yard, glowing lines of text began to flicker across my vision like a digital fever dream: “Welcome to the Horror Trials, Little Bitter Melon!” “On the first floor, the Starved One will force a thick pipe down your throat, pumping you full of food until you burst.” “On the second floor, the Flayed One has a nasty temper. One wrong move, and she’ll peel the skin right off your bones!” “But the Headless One is the worst. He loves to crush skulls—get ready for the ‘Watermelon Splash’ finale. We can’t wait!” The final line read: “Complete the trial to claim the $100 Million Grand Prize.” It hit me then. My mother didn't want to buy me a treat. She was tired of another mouth to feed and decided to gamble my life for her "retirement fund." 1 "Mom? Mom! I don’t want to play. I want to go home!" I grabbed the hem of her coat, my voice trembling. "Don't you want that meat pie anymore?" I let go, my hand instinctively drifting to my hollow, aching stomach. Ever since Mom married my stepdad and had my little brother, Toby, everyone always seemed to "forget" to leave a plate for me. "I’m hungry," I whispered, tears spilling over despite my best efforts. "Mom, I don't need the pie. I’ll just have a piece of bread. One slice. Just one, and then can we please go home?" Mom’s face hardened instantly. She shoved my hand away. "I went through hell to get you a slot in this game! You’re always crying about how I’m unfair, how I don’t love you. Now I bring you somewhere special to play, and you’re throwing a tantrum?" "I'm not throwing a tantrum! I'm scared!" I whimpered, shrinking back. "You don't get to be scared!" She snapped a heavy metallic collar around my neck and shoved me toward the front door. I spun around, but the heavy oak doors had already slammed shut, locking with a final, echoing thud. The house was dark. Suffocatingly quiet. "Go to the kitchen," Mom’s voice suddenly crackled inside my head. I jumped, spinning in circles, looking for her. "Mom? Mom, where are you?" "Stop looking," she snapped. Her voice was coming directly from the collar. "The collar I put on you has a chip. I can hear you, and I can talk to you. Now, move. Go to the kitchen." "I can't... I’m scared." I started to sob. "Be a good girl, June. If you do this, I’ll let you sleep in the big bed with me tonight. Toby on one side, you on the other. Isn't that what you’ve always wanted?" I froze. Toby always slept with Mom. I was always relegated to the cramped, drafty closet under the stairs. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, fueled by a desperate, pathetic hope. "Really?" "Mommy wouldn't lie to you. Now check the kitchen. You're hungry, right? Maybe there's something to eat." I stood up slowly, feeling my way through the shadows toward the kitchen. The floor was slick, sticking to the soles of my shoes with a sickening tack-tack sound. After a few steps, my foot slid, and I went down hard. My palms hit the floor. It was wet. Cold. Viscous. In the faint, grey light filtering through the grime-streaked windows, I saw it. The floor wasn't just wet. It was painted in deep, thick crimson. "Ah—!" I screamed, trying to scramble back, but my limbs felt like lead. "Don't be a baby! It's just a fall. Be brave!" Mom’s voice urged, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Quickly, open the pantry. Go on." I stayed huddled on the floor, staring at my blood-stained hands, weeping uncontrollably. "If you want to sleep in my bed, stand up," Mom’s voice turned cold. That threat worked better than any encouragement. I sniffed, wiped my face and hands on my sleeves, and used the wall to pull myself up. I navigated around the thickest puddles of gore, inching toward the rusted metal pantry at the back. The digital overlay flickered again: “God, this mother is heartless. She knows the Starved One is in that cupboard and she’s still pushing the kid?!” “She’s literally sending her own daughter to the slaughter for a paycheck.” “Is she even the real mother? This is a death sentence.” Suddenly, rows of piercing red text flashed—Mom’s response to the viewers: “What do you people know?! She had a fever as a baby that fried her brain! The doctors said she’s slow, delayed, basically an idiot. She doesn’t even know what a ghost is. She doesn't feel fear like we do!” “She’s just a little afraid of the dark. She’s highly adaptable!” Mom... I was only afraid of the dark because you always made me sleep alone. And I only adapted because no one ever cared what happened to me. I had to get used to it. “Let her open the door. She thinks it’s a game of hide-and-seek! Do it!” “Open the cupboard!” her voice screamed in my skull. I blinked, looking at the rusted handle. Hide-and-seek? That did sound a little bit like fun. I reached out and pulled. 