Horror Game Developer: My games aren't that scary! Chapter 3: The Jester [2]

A resonant, feminine voice hissed through the walkie-talkie.

Her statement ignited chaos across the communication lines moments later.

—But!

When the woman's voice resounded once more, the clamor vanished instantly.

What kind of discussion was this?

Why did it seem like they already knew the situation inside out? Who exactly were these individuals? Why had they come here? And crucially, why was I present?

Questions flooded my thoughts, yet before I could make sense of them, the theater's ambiance transformed dramatically.

An abrupt, intense alteration!

"....!?"

The clapping halted suddenly, and silence enveloped everything. In unison, every gaze shifted to the middle of the stage right as the shift happened.

Another soft murmur crackled from the walkie-talkie.

At last, the curtains parted, exposing the stage.

In the middle loomed a magnificent piano, its shiny exterior shining brightly under the intense lights. Twelve vacant seats were arranged in tidy rows to the right side.

The quietness pressed down oppressively—eerie, like the atmosphere itself was frozen in anticipation.

A piercing, discordant sound shattered the calm as a shape stepped out from the shadows backstage. Its motions were rigid, far too mechanical.

".....!"

A tightness gripped my throat the moment it appeared.

Simultaneously, the walkie-talkie hummed once again.

The shape wore a sleek black tuxedo, the crisp bow tie just discernable under its gaunt, bony form. It held a exquisite violin, its strings taut and quivering in its grasp.

The shape's visage... if it deserved the term, emerged from a horror dream. Dried-out flesh adhered to a bony framework, with slender, shiny threads sewing its lips and empty eye hollows closed.

It approached a chair and settled into it, its vacant stare locked on the audience.

A second shape appeared next, this one female in a lengthy, billowing dark gown. Her strides were rigid, but possessed an odd elegance as she bore a cello, its smooth timber reflecting the light.

Every subsequent shape shared that disturbing aura. Their actions flowed smoothly, yet felt off, like marionettes manipulated by invisible threads.

The atmosphere thickened further with each one claiming a seat. Twelve seats. Twelve shapes.

The space turned eerily motionless.

Then, the walkie-talkie crackled anew.

The room's chill deepened, sending an involuntary shudder through me. My fingers squeezed the walkie-talkie, perspiration forming on my brow.

Another presence was approaching.

Something far more terrifying.

I sensed it clearly.

I gulped, my throat parched.

Who in the world were these figures? How did they possess such deep knowledge of this setup, and who comprised the scouts?

Were they fellow recipients of that bizarre system?

If that's the case—

Overture? Initial symphony? What exactly—

The wooden floor splintered sharply this time, louder than earlier!

My pulse thundered wildly.

The conductor entered, its form even more nightmarish than the rest. Its frame was contorted, appendages elongated unnaturally, flesh pulled taut over sharp protrusions.

Nevertheless, for all its horror, it advanced with a disturbing serenity, as though it truly fit this place.

It arrived at the conductor's stand upfront, halting briefly to scan the audience.

Next, it rotated its head. Deliberately. Dreadfully.

Even with the rough seams binding its eye sockets, it stared straight at us.

"..."

I swallowed without a sound, my hands shaking.

"..."

It observed us quietly.

"..."

It lifted its arms.

"...."

And then—

The melody commenced.

The woman's urgent, panicked tone rang out from the walkie-talkie again as the expressions of the group ahead of me altered.

With no clue what was unfolding, I braced myself for what was coming, pressing my lips together and shielding my ears.

Yet it proved futile.

The sounds still penetrated my hearing.

It formed a delicate tune, lightly caressing the senses like a mild, tender murmur.

Or so I believed.

Actually, it rang pleasingly.

The composition delighted the listener.

The piece... it started lovely. A delicate tune that slipped softly into my consciousness, soothing and nearly alluring. The violin's fluid tones merged seamlessly with the cello's profound tones, instruments harmonizing flawlessly.

It was simple to become absorbed in the harmony, letting daily burdens dissolve as tension eased from my body, mind wandering along the notes.

I bobbed my head in time with the beat.

All the negativity slipped from my awareness.

Tension dissolved, along with coherent ideas.

Bit by bit, I yielded to the rhythm.

I began to lose myself within it.

It dominated my focus.

It was...

".....!?"

My eyes flew wide, and I clutched my right fist. It shook violently, digits unsteady as they pressed into my fabric. Perspiration soaked me, drenching my attire.

My breaths turned rapid and erratic.

Nausea roiled in my gut as I peered forward.

I looked toward the conductor, and chillingly, its gaze met mine.

Its mouth edges twisted gradually into a grin, the coarse, fresh sutures straining across its lips, distorting the ashen, rotting flesh into a sinister smirk.

Respiration escaped me entirely.

My insides heaved.

The composition intensified, pressing more urgently.

I attempted it. I truly did.

Until,

"Ahhh—!"

A terrifying cry sliced through the auditorium!

Accompanied by a resounding 'bang' as one odd figure rose abruptly, face drained of color and features contorted.

"Ahhh!"

His cries persisted.

I noticed the rest turn toward him, but as though fighting to maintain control, they merely stared while his eyes reddened intensely.

—It's Jackson!

—C-captain!? What should we do!?

Yet another cry rang out.

"Make it stop! Make it stop!" he howled, raking at his countenance.

His nails burrowed into flesh, crimson flowing freely as he ripped at his own visage. The onlookers stood petrified, countenances warped in dread as the individual ravaged himself further.

Revulsion surged within me. I fought the urge to retch.

I watched one robed figure rise to aid him, but upon reaching, his features dripped with gore, digits embedded deeply, mangling his prior appearance.

A bile rose in my throat witnessing the horror, my belly twisting violently.

I realized it fully then.

Vomiting was imminent.

"Ahhh—!"

With the wail ongoing, chills prickled my skin. His outbursts escalated in frenzy and volume until he whirled toward the closest surface and—

His skull crashed into it, crimson spraying wildly.

The impact reverberated, each blow resounding fiercer.

Crimson streaked the barriers.

His form collapsed, devoid of life.

As he dropped, the tune resumed, and I slumped back into my seat.

"Haa... Haa..."

While the dreadful image lingered in my thoughts, my garment stuck to the moistened seat. The harmony had persisted uninterrupted—flowing through the cries, gradually infiltrating my psyche.

Time was running short for me.

My eyes fell to the objects I held, digits quivering as they gripped tighter.

Acting swiftly, I inserted the earplugs into my ears.

Silence enveloped everything then.

All sounds vanished, bringing peace to my mind.

I drew in a steadying breath, compelling my sight from the stained walls.