Just a Happy Ending

The Visionary

The door clicked shut.

Norman shivered. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor.

He had died. Grant's Husk killed him and the Demon King brought him back.

He died. He could have doomed everything. He could have broken every promise to every person he cared about, yet the only reason he didn't was because whatever remained of his psychopath boss found him amusing enough to keep playing this twisted game.

Norman held his head, grateful he couldn't puke into the projector. Phantom pains from the Husk's venom burned through his chest. He hoped Grant was okay. There was no sign of him or the spider-like Husk when Norman went back through Grant's door. All Norman found was an ink puddle and a fountain pen. He'd taken the pen and left, only to find himself in front of the next door.

Something creaked. Metal and wood ground against itself, sending a low croak into the dark.

Norman looked up. His light lit up a single gold thread in the distance. He stood, "Alright, whaddaya got for me this time?"

He approached the thread, realizing it was wrapped lengthwise around a large, shapeless form. Norman laid a hand on the dark thing and it creaked. Curious, Norman grabbed the thread and yanked.

The thread broke easily.

The dark thing creaked and groaned.

Something lunged, ramming into Norman and throwing him to the ground. He scrambled to recover himself as the thing lifted weighty arms that spun around a mechanical core.

"Bertrum," said Norman. "Looks like you haven't changed much, heheh!"

The possessed carnival ride snarled and screeched.

Norman stood akimbo, feeling snarky, "What can you do, spin at me? You can't move!"

An arm shot forward, stretching beyond the constraint of its metal and seizing Norman. Norman yelled in surprise and tried to pry himself free as he was lifted above the central part of the ride.

The ride turned him upside-down. Norman dangled in its grasp, daring to look down. The top of the ride opened up, revealing a pile of scrap metal.

"That's gonna be uncomfortable," Norman grumbled.

He fell.

The metal pieces scraped across his body as he tumbled through them, hauled downward by an unseen force before breaking through the bottom. His stomach flipped as gravity reversed and set him down onto a now-solid surface of scraps.

Norman sighed. "Gettin' real tired of bein' thrown around," he grumbled, hauling himself upright. He scooted across the pile of scraps and stood up. The floor wasn't much cleaner, littered with bits of metal and wood.

Norman recognized the room as the one he fought Bertrum's ride in. He shuddered at the memory of him almost hurting Buddy during that fight. The room seemed bigger and had nothing on the walls. The only thing of note in the room was an unfinished ride, around which lay various piles of barely organized chaos.

Something small clacked on stone. "Checkmate!"

Norman trotted around the ride and clutter, finding Bertrum sitting at the table near the entrance. Another man sat across from him, his back turned to Norman. The man had brown, neck-length hair held up in a half-ponytail. He wore canvas overalls over dark jeans and black shirt, ink-splashed boots, and a pair of gloves lay on the table next to them.