2 The door creaked open. It was pitch black inside, filled with lumpy, heavy shapes. I leaned in, trying to see. It looked like several people, twisted and wedged together in a silent, motionless pile. The comments went wild: “Corpses! It’s a literal pile of bodies!” “The Starved One is coming! Run, you little dummy, run!” From the very back of the cupboard, a shadow began to shift. A woman sat up slowly. Her abdomen was torn open, a gaping, ragged hole where her stomach should have been. In her hands, she trailed a long, translucent plastic tube. She looked at me, her voice a wet, gurgling rasp. "Are... you... hungry?" Before I could even blink, she lunged. The tube was shoved into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. "Mmph!" I gagged for a second, but then, a warm, sweet liquid began to flow. It was oatmeal. Warm, thick, tasting of brown sugar, cinnamon, and cream. I was so starving that I didn't care about the tube or the ghost. I clamped my teeth down on the plastic and began to suck greedily. The warmth spread through my chest, hitting my stomach like a miracle. I drank so fast I almost choked. When I couldn't hold another drop, I let go. The tube slid out with a wet snap. I wiped my mouth and looked up at her. "Thank you," I whispered. Then, I looked at the hole in her stomach. "Are you hungry? If you're hungry, I can stop. I’ll save the rest for you." The ghost froze. "I am a monster," she rasped. I nodded, thinking for a moment. "You’re a kind monster. Better than my mom. She always forgets to feed me." The corners of her torn mouth twitched upward into a jagged, heartbreaking smile. "Is that so...?" She reached out, her freezing fingers brushing my cheek. "Then you can call me Mom." The red text flashed again: “See! I told you she’s a half-wit! She doesn’t even know how to be afraid. She handled the Starved One just like that. My daughter is a natural!” The text vanished. Inside my head, Mom’s voice returned, light and triumphant. "Good girl, June. Now, go to the second floor." I looked at the Starved One. "I have to go upstairs now." She immediately grabbed my arm. "Don't. The one on the second floor... she flays. She’s cruel. She’ll skin you alive." I nodded and tried to squeeze into the cupboard with her. "Okay. I’ll stay here with you then." "No!" Mom’s voice exploded in my head, sharp with rage, before instantly softening into a manipulative coo. "June, honey, remember? If you finish, you get the big bed. The pink sheets with the bunnies on them. Your favorite ones. Don't you want to sleep on the soft pink bunnies?" I did. I wanted my own bed so badly. I didn't want to sleep on the hardwood floor anymore. "The ones with the bunnies?" I asked. "I promise! Would Mommy lie? Now, go!" I looked at the Starved One. Her hollow eyes were fixed on me. "My mom has pink bunny sheets for me," I said softly, gently prying her cold fingers off my arm. "I have to go." She didn't stop me, but she crawled out of the cupboard to follow. Her stomach wound swayed, the internal organs threatening to spill. I looked at my own dirty, oversized hoodie. I took it off and carefully wrapped it around her waist, tying the sleeves in a knot to cover the hole. The feed erupted: “Wait... is she dressing the ghost?” “I don’t think anyone has ever cared about the Starved One’s modesty before.” “The ghost looks like she’s about to cry. Is empathy the secret to the trial? Not violence, but kindness?” The red text snapped back: “A retard doesn't know empathy. It’s just dumb luck. Stop wasting time and get upstairs!” "Move!" Mom barked in my ear. 3 The Starved One looked down at the hoodie, then back at me. She reached out and took my hand in her ice-cold palm. "I will go with you," she said. She led me up the creaking stairs. At the landing stood a figure that was entirely crimson. No skin—just raw, pulsating muscle and throbbing veins, dripping wetly onto the floor. "Don't you have clothes either?" I asked, my voice cracking into a sob. "Did your mommy throw you away, too?" The flayed figure seemed to glitch, her head tilting at an impossible angle. She looked at the Starved One, her voice like sandpaper on bone. "Where did this little fool come from?" "She's a player," the Starved One replied. "But she's mine now." The Flayed One reached out with needle-sharp claws, pressing them against my scalp. "Such tender skin. It would come off in one beautiful piece." The Starved One stepped between us. "Don't you dare scare her." I peeked out from behind her. "It’s okay," I said to the Flayed One. "If you're cold and you don't have a coat, you can have my skin. I'm a little skinny, but maybe it will fit." The Flayed One’s hand froze mid-air. Her lidless, bulging eyes stared directly into mine. