The customized cotton candy machine—Floss’ death machine—was at the back of the big tent, according to Snuggles. He brought me around and showed me exactly where. Once he did, I told him to go distract Floss, and to keep him distracted while I did what I had to do.
When Snuggles hustled off, I mentally reached into my inventory and took out the mandible I’d ripped off the giant roach before arriving here. The edge of the mandible was as sharp as any blade. It should do what I needed it to do, which was cut through the thick material of the big top.
The tent wasn’t made of any ordinary canvas or nylon. No, this was Infernum, where even the most mundane objects had a nightmarish twist. The big top’s “fabric” seemed to be a living, breathing entity of its own. It pulsed and writhed, its surface a sickly patchwork of what looked disturbingly like human skin, animal hide, and some kind of chitinous material.
Veins and arteries ran through it like a twisted circulatory system, pulsing with a phosphorescent glow. In some places, the surface bubbled and roiled, occasionally forming shapes that looked unsettlingly like screaming faces before smoothing out again.
The whole structure seemed to exude a faint, sour odor, a mix of decay and something sickeningly sweet—probably Floss’s influence. It was as if the tent itself was digesting the horrors that occurred within, feeding off the fear and suffering of its victims.
I grimaced, steeling myself for what I had to do. Cutting through this abomination wouldn’t be pleasant, but it was necessary. With Annalise’s life on the line and time ticking away, I had to push past my revulsion and get the job done.
Taking a deep breath, I raised the roach mandible, its edge glinting in the eerie light of Infernum. “Here goes nothing,” I muttered, and began to saw at the living fabric of the big top.
As I started sawing, hoping like hell Floss hadn’t noticed me doing it, I soon heard Snuggles’ voice coming from inside the big top. The little blue monster plushie was babbling on to Floss about him and his boys getting better “working conditions” in the fairground (as if they actually had jobs) and that they were sick of being treated like second-class citizens.
“Listen here, you overgrown dust bunny,” Floss’s voice rang out, dripping with annoyance. “Can’t you see I’m busy? I’ve got a show to put on, and you’re interrupting my star performance!”
But Snuggles, bless his fuzzy little heart, wasn’t deterred. He kept right on talking, his gravelly voice taking on a wheedling tone. “Aw, come on, Herbie! We’re all in this together, ain’t we? Just hear me out! Happy workers are more productive workers, right? That’s all I’m saying.”
As I continued to cut through the pulsating fabric of the big top, I could hear Floss’s exasperated sighs and Snuggles’ relentless chatter. The plushie was laying it on thick, spinning a tale about unionizing the carnival attractions that was equal parts absurd and impressive.
“And another thing,” Snuggles continued, his voice rising in mock indignation, “the haunted house ghouls are demanding better benefits! And don’t even get me started on the clown posse. Have you seen them lately? No? That’s because they’re too depressed to even show up for work! Their smiles are now permanent frowns!”
“Goodness gracious me,” Floss groaned, “will you shut your stuffed pie hole?”
I grinned despite the tension. Snuggles was doing his job perfectly, keeping Floss distracted and increasingly frustrated. Meanwhile, I kept sawing, ignoring the unsettling sensation of cutting through what felt disturbingly like living tissue.
Finally, after a few minutes, I’d made a hole big enough to squeeze through. The edges of the opening pulsed and oozed a phosphorescent fluid, but I didn’t have time to be grossed out.
Taking a deep breath, I carefully climbed through the opening, praying to whatever deity might be listening in this godforsaken place that I wouldn’t make a sound. As I emerged on the other side, the interior of the big top spread out before me, a carnival of horrors with Floss at its center.
I could see Annalise still strapped to the wheel, her eyes darting between Floss and the still-chattering Snuggles. She looked scared but defiant, and very much alive. Relief washed over me, quickly followed by a surge of determination. I was in. Now came the hard part.
Staying low and in the shadows, I began to make my way toward Floss’s infamous machine, all the while keeping an ear on Snuggles’ endless monologue.
