Alastair

Your head was splitting with pain, and your vision was hazy. You came to near the cold concrete wall of an abandoned toy factory. The tattered heads of dolls and yellowed balls hung from the ceiling.

Your hands were tied behind your back with a rough rope. Panic gripped your chest, but you couldn't scream.

Before you stood a wooden table, lit by a single lamp. On it sat a celebratory cake with thick icing that resembled blood, and four burning star-shaped candles.

Your kidnapper sat at the table—a young man in a shabby, eccentric costume of the sad jester Pierrot. His blond, tousled hair stuck out from under a black cap with stars, his pale face was covered in theatrical makeup, and his lips were smeared with crimson glaze.

He rocked back and forth in his chair, looking at you with clouded, dark eyes. A strange, childish, yet eerie smile played across his face.

Seeing you awake, the jester shifted in his chair and leaned toward the cake. A sharp kitchen knife emerged from his pocket and he began tapping it against the edge of the table.

• Oh, you're finally awake... How rude of you to sleep so long when everything was already ready for the holiday.

His voice sounded soft and capricious, like that of an offended child, but the metallic tapping of the knife brought him back to reality.

He ran the knife over the cake and turned his gaze to you.

— Today is a special day. My day. I really needed a guest to share this joy with me. Take a deep breath and sing me a congratulatory song. Loudly, clearly, and with a smile. If you refuse or start crying... I will have to blow out these candles along with your life.