He woke with a buzzing head and a feeling of abnormal dread in his stomach. Around him, others moved, some with confused groans and others with panicked shouts.
The youth – still a teenager, not quite yet an adult – did not move for a long time. He had only opened his eyes that he knew were grey right now and stared at the equally grey wall in front of him until everyone else was awake.
Resignation was weighing down his shoulders and making his movements sluggish.
“No no no”, he heard a woman whisper in fear that slowly turned to hysteria. “I don’t want to! Let me out!”
She started screeching while the young man blocked his ears, his expression blank. She was loud. It wouldn’t help anyway, they had to accept what was going on.
The room was as usual.
The gigantic grandfather-clock that ticked between the two doors stood higher and broader than a tall man. Midnight. There were three hands on it – an hour and a minute hand, looking normal, and a third, distorted hand.
It reached up until the borders of the clockface. He knew it would move in twelve hours. Maybe a quarter of the round, maybe a third, or less. He hoped it would be a third – that would mean a shorter dream.
The grandfather-clock was in shades of grey, as was the wall behind it and the doors on both sides. Or anything else in the room, for that matter.
The youth turned his head to look at the others. Nine other people, as usual. All of them were grey from head to toe and six were in a panic about it. Like a filter placed above reality.
For once, all were teenagers to younger adults. No older people this time.
“Everyone, listen up”, he heard a man roughly in his mid-twenties speak up while loudly clapping his hands. Despite looking tense, he was quite handsome and the typical successful young man.
Everyone looked up at him. “Since we are here in this together, let’s all calm down. How about we introduce ourselves first?”
For one reason or another, the man looked at the youth first. Everyone turned his eyes to him.
He cracked his lips open and spoke emotionlessly. With his head lowered, hiding behind his messy hair, he introduced himself. “River. Nineteen years old, student.”
The man twitched a bit before he smiled. “River, is it? You’ve been here before?”
River curled up tighter on the ground. He was rubbing over his left arm in a thoughtless motion.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“What kind of nonsense is that”, a woman shrieked. “As if that’s your name!”
Elnfg lucbgfv atf yijajca gjmlrw ja tfg yfilfnlcu la kjrc’a tlr cjwf rlwqis vef ab tlr fjrafgc ofjaegfr – jiatbeut la kjr mbggfma atja “Elnfg” kjrc’a tlr agef cjwf, jcv atf gfji bcf kjr lcvffv fjrafgc.
Valii, la kjrc’a ilxf tjnlcu fjrafgc yibbv wfjca atja sbeg cjwf kbeiv yf, abb.
“Of course you can introduce yourself by your real name, lady”, the man soothed her. “But, well, I’ve been here before. It’s kind of common to not give your real name. Instead, we use this-”
He pulled the sleeve of his left arm up and turned its underside to the rest of the group. Gasps sounded everywhere.
The word Plaster was written once over it like a cruel, black-coloured scar.
Everyone was beginning to talk loudly.
River sighed. He couldn’t stand the noise.
He stood up, swaying a bit, and glanced at the door opposite of the grandfather-clock. It was gloomy despite being whiter than anything else in this room. White wasn’t that good here.
River did not try opening it. He walked forward to one of the simpler doors next to the clock and went out, ignoring the people behind him. Anyway, both doors would lead into the hallway.
This time it was an older house. There was something like an old telephone on a small table farther down the hallway and the lamps hanging from the ceiling were huge. There was carpet on the floor, softening his steps.
River began to walk around.
The first shadow he found was tall and walked very straight, with a perfect posture. It was moving slowly and felt like a man.
Not that he could tell for sure.
It was nothing but a black, slightly hazy figure, like a walking shadow.
River stepped out of its way, watching it go down the hallway and slowly followed.
This was his habit.
It didn’t change anything but at least it alleviated the dread.
The people who woke up here couldn’t just leave. They all had to wait until time was up and the door would open to the chime of the grandfather-clock. Then they’d have to hope that they’d wake up at home again.