When I laid eyes on Floss’ infernal machine, my jaw dropped open. The contraption was a twisted fusion of carnival whimsy and industrial horror. At its core was what might have once been a regular cotton candy machine, but it had been warped and expanded into something monstrous. The base was a massive, cast-iron cauldron that bubbled and hissed with molten sugar, giving off a sickly sweet smell that made my stomach turn. Above it, a complex array of gears, pulleys, and spinning arms stretched upward like a demented spider’s web.
The spinning head wasn’t just designed to collect sugar strands—it had been modified with razor-sharp blades and hooks that looked like they could shred flesh as easily as spin sugar. A series of tubes and pipes snaked out from the base, some dripping with a viscous, red-tinged syrup that I prayed wasn’t what I thought it was.
The entire machine was encased in a framework of rusted metal and what looked disturbingly like bones. Human bones. They weren’t just decorative either. I could see that some had been worked into the mechanism itself, serving as levers and gears in this macabre device.
At the top of the machine was a large funnel, big enough to fit a person. The inside of the funnel was lined with more blades and hooks, all leading down to the spinning death trap below. I shuddered, imagining what it must be like to be fed into that thing.
The control panel, if you could call it that, was a mess of old-fashioned dials, switches, and levers. Some were labeled with cheerful carnival fonts spelling out horrific options like Liquefaction Speed and Marrow Extraction.
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As I watched, the machine hummed and pulsed with an unholy energy. Steam hissed from various vents, carrying with it that same sickly-sweet smell mixed with something metallic and raw. The whole thing seemed alive in a way that machines shouldn’t be, as if it were eagerly anticipating its next victim.
This wasn’t just a killing machine—it was a torture device designed to inflict maximum suffering while turning human beings into a twisted parody of a carnival treat. It was the physical manifestation of Floss’s madness, a monument to his sick creativity and cruelty.
I swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to vomit.
Here goes nothing…
Reaching into my inventory, I pulled out two of the small bombs, which were about the size of tennis balls, and held them in one hand. Then I took out the zippo lighter and struck it on my leg to get a flame. When I was ready, I called out to Floss.
“Hey, Floss,” I shouted, interrupting Snuggles’ stream of nonsense. “Over here, you fuzzy haired freak.”
As Floss spun around, I held the two bombs near the candy floss death machine, the flame of the lighter close to the fuses.
Floss’s reaction was a sight to behold. His eyes, which had been narrowed in annoyance at Snuggles, widened to comical proportions. His mouth, usually fixed in that unsettling 1950s sitcom dad smile, dropped open in shock. For a moment, he looked less like a terrifying serial killer and more like a kid who’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” Floss exclaimed. “Aren’t you just the clever little scamp? Sneaking in here like a cat burglar at the county fair!”
Despite his words, I could see the calculation in his eyes. He was sizing me up, trying to figure out if I was bluffing or if I’d actually blow his precious machine to kingdom come.
“Now, son,” he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture, “let’s not do anything hasty. That there’s a mighty fine piece of equipment you’re threatening. Why don’t we talk about this like civilized folks?”
Meanwhile, Annalise’s face was a study in conflicting emotions. Relief flooded her features as she saw me, her eyes lighting up with hope. But that hope was quickly tempered by fear—fear for my safety, fear of what Floss might do.
“Let the girl go, Floss,” I said. “Or I’ll blow your precious machine to bits.”
Floss’s eyes darted between me, Annalise, and his beloved machine. I could almost see the gears turning in his twisted mind as he tried to figure out how to turn this situation to his advantage.
“Well, now,” Floss said, his voice taking on a more sinister edge, “isn’t this just the berries? A regular Mexican standoff we’ve got here. But let me tell you something, sport...” His hand inched toward something in his pocket. “I’ve been playing this game a lot longer than you have.”
The tension in the air was palpable. Snuggles had gone uncharacteristically quiet, his beady eyes darting between all of us. Everything hung in the balance, and I knew the next few moments would determine all our fates.
I tightened my grip on the bombs, my thumb hovering over the lighter’s flame. “Your move, Floss,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But remember, I’ve got nothing to lose. You? You’ve got your precious machine to think about. Let the girl go and we can all walk away from this. You can find some other victim to torture, and more importantly, your machine stays in one piece.”
Floss tutted as he began to walk toward me slowly. “You have no idea of who you’re dealing with, do you, sport?”
