The children play.
And when the game begins… only the brave survive."
Some stories start with monsters.
Others start with kids.
This one starts with both.
In the quiet town of Ravenscar, there’s a house with no windows. The neighbors say it was built before the town existed. Some say it wasn’t built at all—just appeared one day and stayed.
Others say if you step too close to it during dusk, the shadows pull just a little tighter around your ankles.
No one lives there.
Not anymore.
But sometimes… you hear children laughing inside.
And sometimes… one of them doesn’t come back out.
Urban legends, most call them. Rumors passed between lockers and schoolyard corners, dares thrown out on Friday nights with flashlights and bad intentions. But the stories always follow a pattern: a game. A child. A place where the world bends just a little too far.
Then silence.
No trace.
No body.
Just one less laugh in the playground.
It was during one of these disappearances that Tenchi first noticed the cracks.
Not in the walls. Not in the buildings.
In reality.
He wasn’t born with the power to see them—it was carved into him. Painfully. Forcefully. A game he never chose. One he barely survived.
They called it "Duck, Duck, Ghost."
He never talks about what happened. Just that only he made it out. And that the laughter that followed him for weeks after… wasn’t from the kids he played with.
It was something else. Something watching. Something learning.
Tenchi doesn't chase cursed games because he wants to. He chases them because he knows what happens when no one does.
When he met Maya, she was sitting on the roof of a burning orphanage.
Stolen story; please report.
No one believed her when she screamed about the voice telling them to play “Red Light, Green Light” in the middle of the night. No one else saw the girl with no eyes standing in front of the fire alarm.
But Tenchi believed her.
He said two things that night.
“You’re not crazy.”
“And you’re not the first.”
He offered her a choice.
Forget.
Or fight.
She chose fire.
Now, they are known only by the few who understand what’s truly happening behind the veil of this world.
The Game Enders.
Most cursed games look innocent at first.
A dusty jump rope. A half-finished game of hopscotch. A chalkboard with “Simon Says” scribbled in fading red.
They wait.
For the right players. The right emotions. The right moment.
Then they unfold—like a child’s drawing twisted into something unnatural. The game begins, and reality shifts. The room becomes a maze. The music plays itself. The marbles move when no one’s watching.
Once you start playing, it’s already too late.
No one knows where these games come from.
But every single one of them—every cursed game, every twisted version of a childhood pastime—leads back to one name whispered between the folds of reality:
The Game Master.
No one’s seen him. No photos. No video.
Just… clues. Marks left behind in broken mirrors, toy boxes filled with human teeth, children’s drawings with black stickmen towering over screaming faces.
Sometimes, the cursed object hums like it’s laughing.
Sometimes, it cries.
But always, always… the rules are the same:
-
You must play.
-
You must follow the rules.
-
You must never try to cheat.
Because he’s always watching.
Maya keeps a notebook—half-burnt pages filled with her messy handwriting and crude drawings. Every time they end a game, she writes it down. Not because she wants to remember.
Because someone has to.
Tenchi keeps his own logs too. Neat. Precise. A little too perfect.
But Maya’s seen the way his hand trembles when he writes the name of a child who didn’t make it out.
They’ve lost players before.
They’ve bled for them.
They’ve buried their names in ash and shadow.
But they keep moving.
Because if they stop, the Game Master wins.
And that’s not a game either of them is willing to lose.
Tonight, Tenchi felt the shift first.
The wind outside their safehouse stopped blowing. The shadows under the table stretched longer. A nearby candle flickered—once, then again.
He opened his notebook, flipping to a blank page.
“Maya,” he said quietly.
She looked up from the couch, legs propped up, flame charm spinning between her fingers.
“Langston house,” he said. “Another breach.”
She groaned. “Ugh, seriously? I just got comfortable.”
He stared at her.
She sighed, grabbing her jacket and stuffing the charm into her pocket. “Fine. But I get to burn something this time.”
Outside, the town looked normal.
Streetlights hummed. Cars passed by. A dog barked.
But when they reached the Langston mansion… the world tilted.
Just a bit.
The porch steps creaked wrong. The door was slightly ajar even though no one had touched it.
Maya lit her charm and tossed it forward. It landed, rolled, then hovered in place.
Tenchi nodded. “Layer’s sealed. Game’s already started.”
“Great,” she muttered. “I hate hide and seek.”
Back inside the mansion, a child was crying.
He had found the best hiding place—behind a wardrobe in a cold, crumbling room.
But something else had found him too.
He didn’t know what it was. It didn’t have a face. Just a sack over its head. Arms too long. A voice like gravel scraping through glass.
“Found you.”
“Too slow.”
“Your turn next…”
Far above them, in a place where the rules no longer applied, the Game Master smiled.
The players had entered the board.
Let the game begin.