The Game at Carousel: A Horror Movie LitRPG

The forest shifted again, the shapes of the trees melting into something both unfamiliar and known.

The air was full of energy, heavy with memories that weren’t mine—or weren’t fully mine. I stopped running, my massive chest heaving, and the wolf growled low in confusion. The world around me wasn’t the woods anymore. It was... something else.

I dug my claws into the dirt and put all my attention into what was before me.

A payphone stood just ahead, glowing faintly in the moonlight like a beacon. Beside it stood me. Or the slightly younger man I used to be, years older than the one hiding on the stairs. My younger self clutched the receiver tightly, his breath misting in the cold air as he spoke into the phone.

Strange. I almost remembered this as if it really happened, but this was all fiction.

“Christian?” Younger Me asked, his voice hesitant, hopeful. “It’s me.”

The voice on the other end was warm, welcoming, too perfect to be real. “It’s good to hear from you, Antoine. I wasn’t sure you’d call.”

Younger Me shuffled nervously, glancing over his shoulder like he expected someone to be watching. “I didn’t know if... you’d want me to after all these years.”

Christian laughed softly, the sound smooth as silk. “Of course I do. You’re my brother. I’ve missed you. Come out to the cabin on the lake I told you about. We can talk in person.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Carousel was recreating how I was lured to Carousel to find my brother, but a version for this storyline. The parallels were eerie.

The wolf inside me growled, restless and wary, but I couldn’t move. I could only watch as my younger self nodded, his hand tightening around the receiver.

“Okay,” Younger Me said. “I’ll be there.”

The scene blurred, the edges of the memory twisting and warping until I was standing outside a cabin deep in the woods. The younger version of me emerged from the shadows, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His movements were careful, deliberate.

He didn’t trust the place, and neither did the wolf.

The cabin was old and weathered, its wooden planks dark with moss. The windows were shattered, the glass glinting in the faint moonlight. The air smelled wrong—metallic and sharp, with the faintest undercurrent of decay. Younger Me paused at the door, his hand hovering over the handle.

This was the restricted cabin from Camp Dyer. Carousel was having fun with this. It liked to reuse props.

“I’m here,” the younger me called, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. “Christian?”

The silence was deafening. Then, a low growl rumbled through the night. Younger Me turned just in time to see the first wolf emerge from the shadows. Its yellow eyes glinted, and its teeth gleamed like daggers.

Younger Me was ready.

He dropped the duffel and unzipped it in one swift motion, pulling out a long, gleaming knife. When the wolf lunged, he was already moving. His blade flashed, slicing through fur and flesh. The wolf yelped and fell, blood staining the dirt.

The blade stayed in the wolf. There were more blades where it came from.

More wolves came, too.

They emerged from the shadows like specters, their growls filling the air. Younger Me fought with precision and fury, his movements sharp and calculated. He was prepared for this.

This was my character. He had been raised as a monster hunter. He was ready.

I watched, my claws digging into the earth as I fought the urge to intervene. The wolf inside me wanted to leap into the fray, to tear into the attackers, but I couldn’t. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t now.

It was a memory—a memory that had been fabricated for the storyline. I was On-Screen.

One by one, the wolves fell. Younger Me stood panting in the center of the clearing, blood dripping from his seventh blade, smoke rising from the barrel of his gun.

And then, from the shadows, came the last wolf. It was larger than the others, its fur darker, its eyes brighter. It didn’t attack right away. It circled, slow and deliberate, its gaze locked on my younger self.

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The wolf lunged, and Younger Me moved on instinct. The knife plunged into its chest, and the wolf let out a pained howl before collapsing to the ground. Younger Me staggered back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He dropped the knife, staring at the wolf’s lifeless body.

He called out for Christain in the darkness, not knowing where his brother was. Not knowing if the wolves had killed him.

Hours later.

The sun rose.

The fur receded from the wolves, and there he was—Christian. His eyes were open, empty, his face blank from death.

This wasn't my real brother. They copied me but not him. Strange. Carousel had him. Why not use his body for this sick charade?

“No,” Younger Me said, his voice breaking. “No, no, no!”

The air around me thickened, the memory collapsing in on itself like smoke pulled into a void.

The wolf in my mind laughed, its voice sharp and cruel.

“You killed your own brother,” it said, the words echoing in my skull.

“No, I didn’t!” I tried to yell, but all that came out were roars.

That was the parallel. My character killed his brother.

I killed mine.

It was an accident. It was Project Rewind.

But I did it.

True guilt is deaf to reason. I was always suspicious of people who forgave themselves too easily.