“A fucking psycho killer. That’s all I need to know.”
“Oh, I’m much more than that, kiddo.” He paused, thank god, standing about fifteen feet away from me now. Movement behind him caught my eye, and I glimpsed Snuggles jump up onto the cartwheel and begin to untie Annalise, starting with her legs. As long as Floss didn’t notice, she’d be free in a moment. “I’m your worst nightmare walking.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you look like a clown to me, pal.” Snuggles had almost freed Annalise, so I lit the fuses on the two bombs, much to Floss’ horror, and tossed them into the machine.
After another quick look, I saw Annalise run out of the tent with Snuggles, which was my cue to exit as well.
Turning, I dove through the slit in the tent I’d made earlier, then ran to meet Annalise, who was standing waiting on me with Snuggles. “Come on!” Annalise shouted.
As I ran toward her, there was a large explosion behind me in the big top. The ground shook, and a massive fireball erupted from the tent, sending shards of metal and chunks of burning canvas into the air. The heat seared my back, and the concussive force nearly knocked me off my feet. Thankfully, my denim jacket was bomb proof, to a point, so it absorbed most of the blast.
Over the deafening roar of the explosion, a scream of pure fury rose, chilling my blood. Floss’s voice, twisted with rage and pain, echoed across the fairground.
“GO!” I yelled, grabbing Annalise’s hand. Snuggles leaped onto my shoulder, his claws digging into my jacket for dear life.
We sprinted toward the exit, our feet pounding on the ash-covered ground. The carnival around us seemed to come alive with malevolent energy, rides creaking and groaning as if in sympathy with Floss’s anger.
Just as we reached the gates, they slammed shut with a resounding clang, the metal bars vibrating with the impact.
“No!” Annalise cried, shaking the unyielding gates.
“It’s Floss,” Snuggles hissed, his fuzzy face showing his fear. “He’s using his powers!”
We spun around, and there he was. Floss stood outside the burning remains of the big top, his candy-striped shirt in tatters, his sugar-spun hair singed and smoking. His face was a mask of unhinged rage, eyes bulging and teeth bared in a feral snarl.
“You miserable little worms!” he screeched, his voice cracking with fury. “You think you can destroy my life’s work and just skip away? Oh no, kiddies. The fun’s just beginning!”
He started walking toward us, each step leaving a sizzling footprint of molten sugar. “I’m gonna make you suffer like you’ve never suffered before. You’ll be the star attraction in my new show. You’ll watch as I build my new machine, piece by agonizing piece, knowing that when it’s done, you’ll be the first to try it out!”
Suddenly, his hands shot forward, streams of something spraying from his palms. Annalise screamed as the scalding substance hit her arm, the skin blistering instantly. I felt a searing pain across my cheek as some of it splashed my face, and I tasted sugar.
“How’s that for a taste, you little brats?” Floss cackled, preparing for another assault.
We backed against the gates, terror gripping my heart. This was it. We were done for.
Damn, we were so close…
But then, from out of nowhere, a battle cry rose—high-pitched and squeaky, but fierce. Snuggles’ plush army came charging out from behind the carnival stands, a wave of stuffed fury descending on Floss.
“What in the name of—” Floss started, but was cut off as the plushies swarmed him, biting and clawing with their tiny fabric limbs.
Then, as if that wasn’t bizarre enough, a troupe of clowns appeared, their painted faces set in grim determination. One shot seltzer water that hissed and steamed as it hit Floss, another threw pies that exploded on impact, and a third extended his arms like rubber, wrapping them around Floss’s legs.
“Now’s our chance!” Snuggles yelled. “Climb, you idiots!”
We didn’t need telling twice. Ignoring the pain from our burns, we scrambled up the gate, the sounds of battle raging behind us. Floss’ enraged screams mixed with the honking of clown horns and the squeaks of angry plushies.
As we dropped down on the other side, I caught one last glimpse of the chaos. Floss was a whirling dervish of sugar and rage, plushies flying off him as he spun, clowns dodging streams of molten sweetness.
But through all the chaos, the psycho still managed to catch my gaze, and he yelled: “I’ll find you! Don’t you worry, I’ll find you! You haven’t heard the last of old Flossy!”