The Game at Carousel: A Horror Movie LitRPG - Chapter 93: Mr. Evergreen in the Ballroom with the Knife

Mrs. Cloudburst and I ran through the hallways, laughing and stumbling about like drunk idiots. She was a great actress. If I didn’t know better, I would think she was actually enjoying herself. Following her lead, I think I was putting on a pretty good performance.

We were On and Off-Screen throughout our time together in that scene. I tried not to focus on it too much so that I didn’t get too anxious.

“What year is it?” I asked with a laugh. It was an odd question to ask, but I still wasn’t sure. The rooms had electricity, but that was the only piece of technology I could use to narrow things down. I couldn’t use my Walkman with Oblivious Bystander until I knew.

I pretended to swig champagne from a bottle that Mrs. Cloudburst had taken from the ballroom.

Mrs. Cloudburst laughed. “I know, it can be difficult to keep track of, can’t it? You’ll get used to it. It’s 1992. It can be strange how time flies.”

She got quiet momentarily, and I could see that her mind went elsewhere. But only for a moment.

“I’ve never been good with dates,” I said.

“I don’t think you’re doing so bad.”

I couldn’t see her script, but I could see that she had tons of lines that guys wait their whole lives to hear. She made me feel strong, smart, and desirable in a few short scenes.

But I had a job to do.

“Tell me about Cristobal,” I said. She had used his name earlier, and it sounded like he was in charge.

She laughed.

“Quite the enigma, isn’t he?” she asked. “He hasn’t come to Carousel in over a decade. He travels around the world to all of the Society’s other gatherings. They say he leaves a trail of adoring women and angry husbands everywhere he goes.”

She spun around, pulling me down the hallway. All at once, the movement stopped. She put her face close to mine and said quietly, “But that’s not what you want to know, is it?”

“I wasn’t looking for his travel itinerary, if that’s what you mean,” I said. “I just want your opinion of him.”

“I have the highest opinion of him. I owe everything to him. Like many others, I follow him when he moves to a new place. I’ve shipped myself across oceans and continents just to be near him. He’s the most powerful man in the world. I’m sure most members feel the same. Don’t you?”

“Of course,” I said.

“We’re not together in that way,” she said. “If that’s what you were thinking. He holds no flame for me, at least, not recently.”

I got this strange sense that she held one for him.

Perhaps I had pushed too far. Chris had buffed my Moxie with his Just Off a Win trope, which boosted my highest stat. Since my Moxie and Savvy were tied, the buff was divided among them. If I pushed too hard, I might not be able to recover. It’s not like I had any natural talent for negotiating around human emotion.

I decided to change the subject.

“Now, where is this aquarium I keep hearing about?”

Mrs. Cloudburst flashed a smile.

The aquarium was massive. It contained fish of every variety, but they all had one thing in common: they were beautiful and elegant and swam around that tank like dancers.

“Which one is your favorite?” Mrs. Cloudburst asked.

I looked at the fish. There were dozens, maybe hundreds.

“The blue one with the gray,” I said.

She scanned through the aquarium. “Where’s that one?”

“Right there,” I said, pointing to her mask.

She playfully hit my arm.

“R—Mr. Gray Amber?” someone asked from the door to the aquarium room.

I turned to see Kimberly and Antoine. I was relieved to see that I could still tell who they were despite their masks, though something in my mind was fighting me on it. It was as if the magic of the masks was trying to reassert itself.

“Hey, Ms. Swan Song and Mr. Moonrock,” I said. “This is Ms. Cloudburst.”

They looked from me to her and seemed very surprised.

“We were just on our way back to the ballroom,” I said. “Stopped here for a look at the fish.”

Antoine coughed. “We should go. It’s getting about that time.”

I checked the Plot Cycle. It was nearing First Blood.

“Cristobal’s speech!” Mrs. Cloudburst said suddenly. “It’s going to be any minute. We need to go!”

She pulled me toward the door and past Antoine and Kimberly. As she did, Antoine gave me a look that said something like, “What have you been doing with her?”

I shrugged my shoulders as we ran back toward the ballroom.

Back in the ballroom, more guests were there than when I left. There must have been at least a hundred members. It was hard to imagine how there were this many elite rich folks in Carousel, but from what Mrs. Cloudburst had said, it sounded like many followed the group’s enigmatic leader around, so many of these might not actually have been from Carousel within the story.

It took us a while to find Grace and Chris. Partially because of the masks they were wearing and also because of how many people there were in that ballroom.

