You have entered: Floor 9 – Childhood Fears.
Warning: Parental trauma, repressed mories, and cringey kid versions of yourself ahead. Proceed with zero self-esteem.
The second we stepped through the door, everything got... smaller. The ceiling stretched to cathedral heights. The torches turned into little glow-in-the-dark star stickers. A juice box materialized in my hand. With a bendy straw.
"I hate this," I mumbled.
"I LOVE this!" Galrik bead. He’d been turned into a wide-eyed toddler version of himself—sa hair, but now he had Velcro armor and a foam sword labeled Sir Stab-A-Lot.
Lilith looked around in horror. "Why am I wearing a pink tutu? Why is my hair in double buns? Why is this lollipop attached to my hand?"
Mister Fog was unchanged. I don’t even know if he noticed. He just floated past a sentient rocking horse without comnt.
The dungeon was a warped playground—a twisted suburban nightmare: rainbow slides that turned into snakes halfway down, swing sets that whispered secrets, a sandbox full of teeth.
From the clouds, a voice echoed:
"Face your childhood fear... or be trapped in perpetual regression."
"Good luck, you tiny losers."
Then, like a cursed toy comrcial, three portals opened before us. One for each of us.
The others stepped forward. ?
I ran in the opposite direction.
"HELL no," I muttered, clutching the juice box like a life preserver. "I’m not doing this. I repressed that shit for a reason."
Lilith sighed. "We don’t get a choice."
The mont she said that, the ground beneath cracked open and sucked into...
Trial One: "Speech Day: The Reckoning"
No. No no no no no.
I was back in my old school auditorium. The stage was too high. The mic was too low. The crowd? All the characters I’ve t in this dungeon but wearing judge robes.
The sa ominous voice read out:
"Deliver your third grade presentation on ’What I Want To Be When I Grow Up.’
Stutter, sweat, or freeze—and you’ll relive this day forever."
My nine-year-old self shuffled forward. I had braces. I had a cowlick. I had a shirt that said "I ♥ Ferrets" for so reason.
I stepped up to the mic. It screeched. Everyone winced.
"I—I wuh—wuh-wuh-WANT TO BEEEEE..."
I glanced at the paper in my hand. Blank. A single fart noise echoed from the crowd. I wanted to die. The floor began glowing. Ti loop beginning.
No. No. No.
Desperate, I pointed at the audience and yelled, "WHEN I GROW UP I WANT TO BE ANYONE ELSE!"
Lightning cracked. The mic exploded. Judge-Lilith laughed. Judge-Galrik clapped. Judge-Fog... evaporated.
Trial Passed.
Reward: gaphone of Self-Acceptance (doubles volu of insults AND complints)
3 Confidence.
10 Flashbacks.
I was dropped back into the center playground where Galrik was fighting a swarm of angry stuffed animals, yelling "TASTE MY IMAGINATION!"
Lilith was arguing with a boss-level Tooth Fairy made of shattered dreams.
Mister Fog was... inside a cardboard box labeled "SAFE PLACE." The box was leaking dread.
The final trial lood—a glowing, heart-shaped jungle gym pulsing with repressed trauma.
"Okay," I wheezed. "We’ve made it this far. How bad can the last part be?"
Lilith turned to with dead eyes.
"My trial was my dad not showing up for parent day."
Galrik sniffled. "Mine was dropping my toy sword and thinking I’d never be brave again."
I took a long sip of juice.
"My greatest fear... is clowns."
Everyone froze.
Then the entire jungle gym morphed into a clown castle with honking music, balloon animal sentries, and an enormous red-nosed demon juggling chainsaws.
Of course.
The mont the clown castle fully unfurled—complete with screaming carousels, rainbow fire, and a moat of seltzer—the dungeon dropped all pretense.
Final Fear Detected:Coulrophobia (fear of clowns).
Initiating Boss Battle:
HONKO, THE TRAUMA CLOWN.
The gates exploded outward with confetti and horror. A ten-foot clown stomped forward, nose honking with every step. His shoes squeaked like the cries of dying dreams. His smile? Too wide. Teeth? Too many. His aura? Pure trauma. Pure Chuck E. Hell.
And he spoke.
"HA HA HEE HEE! Ready to relive your birthday party where NO ONE CA except ?!"
Galrik scread, "I hate this! I HATE THIS!"
"You don’t even fear clowns!" I shouted.
"I do now!"
Lilith summoned a shadow scythe. "We’re putting this freak back in the toy chest of Hades."
Honko laughed and vomited glitter. "NOT BEFORE YOU FACE THE FUNHOUSE OF REGRESSION!"
He slamd his giant balloon hamr into the ground, warping reality like a cracked piñata. We were pulled into the Funhouse—a disorienting maze of mirrors, circus music, and the sll of expired cotton candy.
Inside the Funhouse, everything was a blur.
Hallways stretched into infinity. Doors opened to rooms filled with sad party hats. The air was thick with helium and sha.
Galrik turned a corner and imdiately got pied in the face by a wall. "I’VE BEEN VIOLATED BY DESSERT!"
Lilith walked through a mirror and ca out dressed as a birthday magician. "I swear to the void if I pull a rabbit out of anything I’m burning this place down."
Mister Fog was slow dancing with a balloon.
anwhile, Honko’s voice echoed everywhere.
"Rember when you told that joke in class and no one laughed?"
"Rember when your crush said you were ’like a brother’?"
"Rember when you peed a little during freeze tag?!"
"I WAS SIX!" I roared.
The rooms started closing in. The walls were lined with actual mories—photos of my childhood self doing incredibly regrettable things like trying to moonwalk in Crocs.
Then I saw it.
The core of the Funhouse. The Trauma Core™.
It looked like my old birthday cake—lting, misspelled, with one candle and no guests. And at the top, spinning like a grotesque ballerina, was Honko.
"I’m the guest who never left," he cackled. "I AM THE MORY."
"I have repressed way worse than you!" I shouted.
Then I reached into my inventory and pulled out...
The gaphone of Self-Acceptance.
I clicked it on. Feedback scread through the Funhouse.
Then, with my soul burning, I said:
"I’m allowed to have embarrassing mories.
I’m allowed to be a loser sotis.
I’m allowed... to be cringe.
BECAUSE I AM FREE."
The Funhouse shattered.
Honko scread as reality collapsed inward, sucking him into a birthday card that read: "Get Well Soon, Emotionally."
Boss Defeated: Honko the Trauma Clown.
Loot Gained: Red Nose of Power (causes enemies to take themselves less seriously)
Passive Unlocked: 10 to Emotional Damage Resistance
Bonus: 1 Juice Box (Apple Grape)
We landed back in the dungeon corridor, tattered, juice-stained, and emotionally aged twenty years.
Galrik sat down hard. "I am never going to a circus again."
Lilith picked seltzer off her blade. "The next floor better be NORMAL."
Then the door ahead opened with a rumble... and a wave of techno music blasted out.
A disco ball spun. A pair of sunglasses floated past. A hologram flickered to life:
"WELCO... TO FLOOR 10: THE NIGHTCLUB OF EXISTENTIAL DREAD."
Mister Fog did a split.
I nearly passed out.
And the party... was just getting started
Reviews
All reviews (0)