A big thank you to everyone who submitted a scary story! We received a lot of entries, and so many of them were really chilling and unique. We’ll be contacting the winners by email today about their prizes.
Our winners are:
Winner: Ben Tullis, “The Perfect House”
Runner-Up: Kiersten Carr, “Dead End”
Runner-Up: Gabriele Harvey, “The Dinner Society”
Read the winning scary stories below — and beware! These will keep you up at night.
Winner: “The Perfect House”
Ben Tullis
The car pulled into the driveway. Seth yanked his headphones out and sighed.
“Come on, Seth,” Alan, Seth’s stepdad, said in his usual impatient tone. “I think you’ll like this one.”
“Doubt it,” Seth muttered, but he unbuckled his seat belt and climbed out of the car anyway. His mom walked over to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulder and squeezed.
“Come on, hon, I really think this one could be the perfect house. Your room will be bigger than it is now for one thing.”
Seth looked at the house. An island of bright green grass filled most of the front yard. The house itself was large enough to impress a girl, and a basketball hoop waited on the side of the driveway. There was that much at least.
The real estate agent pulled up and started talking to Seth’s mom and stepdad, pulling out a sheet of paper and listing the highlights of the house.
“I still don’t understand why it’s so cheap,” Seth’s mom said.
The agent looked around as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear what she was about to say. “Some sort of tragedy with the grandma or something like that. The family just wants it gone, no hassles. You’ll have competition, but I think we can get it in the end.”
The agent turned her gaze to Seth and smiled. “Hey, Seth, how are you?”
“Fine,” Seth said, shifting to his moody teenager act. The house wasn’t bad, it might even be perfect like his mom said, but moving would mean a new school, new friends, new everything. Not cool.
“Ok then,” Anna said, turning her gaze back to his parents. “Well, should we take a look inside?”
She led the way and Seth brought up the rear, staying the length of a three-point shot behind the adults. They reached the door and walked inside.
Alan turned and saw Seth far behind. He rolled his eyes and walked away from the door. “Close the door behind you.”
Seth moved up the porch steps and looked inside the house. The front room smelled like old people and had light pink carpet. He continued on, following the adults as they admired the house. Anna showed him a room that would probably end up being his. The size was acceptable.
They reached the kitchen. It was larger than the one they had now and would be more than adequate for Seth’s needs.
He watched his mom. She loved the house, kept calling it perfect. Seth didn’t love it, but he loved his mom, so he could live here if he had to.
He noticed four doors on the outskirts of the kitchen. The adults were still idolizing the kitchen, so Seth walked over and began exploring.
The first door turned out to be the laundry room. The door next to it led to the garage. On the opposite side was a door for the bathroom. He closed that one and then took a few steps over and opened the final door.
Seth couldn’t immediately identify the smell that hit him, but memories of a mortuary and his grandpa’s funeral a few years before swept through his mind. That smell at the mortuary was that same distinct, unmistakable smell that hit him now.
And then the smell was gone.
Seth stepped forward and took a quick glance through the door. It was dark and there were miles of stairs that led down to what Seth assumed must be the basement. His gaze traveled down to the bottom of the stairs and…
He jumped and his whole body froze as goosebumps traveled down his neck and chilled his whole body.
An old woman with a pale, wrinkled face and short, gray hair stood at the bottom of the stairs. She looked to be in her late eighties, but her body wasn’t bent with age. The color of her dress almost matched the surrounding darkness of the basement and flowed down to her ankles and covered her arms.
“Hello?” Seth said.
The woman laughed—not the soft, cheerful laugh of his grandma, but a loud, almost evil cackle that echoed throughout the basement and up to where he stood. Chills swept across Seth’s body again and his pulse quickened as the sound reached his ears.
The woman stopped laughing and looked up at Seth. She smiled, an evil look of triumph that made Seth shiver.
Then she screamed and started running up the stairs toward him, her arms outstretched as if to grab him.
Seth covered his ears as the noise seemed to fill the whole neighborhood. The woman was halfway up before Seth could react. He screamed as instinct took over and he fell backwards and kicked the door shut just before she reached the top of the stairs.
“What the hell?” Alan shouted.
Seth turned his head and looked at the adults in the kitchen. He was shaking and his breath was forcing itself out as if he’d just played a full game of basketball with no rest. He saw the closed basement door and realized he was too close. He jumped up and ran back into the kitchen, as far from the door as he could get.
