The carnival wasn’t supposed to be sinister. At least, not the kind Ian had walked into that summer evening. He was twenty-three, wearing his worn jeans and a light gray T-shirt, the air sticky with popcorn butter and fried dough. The claw machine caught his eye because of the sign on top:

WIN THE GRAND PRIZE.

The machine was filled not with plush toys, but with gleaming boxes, like gifts wrapped in metallic paper. The claw descended under Ian’s careful joystick movements, clutched a gold box, and rattled it up to the chute.

A carnival attendant in a red vest appeared instantly, smiling too widely. “Congratulations,” the man said. “You’ve won the Grand Prize. Follow me.”

Ian expected tickets, maybe money, at worst a gag gift. Instead, he was led across the fairgrounds to a squat, windowless office building tucked behind the midway. A woman sat outside on a bench, as if waiting her turn.

She looked about sixty, curvy, her curly light brown hair haloed by the fading daylight. She wore a blue floral knee-length dress, taupe tights, and light brown shoes. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, but her eyes seemed... tired.

Ian barely glanced at her as the attendant ushered him inside.

The office smelled faintly of dust and something metallic. He was told to sit. He did. The lights flickered once, dimmed, then died.

When Ian opened his eyes, daylight stabbed him. He was no longer in the office. He was outside again. Sitting on the bench.