Insomnia was a common trait for those that had lived through this.
The fear of being swallowed up by the door instead of being returned to reality. That you’d not wake up again.
It happened.
Those places they were thrown into were always buildings of different sizes and setting. Some were modern, some were ancient. Some were tiny houses and a piece of outside, some mansions with a garden.
They always missed colour and always had these shadows.
The shadows would not react to the people unless you touched them or moved something in front of them. Then they’d turn suspicious and at worst aggressive, sometimes swallowing up the person who had done it.
River liked calling the clearly identifiable ones Actors, privately. Because they were acting something out, like in a play.
The distorted hand of the clock in the first room showed how many times it would repeat. Twelve hours in which the Actors would do something. Then, with a movement of that hand, it would all repeat. Once that hand had finished its round, the night was over. Sometimes it would be three times, sometimes five.
It was River’s sixth time in this place. He couldn’t tell if he was unlucky for being called or lucky for surviving. People would not wake up from this at random, dying in their sleep of unknown cause.
The Actor turned around the corner, approaching a door in the larger mansion. He knocked. A bubble came out of the room – annoyed and sobbing, in inarticulate sounds.
He opened the door and bowed. River decided it was a butler or servant.
The newly-dubbed butler was carrying a small tray and placing it next to the bed, where a thin person was burying their head into their arms placed on their pulled-up knees.
The figure was slender like a young woman. Agitated, she was throwing words at the butler’s head, who let the angry shouts go completely past him.
River watched the scene.
It was like watching a movie you had no subtitles for. Fascinating, if it wasn’t a countdown to his possible death.
River squatted on the ground to watch the scene. He couldn’t sit on anything else or the two might notice the shift in weight and react to it. No one could stay calm with a ghost in their room, right?
The butler left. River reacted too late in following. The girl was crying.
With a sob, she ran into what might be a smaller bathroom attached to hers.
River stared at the tray for a few seconds. Finally, he went to the opened window and reached outside. He plucked a tiny flower from the ivy growing up the wall and went back to the tray, placing it next to her meal.
Then he left.
It was fine unless he didn’t interfere too much with the shadows. If you didn’t do it in front of their eyes, they were pretty tolerant.
When he walked back, that guy from before was taking glimpses out of the door and hurriedly pulled him back into the large room. River tensed heavily at the contact and pulled his arm away in an instant, although the man didn’t notice.
“You shouldn’t leave this room”, the man scolded with the authority of a leader. River lowered his head. “If you walk into the shadows, they’ll kill you and you won’t wake up again! This room is safe, they never enter it.”
Unhappy, River tried to walk away from him but the man stuck to his back and an adult woman stopped him in front. “Don’t cause trouble! Who knows what might happen if you walk around outside, what if they come in?!”
He wondered what the difference was. Awaiting his possible death in here or walking around outside with creatures that would only kill him if he was careless.
He pursed his lips in distaste and moved to the side, leaning against the wall next to the door.
So be it then.
He did not want any trouble.
Author’s Note
Hey everyoneeee~
Welcome to my new story! Gamblers’ Game is a dark story with an Unlimited Flow setting. Keep in mind that there’s lots of potential triggers. I’ll add special warnings on top of the page for certain ones, but I won’t do so for gore or violence~
The chapters will be once a week for now (except for an initial release special) until I’m sure I’ve got a good enough stockpile C:
Can’t wait to have more to read already 😌
YAYAY MORE CHAPPIES 😀
I like the illustration at the end. Quite cute.
Ooooooooh I like the card with art of River on it
Does he have color blindness? I mean like a true color blind, monochromatism? Or was it just like he described, a filter to cover up the reality?
The dream world is literally grayscale, and it is for everyone 😀 A colourblind MC would be interesting to write, though.
Oh~ Thanks for clarifying! True, a colorblind MC would definitely be interesting, and I wonder what would the plot turn out to be.
I, atlast, got time around to read this (≧▽≦) I am still lost but hooked
Such a cute illustration 😭❤️
I’m feeling a bit lost.