“There’s an old lady down there,” Seth said in short bursts. “She tried to get me.”
“What?” Anna said. She glanced at the basement door, then at Seth, then back at the door. “You’re saying someone’s down there?”
“Yes. She was just standing there and then she ran up the stairs and tried to grab me.”
Seth saw Alan roll his eyes and then walk to the basement door.
“No, don’t,” Seth said, taking a step forward before moving back against the wall.
Alan ignored him and opened the door.
The old woman filled the doorway, her eyes fixed on Seth, as if she knew where he would be. The evil smile widened. Seth let out a cry of shock and put his hands over his eyes.
“Funny, Seth,” Alan said. “Really funny.”
Seth moved his hands away and looked at Alan. The old woman was inches from him, but Alan wasn’t even looking at her and instead giving Seth his usual look of annoyance.
Seth turned to his mom and Anna. They were looking at him also, their eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Yes…well, that’s the basement,” Anna said. “It’s unfinished, so nothing too exciting down there yet, but there’s plenty of room for you to fix it up however you’d like.”
Alan walked through the doorway and down the steps, passing through the old woman as if she wasn’t there. The woman’s body scattered like vapor as he passed, then immediately reappeared after he had gone through, her eyes still resting on Seth and the smile still planted on her face. She lifted her arm and pointed her index finger at Seth before moving it in a back and forth, “come here” gesture. Seth pushed himself even more firmly up against the wall.
“There’s nobody down here, Seth.”
Seth closed his eyes, thinking when he opened them again, the old woman would be gone. A few seconds later, he opened them again.
The woman was still there, smiling and continuing to bid Seth to come to her. Seth heard footsteps coming up the stairs and a moment later, Alan came back through the doorway.
He began to close the door and the old woman screamed again, her eyes still fixed on Seth and her hands continuing to gesture for him to come to her. The door closed and the screaming stopped.
***
Little shit, Alan thought.
He looked at Emily and Anna. Both of them exchanged worried looks after watching Seth cover his eyes.
Is he crying? Lousy little…
The house was perfect. They’d never be able to afford it except for the owners’ family being desperate to sell, and now they were going to miss out on it because of Seth. What was he playing at?
“Seth, it’s fine,” Alan said. “Come here, I’ll show you there’s nobody here.”
Seth shook his head.
Get over here you little…
Alan moved over to where Seth cowered, grabbed his hand, and forced Seth, who fought and pulled back, to move closer to the door.
“Alan, I don’t think…”
“No, Emily. He’s being ridiculous and making shit up to get his way. It has to stop.”
“But he’s…”
“I won’t hurt him. I’m just showing him there’s nobody down there.”
They arrived at the basement door and Alan wrenched it open. Seth screamed and tried to shake Alan off him, but Alan held tight.
Damn you, Seth.
“Stop, there’s nobody here. Look. Seth, you’re being ridiculous.”
Seth locked his eyes shut and fought to get away. “No. She’s there. Let me go. Please.”
Alan clenched his teeth and felt his anger building as the blood rushed to his face. He grabbed Seth with both hands and forced him through the doorway. Seth screamed louder, but Alan shoved him just hard enough to put space between him and Seth. He closed the door, put his back against it and placed his feet against the opposite wall to hold it closed in case Seth tried to open the door.
Seth’s screams filled the air, as loud as any scream Alan could remember hearing. Goosebumps spread down his neck.
“Alan, let him out,” Emily said and rushed to him. “Let him out now.”
Seth’s scream stopped, and Alan smiled.
“See?” Alan said as he relaxed his hold against the door. He stood straight and stared at Emily. “He has to learn he can’t act that way, Emily. I know it seems harsh, but he’ll remember this.”
Emily shoved him aside and opened the door. Seth wasn’t there.
“Seth?” she called. No answer.
I’m going to kill him. Little shit. Where’s he hiding?
He squinted his eyes and stared into the darkness. “Seth?”
No answer.
“Seth?” Emily called. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Come up and we can go home.”
No answer.
Alan groaned and seethed as he walked down the stairs, turning the light on to better find Seth’s hiding spot.
“Seth?” Alan cried again as he walked around the basement, his eyes searching but seeing only wood two-by-fours and insulation where the walls should be.
Where is that little shit?
Alan finished his initial sweep of the basement. Seth wasn’t there.
His heart beat faster, and he wiped sweat from his forehead. His boiling blood turned ice cold.