It turned out that we had arrived approximately five minutes before Cristobal was to make an appearance. The crowd was electric. These partygoers were thrilled about the arrival of their leader.

The ballroom didn’t have a stage, so I wasn’t sure where he was going to show up. It had a strange area in the corner that was closed off by ornate room dividers, but none of the party guests were casting their attention in that direction.

The lights got dark. Smoke started to rise from the center of the room. The party guests quickly backed away from the large circle inscribed into the wood floor. The smoke continued rising until it got so thick that I could not see anything on the other side.

“I love it when he does this!” Mrs. Cloudburst said, giddy with excitement.

As quickly as the smoke rose, it started to fade. The band started to play music announcing the arrival.

Moments later, as the smoke started to settle, a man and a woman could be seen standing in the middle of the ballroom. They hadn’t been there before.

Both of them were very striking. The woman was beautiful. The man looked like he was pulled from the cover of a romance novel. He had long, flowing hair and wore his shirt almost completely unbuttoned to expose his chest.

Only the woman wore a mask.

Before me was the man known as Cristobal. The woman he was with was called Mrs. Midnight on the red wallpaper.

Cristobal

in

The Strings Attached

Plot Armor: 60

__________

Tropes

Quick Change

Artist

This villain can change into and out of their disguise without being seen or getting caught.

Non-Combatant

This villain cannot be attacked until it attacks the player or is otherwise identified as hostile. Attacking it will not be effective, nor will it change the story. It will cause the player to go Off-Screen for a time.

Bottomless Bag of Tricks

The villain has so many different in-universe abilities that they can employ new abilities in the Finale without needing to establish them in the narrative.

Fate Worse Than Death

This villain does not want to kill its victims, though, in the end, they will wish it had. Victims are Written-Off instead of killed.

Which One Do I Shoot?

Players will not be able to differentiate the villain from other characters through the mere use of observation, insight tropes, or common sense. However, these, combined with clever plans and an understanding of lore, may suffice.

13 Additional Tropes not Perceptible

Cristobal received a standing ovation that lasted for eight minutes. That was not an exaggeration. The people in that room loved that man.

Mrs. Cloudburst was no exception. She screamed, cheered, and clapped, and it was everything I could do to match pace so that I didn’t look like I was the odd one out.

“My people,” Cristobal said whenever there was a gap in the cheering. He had a thick accent that was vaguely European, but I couldn’t place it beyond that.

At those two words, the ovation continued for another two minutes.

Finally, the room settled down enough that Cristobal could speak.

“My people,” he said. “It brings joy to my heart that I can be here with you today. I am enraptured by the beauty in this room. On any other day, I would stand here and speak about the abundance and happiness that each of us has received as members of the Society.”

He paused so that people could cheer.

“The decanter vitae overflows with prosperity, beauty, and love, does it not?”

Several people in the crowd started to cheer “decanter vitae” over and over again.

Cristobal held up his hands to silence them.

“I wish I could stand here and share stories of our wonderful lives with you, but as many of you have heard, my dear friend Mr. Midnight has passed. It pains us all that someone who has lived such a beautiful life must leave it behind.”

Gasps spread throughout the crowd.

“Oh my God, how could that happen?” Mrs. Cloudburst asked. She sounded truly distraught. “His poor wife.”

The woman who had arrived with Cristobal, Mrs. Midnight, looked dreary and sad at the reveal. It didn’t take much of a leap to realize that Mr. and Mrs. Midnight were married.

“There has been talk from members of the society who did not love him well enough that I should choose a Third to replace him.”

He spat on the ground. This elicited more gasps from the women in the crowd.

“This man was my friend for much of my life,” Cristobal declared. “He has only been dead for these three weeks, and it is demanded that we already need a new Third? I am disgusted. I wretch at the thought of betraying my friend’s memory.”

People booed an agreement.

Cristobal’s speech continued on. He spoke of his many adventures and the many parties he had been to. He walked around the room, giving women (and the occasional man) kisses on their cheeks.

“Cristobal!” A woman with a butterfly mask cried out, “Cristobal!”

She was Ms. Monarch on the red wallpaper.

The moment that Cristobal saw her, he walked across the room and embraced her.

“She’s so lucky,” Mrs. Cloudburst whispered.

“Cristobal,” Ms. Monarch said, “I spoke to Mr. Midnight before his death. I’ve been trying to tell you, but I could not get ahold of you.”

