It's a Trivia Murder Party

Tyler

What the f*ck.  What the absolute F*CK.  This sh*t can't be real.  There's no way that every time I look down at my hands, there's a bloody stump where my f*cking left pinky finger should've been.  But the fact that it hurts like h*ll makes it obvious that this ain't some vivid-*ss dream.  The part that angers me the most, though, is the stupid amount of pity I receive afterwards.  I hate that everyone feels bad for me.  Mind your own d*mn business and stay out of my sh*t.

"And here's the next question." [REDACTED] clears his throat and continues. "What single card is worth the most number of points in the game Hearts?  One, the Queen of Hearts, two, the King of Hearts, three, the Ace of Hearts, or four, the Queen of Spades?"

It's number three.  Based on what I know about cards, the ace is the strongest card in the deck.  That's the extent of my card knowledge.  I spend my time working out and crushing people out on the football field, not playing poker or whatever.  

[REDACTED] checks all of our answers and then begins to laugh evilly.

"Everyone is wrong."

Sh*t.

"Well, it's about time we eliminate a few more players.  Follow me." 

Well it's not like I have much of a f*cking choice.  I hold my head high, somehow resist the urge to punch [REDACTED] (let me tell you it is f*cking IMPOSSIBLE to not punch him), and trail behind everyone as we enter the next room.  Like most of the other rooms, there's nothing but a small table and flickering oil lamp inside.

"This one should be fairly straightforward." [REDACTED] pulls three dice out of his pocket and rolls them onto the table.  He counts up the total before saying, "Ah, the unlucky number thirteen.  I'd like you all to roll higher in order to survive.  Tough luck.  Here, you go first."

He drops the dice into Sasha's hands, and she gulps, rattling them in her hands before dropping them on the table.  Fifteen.  She lets out a deep sigh, putting a hand on her chest in relief.

"Ugh, what a lucky roll," [REDACTED] grunts. "Let's see if she was able to pass her luck on to you." He takes the dice and gives them to Eryn.

Eryn lets them roll around in his hands for a minute before rolling them back onto the table.  Fifteen.

"Wh- HOW?!  THE ODDS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE COMPLETELY STACKED AGAINST YOU!" [REDACTED] rages.  He shoves the dice into Maddie's hands.

She winces, her hands trembling before she lightly drops the dice and counts up her score.  Twelve.  Oh sh*t.

"F*cking FINALLY.  You, you're next." The dice are given to Nathan, who rolls sixteen.  [REDACTED] seems extremely p*ssed at this point, and before I know it, Gabriella rolls a seventeen, and then I'm up.

I roll thirteen.  [REDACTED] stares at the dice.

"F*ck me gently with a chainsaw," he grunts. "Well, at least we've gotten one out of this.  I was hoping for a massacre, but at least this means we'll get to do even more minigames."

All eyes are on Maddie, who's quietly crying, the mascara dripping down her cheeks as she trembles.  I kind of feel bad for her.  She doesn't really deserve this sh*t.  Although now that I think about it, none of us f*cking do.

[REDACTED] removes a pink doll with a stitched mouth and scared eyes out of his pocket- by the way, how the F*CK are his pockets this big?!- and a taser.

"Spoiler alert- this is gonna be painful," he comments, then tases the doll.

Maddie screams, her hands clutching where her heart is as she falls to her knees.  As [REDACTED] repeatedly tases the doll, Maddie's screams pierce the air as well as my eardrums.  The sound is almost nauseating.  [REDACTED] finally turns the settings on the taser all the way up, and electrocutes the doll with much more force.  Maddie lets out one final, bloodcurdling scream before slumping to the ground, still.  [REDACTED] tosses the heavily-burnt pink doll onto her lifeless body.  

I stand there, Maddie's screams still ringing in my ears like shrill bells.  I take a deep breath, settling my rapidly-beating heart down, and then follow everyone else out of the room.  There may not have been blood that time, but that just might have been the scariest thing about it.

"Finally, we're actually getting somewhere.  Three down, five left.  Okay, when did "twerk" get added the Oxford English Dictionary?  One, 2012, two, 2013, three, 2014, or four, 2015?"

I said it earlier and I'll say it again- what the f*ck are these questions?!  I know I'm running out of time, so I uncap my marker with my teeth and scribble a hastily-drawn two on the board.  Or maybe it's a one, I can't tell sh*t apart when it comes to my nasty-*ss handwriting.  Either way, I f*cked it up, because the answer turns out to be four.  Fantastic.

"This is a fun one for any anagram lovers or walking dictionaries," [REDACTED] says as he kindly escorts us into the next room.

Smeared on the wall in what is certainly not ketchup is a five-by-five grid of random letters.  

"I might need to change up the letters soon, but lucky for me I've got a couple new all-natural red paint suppliers." Sasha stares at [REDACTED], her mouth open and her eyes overflowing with disgust.  She looks like she wants to say something, but decides against it.

"Anyways, let's see if you all have a way with words.  You have thirty seconds to come up with the longest possible word with only these letters.  The person with the shortest word will die.  Go."

I stare at the words on the wall, my head spinning.  They all look jumbled and foreign.  I can't tell an 'I' from a 'J', or anything, really.  I have to force myself to squint and try to first figure out what letters I'm working with here.  If they even are letters.  Finally, I manage to figure out enough letters to spell out a word on my whiteboard.  Fans.  That's all I'm able to get before [REDACTED] announces, "Time's up!  Let's see what you've all got."

He first approaches Eryn. "'Holster'.  Seven letters.  Not too bad."

He then checks Sasha's work. "Huh, also seven letters.  'Slasher'."

After that is Gabriella. "'Steals'.  Six letters."

Finally, he looks at my word. "'Fans'.  ...Four letters."

Sh*t.  Sh*t.  Sh*t.

This doesn't seem f*cking real.  I don't know how to react.  But then I realize that I do know how to react.  In fact, it's the same way I always react.

With f*cking rage.

I yell angrily and lunge for [REDACTED], caught off guard by my sudden advance, and throw a solid uppercut right at his face.  It slips his hood right off, and I finally get a look at this sorry loser's face.  He looks similar to when he posed as Mr. Myrrh, with pale skin and messy, dark crimson hair.  But his eyes are black with red irises, his ears are pointed, and small red horns peek out from his hair.  The bottom half of his face is scraped and scarred, and his expression is filled with absolute anger.

"You'll f*cking regret that one," he snarls, and I realize that his voice filter must've been hidden in his hood, because he sounds just like he did as Mr. Myrrh.

But as soon as I pause to think about that, it's over, because next thing I know...

You know what?

I don't know what happens next.

Because then everything is f*cking dark.

(1237 words)

Two birds with one stone >:)