The back of my head is throbbing, and I don't know why. I open my eyes to nothing, just complete darkness. Blinking, I wait for my eyes to adjust, but it doesn't get better. I can't see anything. My back kills, rocks are digging into it. Did I fall asleep outside? My thoughts feel slow, and my body is sluggish like waking up when you have a cold. I try to crack the crick in my neck, but I can't move it at all; there's something over my head.

Where am I? The last thing I remember was riding my bike to the Wawas in town to grab some snacks. My head is seriously killing me, and I can't remember whether I ever reached Wawas. I reach up to whatever is covering my head, trying to get an idea of what the thing looks like. Cold and hard, it's a sort of helmet thing made of metal. Feeling around it, I find a crank on the front and two matching cranks on the sides. The shape of them is similar, or identical, to the gumball machines they have in front of the grocery store.

I still haven't figured out what's preventing me from being able to see. There might be a blindfold around my eyes underneath whatever the hell this thing is. Continuing my assessment, my hand brushes against the contraption, and it slices it open. Shit. It's so sharp that the cut doesn't hurt even though I can tell I'm bleeding. Alright, I'm not messing with this thing without seeing what I'm doing. The realization hits me; I've been kidnapped and have no idea what my abductors look like or where I am. I should be panicking, but I'm chill despite my situation and injury. What's going on? A crackling noise comes from above me, before a man begins to speak.

"WELCOME KIDDOS, TO THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH! YOU'VE BEEN CHOSEN TO JOIN THE CARNIVAL AND COMPETE FOR VARIOUS PRIZES SUCH AS FOOD, WATER, AND THE RIGHT TO SURVIVE!"

The male voice is coming from everywhere around me. It must be an intercom system. Before I can ask any questions, the voice starts shouting again.

"CONTESTANTS, YOU HAVE LIKELY DISCOVERED THAT YOU HAVE A DEVICE ATTACHED TO YOUR HEAD. THIS DEVICE WILL SLOWLY CLOSE AROUND YOUR SKULL WHILE THE BLADES BEGIN TO ROTATE. YOU WILL HAVE TO BE QUICK WITH DISABLING THE DEVICE BEFORE YOUR HEAD IS CRUSHED AND SHREDDED TO PIECES."

What the hell? Whoever my kidnappers are, they're clearly sickos. Also, the voice said contestants, so they've taken more than just me. Why am I not freaking out? I should be freaking out. The voice picks up where it left off, but he isn't yelling anymore.

"There are three cranks on your helmets—one on the front and one on each side. You will need to turn all three cranks in the correct directions and the right number of times to disable them. You will go from the left crank to the center and then finish with the right. You'll be given a series of three math equations, but I'll give you a hint. The answers will always be at least two digits. You will use the first digit to know how many cranks to the left you must make, and the final digit is how many cranks to the right. So if the answer were 4782, you would turn the crank to the left four times and then to the right twice. You want to be the fastest, because only the first six of you who finish will survive," he continued.

There's something different about the voice now. The over-the-top excitement is missing, the enthusiasm is gone, leaving only cold amusement. The way the guy's been speaking makes it seem like there is an audience for whatever this is. Are we on a commercial break now? The idea that all of this could be for some creepy fucks' entertainment is slightly upsetting. Did they drug me to make me so calm? Instead of worrying about my predicament or escaping, I'm just glad it was math he mentioned, not spelling. Then I'd be screwed. I'm pretty decent at math, not top of my class, but I've got an A minus in Algebra I.

"1702 times 33, divided by 2."

We're starting without any kind of countdown. 28,083. I use my left hand to crank the crank left twice and then three times the opposite way. The cranks thankfully have a clicking sound that they make whenever you complete a full rotation. There's no sound after I finish, no way to know if it worked or if my math is wrong.

"72,476 divided by 8, minus 333 divided by 6."

The answer should be 9004. Nine to the left and four to the right. I can do this.

"I'm sure the more astute of you have realized that there is no feedback on whether your answers are right or wrong. Your helmets will only give feedback once the third crank has been adjusted, but by then, you're either right or you're dead. If you can't do simple math, then you'll never last at the Carnival. We've evened out the lot of you to make it more fair, but don't expect that ever again. Final equation: 500 divided by 10, times 3, minus 100, times 2, plus 800 divided by 8."

I start trying to do the math immediately, but it's a lot harder without being able to see the equation. I'm starting to get nervous as I keep redoing the math again and again. Wait, I do have something I can do. Drawing on my palm, a habit I learned from my dad years ago to turn mental math into real math, I try to visualize it. The cut on my right hand hasn't stopped bleeding, and clenching my fist to use my index finger as a pencil is making the bleeding worse. That's 50, then 150. Swap sides and do everything after the minus. 200 and 100, respectively. 150 minus 200 is negative 50, then add another 100, and we get 50. Am I wrong? Is the answer really five left turns and zero right ones? It is two digits, but you can't turn something zero times. If I'm wrong, I die. Should I just guess? No, that's worse.