Cristobal looked at her curiously. “You have information on his death?”

She nodded her head vigorously. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! I tried to send you messages, but I was unable to find you!”

Cristobal started to fall forward. A dozen hands reached out to catch him.

“This is too much,” Cristobal said. “I need to rest. His passing weighs on me so,” Cristobal looked pitifully at the ground.

Mrs. Midnight ran to his side.

“Cristobal,” Mrs. Midnight said in an accent similar to his, “You must not strain yourself.”

She looked up at the partygoers.

“He bears the strain of the current. Without a Third, he is weakened.”

Cristobal stood up straight again with great effort. “I must rest, But I cannot stand the thought of being away from you,” he said to the guests, “I have asked to have a small bed brought into the room so that I may bask in your presence as I rest. Please send me your strength.”

After he said that, the guests lifted their hands upward for a few moments. “Decanter vitae,” they said in chorus.

As Cristobal limped away from the center of the ballroom, he said something to Ms. Monarch and held up a hand to her. She nodded.

Mrs. Midnight hauled Cristobal behind the screens in the corner of the room I had seen earlier. The screens were a poor cover. I could see them through the gaps in the screens. He lay on the bed.

Mrs. Midnight sat next to him and stroked his long hair. She then bent down and kissed him on the lips before leaving to rejoin us on the floor.

As she came back, she gestured to the band, who started playing again.

“That poor man does so much for us,” Mrs. Cloudburst said. “No one appreciates his sacrifice for us.”

And she seemed so normal before that Cristobal fellow came along.

The night wore on, and eventually, people started dancing again. Mrs. Midnight stood in the center of the ballroom, receiving condolences from the guests.

The needle on the Plot Cycle inched closer to First Blood. It could happen at any minute.

Kimberly was absolutely terrified. She refused to leave Antoine’s arms so much that people started noticing.

“Were you close to Mr. Midnight?” One of them masked eagerly.

“Yes,” Kimberly managed to squeak out.

Mrs. Cloudburst insisted on dancing eventually. I did my best to follow along with what she was doing but soon noticed that her eyes always shifted toward the screens in front of Cristobal’s sleeping body.

It was hard to pay attention to the festivities while we waited for the bomb to go off.

But soon enough, it did.

A scream echoed through the ballroom. The musicians stopped short.

Ms. Monarch, who stood in the exact same place that she had been when she last spoke to Cristobal, was yelling and shrieking in terror.

“No, don’t!” she screamed. “Don’t, please!”

She didn’t move but put up her arms as if defending herself from an assailant.

But there was no assailant.

“It’s,” she screamed, pausing as something appeared to strike her in her chest, though no object or wound was visible, “Mr. Evergr–”

She was struck again.

And again.

She screamed bloody murder, but I saw no blood nor weapons of any kind.

“It’s Mr. Evergreen,” she screamed out in her dying gasp.

Then, she went limp.

She didn’t fall to the ground, no, her arms went limp, and she bent forward, and she stood there emotionless, gurgling.

“She’s been murdered!” Mrs. Midnight cried out.

“Who’s down there?” Cristobal screamed as he lumbered across the floor toward her. “Someone went down there and killed her!”

Mrs. Cloudburst held me close and asked, “Who would kill one of us? Can you see anything? I’m too far away and I’m nearly blind.”

At first, I thought she meant she was too short to see Ms. Monarch, but then I realized she wasn’t even looking in that direction. In fact, dozens of people were not looking at Ms. Monarch. They were looking in other directions very intently.

Cristobal sent a man, Mr. Red Rock, to go check on Ms. Monarch somewhere else, ordering everyone else to stay in the ballroom.

People in the crowd were questioning who Mr. Evergreen was. No one seemed to know.

Mr. Red Rock returned some minutes later holding a silver knife, covered in blood. He had it wrapped in a handkerchief.

“Someone snuck down there and stabbed her!” Cristobal raged. “Who did this?”

“I didn’t find anyone down there, sir,” Mr. Red Rock said.

“We will figure out who did this,” Cristobal yelled. “Mark my words, we will find who did this!”

Antoine and Kimberly were looking at me like I would know what was happening. My theory was quickly being formed, but we didn’t dare discuss it in front of the other guests.

One thing was for sure.

Kimberly got lucky. First Blood must have been scripted for Ms. Monarch to be killed. The needle on the Plot Cycle had moved over to Rebirth. Kimberly was passed over and didn’t have to die first.

It didn’t make a difference to me. I was still next.