Arc II, Chapter 63: The Peeping Tom

Carousel definitely had a sense of humor. I could appreciate that, but in the end, the joke was always on us.

My feet were wet. I must have left a puddle on the floor from some shower I had hypothetically taken earlier. The water had spread like long, thin fingers as it dribbled across the bathroom floor.

I tried to avoid the little puddles of water as I walked across the room.

The mirror was cleaner than I remembered. There had been little spots of toothpaste from where I had brushed my teeth earlier, and the springy bristles launched spittle all around. Carousel had cleaned that off. Did that mean an NPC had come in here expressly to wipe it down, or did Carousel actually use its vast magical powers for that one?

On either side of the mirror were windows. Beyond them were darkness and shifting shadows from the forest. The phone was resting on the countertop next to the sink. Kimberly was still on the other line in case I needed her insights.

I turned on the water and splashed it on my face. I tried to keep my eyes on the mirror as much as I could without looking like Patrick Bateman. Deep breaths. In and out.

I wished the enemy would just appear soon. The waiting was killing me. To be fair, he might also kill me.

I had to play my part. I was shaving in the middle of the night. How was I supposed to act that out? I was a hotshot director now. How would I tell an actor to do it?

Step One: Feel the scraggly hairs on your face.

Step Two: Look in the mirror. Look at the left side of your face, right side of your face.

Step Three: Shake your head; it’s no good. This hair has to go.

Step Four: Shave.

It felt like something right out of a commercial.

The shaving cream was some kind of designer brand. I didn’t even know there was fancy shaving cream, but as I lathered the cream in the canister against its metal lid with the little brush that was next to it, I found myself with a plethora of perfumed wisps that I painted my silly little goatee with.

And then it was time to cut it off.

The silver razor was high-quality and expensive-looking, but it was also deadly sharp. I had never used a long razor before. I always bought those little plastic shavers from the store. Even in Carousel, I used the cheap options out of habit.

I opened the blade. I swore I could hear ringing in the air, like the sound swords make in samurai movies.

As I studied the blade, I saw him in the corner of my eye, standing at the edge of the forest. My hands were shaking.

Him. The man of the hour. The undead, hulking figure straight out of a nightmare.

He was tall. I knew that from the POV cam, but even from up on the second story, he looked giant next to a little ornamental tree that was in my character’s backyard.

It was like how Ramona had described. He was covered in twisted, rusted metal. Of course, it wasn’t enough to hinder his movement, but it singed the clothing he wore and gave him the look of a man who had just survived a nuclear meltdown.

Except he surely was not alive. Part of his face had melted away. Even by the moonlight, it was gruesome. I could see his metal-covered teeth through a hole where his cheek used to be.

When did he get the metal augmentations? Was it from when the Geist Factory burned down around him? Or had he gotten this from the supposed accident that took his life?

It didn’t matter. I looked at his tropes on the red wallpaper.

Just as I feared. He had the ability to cause bad luck. The POV view of him walking through the factory had been enough to make that assumption. His Just Your Luck trope was a worst-case scenario. Normally, I wouldn’t expect Carousel to accept an indirect kill. It was a rare type of kill in a horror film. It wasn’t personal enough most of the time.

The Die Cast had no such limitation. I could die from any old accident right now.

Oh.