Inhaling a deep breath, I hold it for thirty seconds, and then I let it all out. I reach for the know on the right side of my head and begin turning it. My bloody fingers are slippery, making it harder to grip the crank. My mouth is somehow extremely dry and producing too much spit. I don't wanna be wrong. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die. I force myself to breath again, wiping my hand on my pants and trying to turn it again. Once, twice, a third time, a fourth, each click seems to echo inside my brain. Finally, a fifth turn, and I release it. Hoping more than anything that I'm right, I stop moving and wait. Whatever drugs they've given me are wearing off because I am not calm anymore. I clench my toes and cross my fingers, biting my tongue so I don't yell. Two wind chimes go off next to my ears, and I scream in surprise, falling backward onto the floor. Then I hear gears turning, metal snapping, and the hold on my head gets looser. I did it.

"I DID IT. I FUCKING DID IT. WOOOOOO."

My heart is beating so loudly I can't hear anything else. Even my own relieved laughter is barely audible to me. The helmet falls off me into two separate pieces, and I can finally see. Lights flicker on above me, and I hold my hands up to try and protect my poor eyes. Tears roll down my face while my pounding heart beats in my eardrums. My breathing is finally slowing down. I survived. Glancing over, I get my first look at the helmet. The overall shape is like a beehive, but more barebones. Twenty-two rusty copper rings compose the majority of it, with the ten in the middle being the actual scary part. Every other ring has grooves carved into it for washers to slot in, allowing the razor blades to move in a circle. The other five look like motorized zip ties, the rings being pulled tighter in order to crush the skull of the wearer. What kind of monster would build something like this?

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I look at my palm and it is still bleeding. The cut is deep. The adrenaline pumping through me is letting me power through all of this, but I don't know what I'm going to do when it stops. I'm wearing a black zip-up hoodie, sneakers, a stupid meme shirt, and jeans. Unzipping my hoodie, I take it off and slide about a third of my left sleeve between one of the razor rings, sawing through the fabric. I'm starting to wish I hadn't quit the Boy Scouts. I don't think this is what you had in mind when you said I needed to learn first aid, Dad. I put the cut sleeve onto my palm and then twist it to have two layers covering the cut. That's going to hurt so badly later.

The room is plain and empty. The floor and walls look like they're made out of used wooden planks. The ceiling has a single light and the speaker that's projecting the man's voice. The door is just a regular door, even if I'm positive that if I checked it would be locked. The room, plus the materials used in the helmet, look so poor. I strain my eyes searching for any kind of clue that I can find. If I can find out where I am, I might be able to figure out how to contact the police. My mom and dad must be freaking out.

"AND THEN THERE WERE SIX! BUT I ONLY HAVE ROOM FOR THREE OF YOU. I'M NOT RUNNING A CHARITY AFTER ALL. YOUR DOORS ARE UNLOCKED AND WE'RE MOVING ON TO THE NEXT TEST. DON'T DILLY DALLY!"

The door clicks, and I walk over to it, worried about what could possibly be next. What kind of twisted, messed-up thing will the man in the speaker have in store? Getting from six to three isn't going to be as simple as a few math problems, that's for sure. I'm stalling, the adrenaline is fading, and the reality is threatening to crush me. I miss my mom and my dad, and my dog Bruce. I want to go home. Grabbing the handle with my right hand hurts, so I have to use my left. That's going to take some getting used to. The doorknob turns, my anxiety spiking, but the door just opens.

Behind the door is a hallway, just a completely regular hallway. It's long, like I can't see the end of it long. There are lights, but they're spread out sparingly. Plenty of the hallway is unlit, and the patches of darkness play tricks on my imagination, seeing things that aren't there. I can't do anything but walk down the creepy, scary hallway.

I may not have my phone or my smart watch, but I know I've been walking forever. The end of the hallway is nowhere to be seen, just linoleum floors and beige walls like I'm trapped in my school's gymnasium. God, what I'd give to be getting screamed at by Coach Jeff right now instead of being here. The way behind me stretches out nearly as much, but periodic checks allow me to know that I am making progress in leaving behind the helmet room. But I don't feel any closer to whatever is connected to here. It's frustrating, and I'm tired. I press on and start counting Mississippis as I walk.

"Seventy-two hundred Mississippi. Seventy-two hundred and one Mississippi. AHHH! How fucking long is this hallway?" I shouted to no one.

Two hours have passed since I started counting, and I can't see the exit yet. When I turn around, I can't see the helmet room door anymore. It's gone. There's no way that this could be anything other than Cowls. I got kidnapped by Cowls. My eyelids are growing heavier by the minute; I'm exhausted, and I doubt I'm going to be able to get any sleep any time soon. No choice but to continue.