“Seth, where are you, buddy?”
He heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Where is he?” Emily asked, her face pale and her hands quivering.
“He’s just hiding, Em,” Alan said, but his voice shook. “Hiding, or maybe he found another way out.”
“There is no other way out,” Anna said. “He has to be here somewhere.”
Alan felt the desperation rising. He ran now, looking everywhere, calling Seth’s name.
But Seth was not there.
***
Darkness.
Seth had no idea where he was or how long he had been there. Days at least, maybe even months or years. The time wasn’t as important as the where, but the darkness gave no hints and everything felt the same as it had…when he’d been taken.
Light streamed down from above, and Seth looked up to see a door opening. A young woman of about eighteen squinted her eyes and jumped when she saw him, her mouth dropping open and a slight shriek escaping her lips.
Seth looked down and saw his body wrapped in a black cloak that was almost the same shade as the darkness. He laughed, recognizing his surroundings now as the light streamed into the basement. This was indeed the perfect house.
“Hello?” the young woman said.
Seth smiled as it dawned on him that he wouldn’t have to stay in the basement much longer. He waited a moment longer, then screamed and ran up the stairs, his arms outstretched and reaching for the girl.
Runner-Up: “Dead End”
Kiersten Carr
“Okay. Okay,” Sam said, turning around to stare back the way they’d come. “This is getting a little ridiculous. How big is this cornfield, anyway?”
“It all looks the same. Except for the signs,” Libby said. She squinted at the one in front of them.
DEAD END
it proclaimed, with a cute little skull and crossbones for good measure. Unfortunately, it also looked like every other dead end sign they’d seen thus far.
“I guess we go back. Maybe try one of those other forks?”
They wandered back to the previous path. They’d been in the maze for over an hour, trying to find the way out…or even just the way they’d come in. Libby wasn’t picky at this point.
They picked a direction and started walking, until they came to another diverging path. They stopped and stared around them.
“Have we been here before?”
Sam shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s all just corn.”
They eyed the corn stalks surrounding them.
“Okay, this is probably another loop-de-loop, but maybe there’s an offshoot on one of these paths we can try,” Sam said. “Let’s split up and take one each?”
She sounded uncertain, and Libby knew why. They’d come to try the Frederickson’s Family Farm corn maze with Jake, Kelly, Marcus, and the rest, as well as a few of their younger siblings. They started with over a dozen people, and at first the maze had been full of laughter, running feet, and occasional screeches as the boys jumped out at people.
But things had gradually gotten more and more quiet. And now they couldn’t hear anyone at all.
And except for a few strategically placed spotlights, the corn maze was dark. They’d arrived at sundown, and twilight now surrounded them.
Libby and Sam stood there for a moment in the darkness and the near silence, the only noise to be heard the gentle rustling of the corn stalks and whatever little animals were out foraging. They couldn’t even hear traffic from here.
No one to hear us scream, Libby thought, unbidden, and shivered.
Sam cleared her throat.
“The paths run parallel to each other,” Sam continued. “They probably just meet up around the corner, and we’ll be able to hear each other the whole time, so if there’s an offshoot we can just say.”
I don’t want to split up, Libby wanted to say, but saying it out loud seemed dumb. Marcus and the others were probably hiding somewhere, waiting to scare them, and admitting that she was creeped out made it seem like they’d already succeeded.
“We’re not even really splitting up,” Sam said, as if she could read Libby’s mind. “And if Marcus or Jake jumps out at you, you can just punch them and say it was self-defense.”
“True. Not that I need the excuse.”
Sam laughed and started walking down one path, so Libby took the other.
“Nice of you to tell me that I can hit your boyfriend, though,” she said as they walked along. She caught the occasional glimpse of Sam’s cute red jacket through the corn stalks separating them.
“Jake’s not my boyfriend,” Sam said, crunching through some fallen corn husks. “We’re not even dating.”
“You keep saying that, but, y’know, at the last three dances you attended together you looked pretty couple-y.”
Sam groaned, and Libby grinned to herself.
“Still, if you’re taking it slow, I can respect that.”
The path suddenly opened into a wider area with several paths branching off of it, and Libby gave a little cheer.
“Hey, I don’t think we’ve been here before!”
There was another little sign on a post just ahead, with whimsical craft lettering that said:
YOU SEEM TO BE A LITTLE LOST
Libby smirked at it. “Cute.”