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice cracking. "I just want you to be warm. If you wear it, you won't be cold anymore, right?" The Flayed One didn't move for a long time. Then, slowly, she lowered her hand. I saw a thick, red liquid pool in her eye sockets and roll down her cheeks, lost in the gore of her face. She sniffled, a wet, rattling sound. "You little idiot. You’re not like the others. I like you." She turned and began walking down the hallway, leaving bloody footprints behind. "Follow me." She led us to a bedroom and pushed the door open. It was massive, with a vanity and a grand bed. She walked to a wardrobe and flung it open. It was filled with dresses—vibrant, clean, beautiful fabrics that shimmered even in the gloom. The comments exploded: “No way! She’s found the exploit!” “Heart-to-heart with the monsters? Is that how you play this?” “She might actually win the hundred mil!” The red text flared with impatience: “Heart-to-heart? She’s just too stupid to be scared! Pure luck. Get on with it! Find the Headless One!” I shook my head, gripping the Starved One’s hand. "I don't want to go to the third floor." "You don't have a choice!" Mom’s voice was like iron. Suddenly, the metal collar around my neck constricted. It bit into my flesh like a vice. A split second later, a massive jolt of electricity surged through me. Everything went black. I collapsed to my knees, my body convulsing, foam bubbling at my lips. "Ah—!" I couldn't even scream properly. "Let her go!" the Starved One shrieked, lunging forward, trying to claw at the collar with her frozen fingers. The Flayed One joined her, her sharp nails sparking against the metal. But the collar didn't budge. Blue sparks danced across its surface. "It’s no use!" Mom’s voice crackled with a sadistic glee. "It’s custom-built! Crank it up!" Another wave of agony hit me. It felt like thousands of white-hot needles were being driven into my marrow. I curled into a ball, losing the strength even to twitch. "I’ll go... I’ll go," I gasped, my voice a mere breath of air. "Stop it... Mom, please... I’ll go." The pain subsided slightly. My head was ringing, filled with Mom’s cold command: "Third floor. Now." The two ghosts crouched beside me, wanting to touch me but afraid of the shock. I forced myself up, my legs shaking like jelly. "I have to go to the third floor," I croaked. 4 "No!" the Starved One cried. "The one up there is the worst of us!" The Flayed One shook her head violently, splattering blood. "The Headless One... he has no mind! He’s spent eternity looking for his head! He destroys everything in his path. You’ll die!" Regardless, they walked with me. The third-floor landing was an empty, echoing hall. In the center stood a massive figure in tattered clothes. Where his head should have been, there was only a jagged stump of dark muscle and throbbing veins. I looked at the "bleeding" neck and whispered, "You must be so hungry." The Headless One, who had been raising a massive rusted axe, paused. "How do you eat without a mouth?" I looked at his empty shoulders, feeling a deep, heavy pit of pity in my chest. "You poor thing." The Headless One went completely still. After several seconds, a muffled, sobbing sound emanated from the stump of his neck. "No one... has ever... asked if I was hungry." The axe hit the floor with a heavy thud. The feed was a blur: “Wait, that’s it?” “Where’s the 'Watermelon Splash'???” “He’s tamed already?” “Is this game a joke?!” The red text reappeared, smug and boastful: “My daughter is amazing! Do you see? Her brain is different. That’s the key to the game!” The three ghosts gathered around me. "Little one," the Starved One whispered. "Do you know what this place is? It’s a game. People die here." I nodded. "I know. But Mom said if I finish, she’ll buy me a meat pie." The three monsters fell silent. Then, together, they placed their cold hands on my head. "We give you our final blessing," the Flayed One rasped. "You are too kind for this world," the Starved One added. "Goodbye, little one," the Headless One muffled. Their hands began to glow with a faint, warm light. It wasn't cold anymore. Slowly, their forms began to dissolve into the light, fading into nothingness. A cold, mechanical voice boomed through the hall: "Congratulations, Player June Lin. You have completed the 'Manor Trial.' Grand prize: $100 Million. To claim the prize, the following conditions must be met..." Before the voice could finish, a wave of vertigo hit me. The world spun. When my vision cleared, I was sitting in a comfortable chair. I was in a tiered auditorium filled with people in expensive suits. In front of me was a massive glass wall. On the other side of that glass was the very same hallway I had just left. And standing there, looking around in a panic, was my mother.
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