"Seventy-two hundred and two Mississippi. Seventy-two hundred and three Mississippi."

I see it. It's real. I'm so happy I could cry. The door is up ahead, and I sprint the remainder of the way—anything to get me out of this hallway. In my excitement, I use my right hand to open the door, and I don't even care. The psychic damage this place is doing to me is powerful. Walking through, I see a very different kind of room. Metal sheeting covers nearly every inch of the floor, walls, and ceiling. It looks like this used to be an indoor swimming pool; the way the room slopes and the fact that there's a drain in the middle. The only light is what's coming from the hallway behind me. Across from me on the opposite side is another door, and clearly, where I'm meant to go next. There isn't a way around; it looks like I'm going to have to climb down to get to the other side. I fully enter, and the door slams shut behind me. I scream in frustration.

I'm right back in complete darkness, trapped in another room. Well, I don't have any other choice but to keep moving forward. Sitting down on the edge of the pool, I carefully scoot forward, inching closer and closer until I fall into it. I misjudged how deep the pool is, it's a further fall than I thought, and I stumble when I land. My feet and legs hurt from the impact, but I brace myself against the wall. My finger slips into something. It must be the jets. Using it as a guide, I make my way around the bottom of the pool, trying to navigate via memory in the dark. There are way more jets than I thought there would be. The room lights up as the opposite door opens. I was not nearly as close as I thought I was to it. I see someone standing there looking around like I just was. Another boy who looks about my age, but chubbier, is squinting.

"Hey! Can you help me out of here?" I asked, practically shouting in my excitement.

"Hello?" He said nervously.

"Down here. Whatever you do, don't leave the doorway. The door locks behind you. I just need you to help me get out of here cause I'm stuck," I said.

"Why would I do that?" He asked rudely.

"Because we've been kidnapped by Cowls, and our families are looking for us, and I want to go home, and a bunch of different reasons. Just help me, dude," I said, frustratedly.

"Don't tell me what to do. How do I know you're not working with the freaks that brought me here?"

"Because I'm not. Sorry, we got off to a shitty start. I'm Niko, nice to meet you."

"Niko," he said, like he was tasting my name. "I'm Carl."

"Well, Carl. Is there anything you could put in the door so it doesn't shut? Then maybe you can give me a hand up, and we can try to escape together," I said hopefully.

"Okay, but you owe me. Give me a second, I'm going to go back into the hallway to take my boot off," Carl said, walking back into the hallway.

I'm plunged back into darkness again, and I can only hope Carl is quick. Counting Mississippis in my head again to keep track of time is helping me stay sane. Carl's door opens three minutes later, and while I can't see what he's doing, I can hear him wedging the boot in the door. Carl calls out to me, and I see him leaning over the edge, holding his hand out.

"Hurry up, this is uncomfortable," he said, shaking his arm at me.

I didn't think of it at the time, but my injured palm is going to make this harder. Carl's just barely out of my reach, so I start trying to jump. It takes some coordination and several tries, but Carl grabs my hand. I put my sneakers against a jet opening, trying to push off it to get up as he pulls.

"Hurry. Hurry. My grip is loosening," Carl warned.

"I'm trying, you gotta pull me up more."

Carl moves, trying to readjust, and he almost drops me. I'm scrambling as fast as I can, and I get my left hand to him as well. He grunts, but keeps pulling.

"Uggh. Sorry," Carl said, releasing my hand.

I grab onto him, my nails dig into his skin. He whines, but I'm not falling again. Continuing to climb, he keeps telling me to stop.

"Dude, stop. I just need to take a minute to recuperate."

My right hand grabs his shirt, and that's when Carl starts moving toward me, and not on purpose. He starts slipping, yelling at me to let go, but I won't. Something in my brain is making me paranoid, and I'm afraid he'll leave me here. The chubbier guy falls over the edge, landing on top of me when we both fall into the pool. Shit. The air is knocked out of me, and I cough. My back hurts so much. Carl rolls off of me as I hear his door shut.

"FUCK! GOD!" I screamed.

"AND OUR FINAL PAIR IS READY! CONTESTANTS, THE NEXT TEST IS SO MUCH EASIER THAN THE LAST. NO MATH, NO THINKING, JUST PURE UNADULTERATED VIOLENCE! ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS KILL THE OTHER PERSON. BE QUICK, KIDDOS, BECAUSE UNTIL ONE PERSON DIES, NEITHER OF YOU IS GOING TO SLEEP, EAT, OR DRINK. LET THE SECOND TEST BEGIN!"

Just when I think this can't get any worse, flames explode out of the jets. The flash of light is so bright, and I see the look on Carl's face. It isn't a good one. He wouldn't. Right? The jets are positioned to force the two of us into a small space in the middle. The flames stop, sending me back into the darkness, and for the first time tonight, I'm happier to be unable to see anything.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.