I staggered backward, the forest returning around me. The cabin was gone, the payphone was gone, and the blood was gone. But the pain lingered, sharp and unforgiving. I turned and ran, tearing through the trees blindly, as if I could outrun the memory, the wolf, and the weight of what I’d done.

I had killed my brother. How could I live with that?

I could save him. That was it. That was my one redemption, but it felt so impossible. How could I keep going long enough to rescue him? How!?

And I had screwed that up. I couldn't help anyone now.

Something pulled at me, tugging me forward like a thread sewn into my chest. The wolf didn’t fight it, and neither did I.

I ran because it was the only thing I could do.

The forest thinned, the trees growing sparse and scattered, their shadows no longer deep enough to hide in. There was a river. I jumped over it like it was a crack in the sidewalk.

The pull in my chest was stronger now, dragging me forward, relentless and undeniable. The wolf inside me stirred, no longer fighting.

It wanted this as much as I did, though neither of us could name what this was.

The air shifted. The scent of pine and soil faded, replaced by something else—something sharp and layered. The acrid tang of asphalt, the faint musk of oil, and the unmistakable scent of wolves. My steps slowed as I reached the edge of the forest and saw it.

The motel. The diner. The main street of Southeastern Carousel.

The motel sat squat and unassuming on the side of the road, not too far from the river I had crossed moments earlier, its neon sign flickering weakly.

It was familiar. Too familiar. I knew this place. We had been here before, before the dinner, before the infection.

The wolf in me growled softly, its nose twitching. I could feel them now. The wolves.

They were everywhere. Their scents clung to the motel like a second skin, seeping into the cracks and shadows. But it wasn’t just the motel. The scent carried on the wind, leading to the hills beyond, to the houses tucked into the woods, to the town itself.

This was why we couldn’t figure out where the wolves were hiding out.

They weren’t hiding in caves, abandoned buildings, or dens. They were here, living among the humans, blending in. Hiding in plain sight.

No… there were so many of them.

I took a step forward, my paws crunching softly against the gravel. The wolf strained against me, its instincts surging. It wanted something—someone.

Then I heard the voice.

“Easy now, child.”

It was soft at first, just a whisper carried by the wind. I froze, my ears twitching, my muscles tensing.

“Everything is okay now.”

The voice grew clearer, stronger. It wasn’t in my head. It was real. I turned, my eyes locking onto a figure emerging from the shadows.

A woman.

She moved with the grace of a predator, her bare feet light and deliberate. Her dark hair framed her face, her expression calm but commanding. I knew her. I knew her.

Sarah.

On the red wallpaper, it said Serena, but this was Sarah, the same woman from Kimberly’s photographs.

I’d seen her smile, seen her arm slung casually over Kimberly’s shoulder, like an older sister or a trusted friend. But as she stepped closer, I felt it.

She wasn’t just Sarah. She was something more.

The wolf in me surged forward, desperate to close the distance. My body moved without thought, my claws digging into the ground as I bounded toward her. There was no fight this time. I didn’t hold it back. I couldn’t.

She was the reason I had run, the reason I was here.

She didn’t flinch as I stopped in front of her, panting and trembling. Her eyes locked onto mine, and I felt it like a tidal wave crashing over me. She could make the pain go away. Her presence was the wind. It was the moonlight. It was peace. It was freedom.

She was overwhelming, her power radiating from her like heat from the sun.

My legs buckled beneath me, and I collapsed, the exhaustion hitting me all at once. My paw throbbed, the pain sharp and searing. I looked down and saw it—the silver caltrop. It was still embedded in my flesh, burning, smoking, if only in my mind. I hadn’t even remembered it was there.

“You’ve run far enough,” Sarah said, her voice calm and soothing. She knelt beside me, her hands steady as they reached for my paw. “You can rest now.”

The other wolves emerged from the shadows; their forms were human, but their eyes gleamed with the same golden light. I could see it now with my wolf eyes. They surrounded me, silent and watchful, their presence both comforting and suffocating.

There were so many. The players were doomed.

Sarah’s fingers brushed against my paw, and I winced, a low whine escaping my throat. She worked quickly, her movements precise and deliberate. The caltrop slid free, and I let out a ragged breath as the burning pain faded.

“There,” she said softly. “It’s done. You’re safe.”

I wanted to say something, to ask her why, how, what this all meant—but the words wouldn’t come. My vision blurred, the exhaustion pulling at me like a weight I couldn’t fight anymore.

“It’s okay,” Sarah said, her voice the last thing I heard before the darkness claimed me. “Sleep.”

And I did.

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