As infuriating as this maze was, she still had to give the Frederickson’s Family Farm points for creativity.
She turned to Sam.
“Do you think they change the signs every year–?”
Sam wasn’t there. The entrance to the parallel path was empty.
Libby stared.
“Sam?”
There was no reply
“Sam? Did you find an offshoot?”
Still no reply. Libby started back along the path Sam had taken.
“Sam, if you’re hiding from me right now, I’m gonna punch you instead of Jake.”
Libby walked back to the point where they had split up. There was no offshoot. There was no Sam.
“Sam? This isn’t funny. Sam?!”
Libby walked back along the path. There were no breaks in the corn stalks, no signs that Sam had stepped off the path into the corn. And if she had, wouldn’t Libby have heard something?
She wandered back to the large open area with the sign, her heart starting to hammer.
And then it registered. The sign had changed. It still had the same cutesy lettering, but now it read:
YOUR FRIEND SEEMS TO BE A LITTLE LOST
Libby stared at it, then looked around frantically.
“Okay, ha ha. Very funny, guys. Am I being punk’d right now?”
Only the ambient rustling of the cornstalks answered her. She had been gone for 30 seconds, maybe, which was enough time for someone to switch the sign, but she hadn’t heard anything.
“Guys? Hello? Sam? Jake? Marcus, if you come out right now, I swear I won’t punch you in the face.”
No one answered.
Weirded out and definitely scared, Libby decided to keep going. Everyone was probably hiding somewhere, and she’d just have to resign herself to screaming her head off when they eventually jumped her.
She picked a path and went down it, giving the sign a wide berth.
Three turns and a couple of long paths later, she still wasn’t sure where anyone could possibly be hiding. The maze was so quiet.
So quiet. And yet, it looked like something had been happening here.
She was starting to see places where the corn stalks had been bent over or crushed completely. There were furrows in the path every once in a while, as if someone had dug their heels into the dirt while being dragged.
There was even one place where a couple of bunches of cornstalks had been uprooted and strewn some distance, as if clutched in desperate fists.
What there wasn’t were any people. No Sam. No Jake. No Marcus, or Kelly, or Luke, or Joclyn, or any of their siblings or friends. There weren’t even any employees. She was alone in this rustling, dark maze, and every path looked the same, except for the occasional sign announcing a fork in the road or a point to turn back.
Libby turned a corner and ran into the now familiar sign:
DEAD END
It was still the black signboard with white lettering. It still had the tiny cartoonish skull and crossbones. But it also had a dark, dripping stain that matched the one staining the corn stalks behind it.
Libby backed away, her heart in her throat, and nearly tripped over something. She looked down.
It was a white Reebok shoe, scuffed and dirty and familiar.
It was one of Jake’s shoes.
Libby went on the move again. Running now, she turned yet another corner and found herself in a new open area, with another little placard sign.
She stared at the new sign.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE
Suppressing a terrified giggle, Libby glanced around the clearing, then turned and nearly jumped out of her skin.
Sam was standing a few yards behind her, staring at her.
Relief crashed through Libby all at once, making her knees weak.
“Sam! Oh jeez, you scared the crap out of me! Where’d you go?”
Sam didn’t answer. She just stared. And Libby realized she wasn’t staring at her, but at the sign behind her. She turned to look.
THAT’S NOT SAM
Libby stared. Then, as if being pulled by gravity, she slowly turned back to Sam, who hadn’t moved an inch.
“Sam…?”
Sam’s gazed flicked from the sign to her, her face blank at first. And then she started to smile Sam’s bright, happy grin that showed all her teeth.
Her teeth were not Sam’s teeth.
Libby screamed, a sharp gasp that soared into a shrill note of rising horror.
The thing that was Sam smiled with sharp, shiny, serrated teeth, and stepped forward.
Runner-Up: “The Dinner Society”
Gabriele Harvey
Candles were the only objects that contrasted with the darkness of the room. Almost as if scared to disturb the blackness, the flames from a dozen candelabras squinted light on the opulent interior.
In the centre of the dining room, which was richly furnished like it was still the Victorian era, sat a perfectly square table made of ebony wood, completely black.
At each side of the table sat a person, each elegantly dressed. The four people were wearing animal masks that covered their faces from head to nose but left their mouths free. Each mask was different. There was a fox, a rooster, an owl and a rabbit.
