Chapter 3 – Dinner Table
The torches flickered weakly in the vast, broken dining hall.
A long, ancient wooden table stretched in front of Vera, plates set neatly in front of each "guest" — the mannequins and dolls with cracked faces, hollow eyes, and frozen smiles.
Most of them were missing limbs. Some had twisted necks.
One of them — a big porcelain doll at the head of the table — was slowly turning its head to stare at her.
"Great," Vera muttered. "A Build-A-Bear cult."
She walked toward the table, pizza slice still defiantly in hand.
When she got close enough, her phone vibrated violently — more pop-up messages flooding in:
> "WELCOME TO THE DINNER GAME!"
"RULES: Feed your Guest of Honor correctly to unlock the door. Choose wrong and... well... you'll find out."
"TIMER: 15:00"
A loud mechanical clunk behind her — the door she had come through slammed shut.
No going back.
At the far end of the table, a giant metal door gleamed under a single hanging lightbulb.
Above it: EXIT.
Above that:
A grotesque painting of a dinner scene — a girl sitting alone at a party, surrounded by faceless guests.
Vera scratched her head.
"Feed the guest," she said, eyeing the creepy porcelain "host" at the head of the table.
In front of it: a golden plate.
Empty.
Around the room: other plates, full of food.
Kind of.
The "food" options were... upsetting.
A chunk of raw meat twitching slightly.
A pile of black, squirming worms.
A burnt birthday cake, candles still lit.
A slice of pizza, but moldy and green.
A cracked, rotten teacup filled with red liquid.
A child's broken toy train.
Vera stared at them all blankly.
"Yup," she said calmly. "Definitely gonna die here."
She approached the porcelain doll.
It creaked its head further toward her, a tiny mechanical sound like bones snapping.
Closer now, Vera noticed something on its chest —
Scratched deep into its ceramic surface:
> "Only what I lost will feed me."
"Cryptic little creep," she muttered.
More pop-ups flooded in:
> "HURRY! SHE'S GETTING HUNGRY!"
"OMG SHE'S STARING AT YOU LOL"
"DON'T MESS UP, STREAM QUEEN!!"
The other "guests" began to twitch.
Little jerks of movement.
Tiny cracks appearing in their faces.
The timer ticked down: 12:30.
Think, Vera.
What could "only what I lost" mean?
Not food.
Not drink.
Something broken?
Something gone?
Her eyes flicked to the toy train.
"Lost childhood?" she said aloud.
She picked up the broken toy carefully, trying not to gag at the squirming sound it made.
As soon as she grabbed it, the room groaned.
The walls warped.
The mannequins turned their heads toward her in perfect unison.
"Ehhh," Vera said, holding the toy at arm's length like it might explode. "You're not very subtle, game."
She placed the broken train gently on the golden plate.
The doll's mouth creaked open—
And began to scream.
Vera staggered back, covering her ears.
The scream was high-pitched, mechanical, wrong.
Instantly, the guests around the table began rising from their chairs — twitching, jerking, cracking.
Their jaws gaped open, some hanging loosely off their heads.
The timer on her phone turned blood-red:
"WRONG CHOICE. 10:00"
And beneath it:
> "RUN."
Vera bolted, torch in one hand, pizza slice in the other.
Mannequins staggered after her, limbs bending at awful angles.
Some crawled on all fours.
One tried to swipe at her pizza.
"Back off, Karen!" Vera shouted, kicking it aside.
She sprinted back to the "food" table, heart hammering.
"Okay," she gasped. "Not the toy. Not lost childhood. Maybe... lost innocence?"
Her eyes landed on the burnt birthday cake.
"...Yup. Childhood trauma cake. Classic horror game move."
Without hesitation, she grabbed the charred cake and ran back to the doll.
The golden plate was still empty — the broken train had vanished.
Vera slammed the burnt cake down.
The doll stared at it.
The golden plate glowed faintly.
The doll...
Smiled.
And the heavy metal door behind it unlocked with a loud, satisfying clunk.
The walls shivered.
The mannequin guests screamed once — short, high, miserable — and froze in place, lifeless again.
Vera stood there panting, torchlight casting her long shadow against the rotted wallpaper.
"Note to self," she said, "never trust dead-eyed dinner parties again."
She pushed open the exit door carefully.
Inside was a narrow hallway — lit only by old, flickering TVs mounted on the walls.
Each TV showed clips of her.
Live-streams.
Playing horror games.
Laughing with her fans.
And one last clip:
Vera, alone, in her dark room, chewing pizza silently...
while something huge and shadowy crept closer behind her.
> "YOU'RE GETTING CLOSER..."
flashed across the TV screens.
(End of Chapter 3.)