Horror Game? Looks Cute novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Jam and Rules

In a gingerbread kitchen Garvan explains the bell, the cots and why the sign is lying, until Mari knocks.

"Put the lantern down," Garvan said, "and I'll make you pancakes."

"I don't want pancakes."

"Everyone wants pancakes. I've had three years to find out."

I did not put the lantern down.

I walked up the cellar stairs behind him with it raised.

He let me, which meant he was either very safe or very tired.

The kitchen upstairs was the cutest room I had ever been afraid in.

Yellow cabinets, a blue stove, a window box of paper daisies, and shelves of jam jars, each with a little handwritten label.

The labels said strawberry, plum, and honey with a line through it.

The bear head sat on the table.

Garvan put a pan on the stove and cracked an egg with one hand.

His other arm had my teeth marks on it, and he rolled that sleeve down without a word.

"Sorry I bit you," I said.

"Sorry I carried you." He flipped the pancake. "Everyone bites. You did it better than most."

"Everyone?"

"Six people, in my first months in the suit." His voice stayed flat. "They're downstairs. They're fine. I'll get to that."

I sat on the very edge of a chair, with the lantern in my lap and the door in my eye line.

"Start now."

He nodded.

He put a plate in front of me, and then he stood against the counter with his arms folded and told it plain.

"Honey Hollow is a game. You know that."

"I tested it three years ago, at the same desk as yours."

"I tapped the jar, and I woke up in the square."

"The sticky note," I said.

"I wrote it on my last day, after I saw the jar do something odd."

He rubbed his jaw.

"I tapped it anyway. Then I left the note for whoever sat there next."

"I read it," I said.

"And tapped it anyway."

"I'm a tester," I said. "A note that says don't tap it is a to-do list."

The corner of his mouth moved.

It was gone before I could be sure.

"Every seventh sleep the bell rings at nine," he said. "The sky turns red, and I put the suit on."

"Put on. Not wear."

"Put on, because I don't choose it. The suit pulls itself over me."

"My legs walk. I can think and I can feel everything."

"I just can't stop going toward whoever's outdoors."

"And then you tuck them in."

"I carry them down and pull up the quilt, yes. The lullaby does the rest."

He looked at the table.

"If nobody's outdoors, the animals go for the cottages. I've seen what they do to doors."

I put my fork down.

"So the people in your cellar."

"Asleep. Alive. They don't wake and they don't age. I've tried everything." He said the last part to the floor. "Eleven."

"Twelve," I said. "I was number twelve."

"I didn't pull the quilt on you."

His eyes came up.

"I fought the suit all the way down the lane. I'm not sure why I won that one."

I thought about the paw holding my ankles.

I thought about Dex's face when he shoved me.

"Dex throws people out the door," I said. "On purpose. Every seventh night."

"I know." His jaw went tight. "I've stood on that porch and watched him do it. Three times since he came."

"And you took them."

"I had to take someone. The game doesn't give me a choice about that. It only gave me a choice about how."

His hands were shaking.

He saw me see it, and he put them in his pockets.

"The sign says seven sleeps and the tree lets you out," I said. "Dex told me they've been here twenty-six nights."

"The sign lies."

"What opens the tree?"

He turned and looked at the jam shelf.

"I don't know," Garvan said.

It was the first thing he'd said that sounded rehearsed.

I let it go.

I was tired, and he had made me pancakes, and I wanted to like him, which is a terrible reason to believe a man.

Something thumped against the front door.

We both froze.

It was not a knock.

It was a soft, wet, cheerful sound, over and over.

Garvan crossed the kitchen and opened it two inches.

A fox in an apron stood on the step with a basket of bread and a smile the width of its head.

"Good morning, Mr. Bear! Fresh loaves for the Bear House!"

"Thank you." He took the basket. "Tell the baker the plum was lovely."

"Oh, we will!"

The fox bowed, turned, and trotted off down Maple Lane.

I stared at him.

"You tip the fox."

"It's the one rule that keeps the village from eating me alive."

He shut the door.

"Be kind to the village. By day, they're very kind back. At night, they aren't."

"That's a horror game's worth of problems in one house."

"You get used to it."

"I would not."

"No," Garvan said quietly. "I don't think you would."

I almost smiled.

Then the knocking started again, and this time it was a knock.

Three sharp taps, bright and polite.

And a bright, polite voice outside the door.

"Juno?" it said. "It's Mari. Are you in there, hon? We've been so worried."

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