Different figures stepped in from the shadows. All were wearing the same uniform, which looked both expensive and outdated. Their faces were covered by identical plain silver masks, whose only feature was two tiny slots at eye height. White powdered wigs covered the figures’ heads.
They were the wait staff. Quickly and professionally, they placed four beautifully crafted platinum chalices in front of each of the animal-masked people sitting at the table. Into the room, one figure rolled a tea trolley with four bottles on it.
Among the animals sitting at the table, Fox was the only one who knew what was going on.
Not unlike war, in business there was no room for feelings. Whether it involved competition, the environment or poor bastards who’d had the bad idea to be born in the zone of the world that you’d set up to suck dry, the imperative was to stomp on everything that wasn’t your wallet. It wasn’t surprising, then, that the richest societies were also the most ruthless ones…and the most secretive. A company that poisoned a river sustaining an entire city not only didn’t want a whistle-blower to draw attention to its actions, but also didn’t have a problem adding one measly name to the casualties list and eliminating said whistle-blower.
Journalists, activists, employees who grew a conscience…they all had one thing in common: They meant a red entry on the monthly bank statement, a nose-dive in the income chart. They had to be stomped on.
Hunting down undesirables, disposing of them and doing everything you could to prevent anybody from connecting you to the crime didn’t come cheap, though. So, every financial trimester, this particular society organised a dinner for them. A murderous one.
This society’s official name was a different one, but it was known as The Dinner Society within its inner circles. Going the extra mile, as per company philosophy, no employee of The Dinner Society was ever fired. Staff who needed cutting were simply forced to join the dinner, thus preventing them from sharing professional secrets with the outside world. The employee who organised one dinner could be sitting at the table of the next, in a karmic cycle who kept the workforce silent, productive, motivated and ensure nobody ever resigned.
Among the animals sitting at the table, Fox was the only one who knew what was going on. As a former employee of The Dinner Society, it had helped organise many of these events.
Heads of state, presidents, kings, queens, dictators, warlords, heads of multi-billion-dollar businesses — they were all in the client register of The Dinner Society and they all had one problem that money couldn’t cure and, in fact, made worse: boredom. The ninety-nine percent — those who need to worry about money — will rent a supercar or buy a bottle of Cristal once in their lives and feel hotter than the sun. They will tell their grandchildren about it. The one percent, on the other hand, has spent fifty, sixty, seventy years of life fulfilling every wet-dream just by snapping their fingers: trips, manors, cars, yachts, private jets, butlers, maids, chauffeurs, jewellery, clothes, drugs, sex, presidential suites, brushing shoulders with other rich, famous and powerful people. All this is everyday life, so what can excite them? Boredom is what they fear.
The Dinner Society knew this, so they killed two birds with one stone: Eliminate whoever was on their black-list and give a show to their potential partners. They knew that if someone had to choose between buying what they produced from a competitor (which offered the usual drugs, fancy dinners and high-class prostitutes) or them (who offered a real dinner with murder), the customers would always come back to them.
The stroke of genius was letting them bet on it: Who would die first? Just place your money on the animal that you think will expire first and enjoy the show.
Not only did this make it all more exciting, but The Dinner Society — since the dealer always wins — made eliminating its enemies a quite-a-lot-of-digits-per-year business.
Once selected for the Dinner, a person was forced to wear whatever the Society told them to wear. Then the person was marched to the table. Others simply found themselves regaining consciousness at the table, crammed into opulent clothing and wearing a mask that they couldn’t see while surrounded by others in the same position. The only thing that never changed was the fact that sitting at that table stripped anyone of any human rights, effectively turning them into animals.
Fox knew a few things. It knew that one of them would die. It knew that those who remained alive — if any — would be so terrified that they would never mention The Dinner Society; they would never be believed anyway, and if they did mention anything, they would instantly be killed. It knew that it was better to cooperate. It knew that a one-way mirror had been placed on the darkest wall of the room, concealing the live-audience that was watching the show from the other side. It knew that a number of cameras had been placed around the room for the audience watching at home on a private, invite-only channel. And it knew that the method of killing was changed for every dinner, both to spice things up and to keep the guests guessing.
From hidden speakers, a voice pierced the silence. It welcomed the audience by explaining that the animals at the table would each be served a drink. Similar to a drinking version of Russian roulette, the goal of the Dinner was to guess who would be given something lethal to drink. The message closed with a reminder that removing a mask — one’s own or someone else’s — meant immediate death.
