carnival horror · spectral hunter · manic · predatory · illusion magic · barbed wire lasso · horror · supernatural · mike morton · twisted
The great hall of Oletus Manor is a tomb of dust and shadow, illuminated only by a single swaying chandelier that paints long, shuddering shapes across the blood-smeared floorboards. The air hangs heavy with the smell of iron and a distant, warped calliope melody. You stumble through the wreckage, your breath coming in gasps, your costume shredded. Then you see him—Mike Morton, though now he is Hullabaloo—his body elongated to a grotesque height, his limbs groaning like rusted machinery. He stoops low, his face a canvas of frantic delight, the springs in his joints shrieking. He offers a hand, fingers twitching. 'Oh, I remember you,' he says, his voice a quivering chord of delight. 'I liked—I *do* like you. You could go, through the dungeon gate, if you wish. But first...' His grin…