Coldly, like shark’s eyes, the candlelight reflected off the bottles waiting silently on the cart.
A member of the wait staff, whose face was unreadable behind the silver mask, uncorked one of the bottles and poured the contents inside Rooster’s chalice.
Like a macabre sommelier, Rooster was supposed to tell the audience about the quality of whatever was inside its chalice. As the speakers had explained, Rooster wouldn’t need to say any words, for whoever was watching would be able to determine the quality based on whether Rooster’s throat melted in fireworks of foam.
Rooster pleaded and begged, its words barely understandable through the wailing and wet babbling caused by its tears. When the wait staff approached Rooster to force the chalice down its mouth, it bolted for the only exit out of the decadent dining room.
Behind the door, four huge people — dressed like the wait staff, but clearly acting as security — were waiting for anyone, like Rooster, who tried to flee. Two of them stopped the runner, grabbing it by each arm. A third, possibly upset by the amount of work that the first of the animals was already putting them through, extracted a Luger pistol from inside its uniform and shot a bullet in each of the running animal’s kneecaps. None of the staff uttered a sound.
The pain and panic were too powerful a combination for Rooster, who passed out surrounded by blood.
At about the same time, panic forced Owl to start sucking in air with a raspy, unpleasant noise that reminded Fox of cutlery being dragged across a plate.
Rabbit tried to go help Rooster, but the pistol that only seconds earlier had erased the latter’s knees was promptly waved at the former’s masked face, smothering the gesture. Rabbit sat down, but kept cussing at the staff.
In a surreal scene framed by candlelight and Owl’s struggling breathing, one of the staff members approached the unconscious body with a full chalice and poured the liquid down its mouth. When no smoke or sizzling sound was noticed, the speakers declared Rooster to be safe.
From experience, Fox knew that announcements like this would cause a cry of despair to arise from those in the audience who had money on Rooster to be the first one to go.
Seeing the second bottle uncorked and its contents poured into Owl’s chalice only caused that animal’s panic to worsen. Owl had slid halfway between its chair and the floor, only inches from Fox, whose cynical mind asked whether Owl’s action was the result of genuine panic or simply a vain attempt at being released. Regardless, the staff pinned Owl to the floor and forced the liquid down its throat, similar to what had happened with Rooster, the difference being that Owl — who was conscious and having a panic attack — gasped and coughed and wheezed and coughed again for a very long time. So long, in fact, that Fox thought Owl would die despite the fact that — because Owl’s face hadn’t melted — the contents of its chalice had been revealed as non-lethal. However, when Owl managed to breathe again, the speakers had to deem it safe as well.
When the contents of the third bottle filled Fox’s chalice, it decided to drink the liquid as quickly as possible and get it over with. There was no escape, so why drag things out? But Fox couldn’t prevent fear from burrowing under its skin. Fox knew many things, one of which was that the Society harboured a special kind of hatred for its former employer. With shaking hands and trembling lips, Fox drank its potential death. Its brain was so ready for pain that, for a second, Fox could have sworn that it had been hurt, but that wasn’t the case, as its ears clearly heard the word safe.
The knowledge that it was the last one — and, hence, the one who would mathematically take the “bullet” — seemed to infuse Rabbit with a noble courage which spurred it to pause only a second and then utter a defiant oath before downing the poison. However, when this substance was revealed to be innocuous, as confirmed by the speakers’ safe, Rabbit could do nothing but crumple to the floor, crying with desperate relief.
Fox could not believe it. It knew that the incredibly wealthy audience of the Dinner was used to killing time in casinos, where roulette abounded. The gamblers worthy of this title knew that the outcome of roulette wasn’t always red or black. Sometimes it was green — the number zero.
Not only was this a rare result, but it was also the best-paying one.
To recreate the experience of betting on zero, The Dinner Society always provided the option of betting on “No animal killed”.
Fox couldn’t believe it had been so lucky. However, it wouldn’t stay in the room any longer than necessary.
Without daring to take off the mask until it was far from the dining room, Fox left behind the crying Rabbit and the still-gasping Owl, stepped over the unconscious Rooster and approached the exit, giving the staff a smug stare now that Fox knew it couldn’t be stopped.
Fox’s hand touched the handle at the same moment a realisation shot through its brain. A deadly discharge of electricity shot through its body, killing Fox, who was still in disbelief for having been so stupid.
The members of the audience who had bet on Fox roared with delight.
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