The Game at Carousel: A Horror Movie LitRPG

Book Five, Chapter 9: Off the Case!

As we drove back to the boarding house, we discussed our plans for the future. We had suspects to question. We could see a line of attack to get to the bottom of this mystery, even if we couldn't see all the pieces at once. My He Has a Tell trope had been working on overdrive and had given us several clear leads, even if it didn't flat-out give us the truth.

The murder of Benny Harless was a massive clue to what this story was about, even if we hadn’t worked it out yet.

Our spirits were high when we walked through the door. They didn't stay that way.

On-Screen.

"You have a message from your boss in the city," Miss Moreland said as soon as we were inside the house. She didn’t stay long enough to elaborate.

There was a table with a phone and message pad next to it.

The message said, "You're off the story." It included a number to call and the name Ron Foley. It even included his title: Lead Investigative Producer, Carousel News 9.

"What?" Kimberly asked as she saw the note.

That had to be our boss.

Kimberly immediately dialed the number. Luckily, the speaker was so loud I could hear it. It helped that the guy on the other end, Ron Foley, was yelling.

"Ron, this is Kimberly. I just got a message here in Eastern Carousel. Can you explain it to me?"

"You're off the case," Ron yelled. "You were supposed to go over there and report a story, not terrorize the locals!"

"Excuse me," Kimberly said. "We haven't terrorized anybody. We are—"

"I get a call from the Sheriff's Office telling me that you're harassing people, accusing them of terrible things! Kimberly, you report the news. You are not some hard-boiled detective shaking down witnesses and accusing anybody and everybody of terrible things! I knew you were motivated, but geez…"

"What are you talking about? We haven't done anything like that! Everyone we've spoken to has signed the consent form or otherwise been more than willing to talk to us. We haven't really even started treating this disappearance like a crime yet, and we've just been reporting on the search. Now there’s a murder of a witne—"

"Well, that's not how I hear it," Ron said. I could practically hear his mustache over the phone. "The way I hear it, you've got dozens of people calling in complaints to the Sheriff's Office."

"Ron, we've got our interviews on film. Do you really think we would be so stupid as to burn all our witnesses and film the evidence?" Kimberly said snarkily.

Ron paused at that.

"Is there a story there more than just a missing girl? Can you connect the death? Because if not, you're just wasting your time. I’m sticking my neck out for you enough as it is," Ron said.

I gestured for Kimberly to give me the phone. She did.

He wanted us to tell him what evidence we had. I figured we ought to give a list. I had a benefit. I knew what film clips Carousel had to work with, so I knew what kind of stuff the audience would already know. Maybe I would have to stretch it.

"Ron, we are on to something here. We can't run off right now. We have good evidence on film that throws the Sheriff’s Department into question. The mother told us she gave a Deputy Patcher a pair of yellow socks so that the hounds could get a scent, but we have on film them using white socks. We don't know where those socks came from, but this is suspicious, Ron. We're getting all kinds of suspicious characters in this town, and I think half of the people we are talking to know something, and I think that with a little bit more time, we can get them to talk."

Ron paused again.

"Sounds like you ought to get over to the Sheriff's Office," Ron said. "Freedom of the press or not, without support from the local police, you're gonna have a hard time getting anything done. Figure out what's going on over there."

I handed the phone back to Kimberly. He hung up on his end, and Kimberly followed with hers. She looked like she was going to slam the receiver down, but at the last moment, she must have remembered her manners.

Instead, she sat silently, turned to me, and said, "Heads are about to roll."

Off-Screen.

On-Screen.

Sheriff Jonathan Miller looked happy to see us as we walked into his office at the Sheriff's Department. I didn't know if he was happy to see us so that he could gloat about getting us taken off the case or what.

His office was at the center of a larger room. The walls were glass so that we could see the goings-on of the station in every direction. It was busy; lots of support staff were running about. That made sense; a missing child and a mysterious death would run a small operation like this through the paces.

He gestured for us to take a seat in front of his desk. Instead of sitting in his own chair, he sat on his desk, clearing out a spot for himself and looking down at us.

“How’d my interview look? Have you seen the tape?” he asked.

Kimberly looked at me and then back at him and said, “We haven't had time to review things, but I'm sure it was a good shot.”

“Well, good. We gotta get as many eyeballs on this thing as possible, and I really appreciate your work. It can be really hard to get any type of press down here, even with a missing girl. Seems our town has a bad reputation with reporters, but I couldn't say why.”

Kimberly eyeballed him curiously.

“Sheriff Miller, we just got a call from our boss back in Carousel Proper, and he says that you've been receiving all kinds of complaints about us and that you have demanded we leave town because we are harassing citizens. Can you tell us about that? Because that doesn't really sound like you're glad we're here.”

The sheriff was taken aback. “I haven't received any calls complaining about you two,” he said, “and I certainly didn't try to get the only reporters who give a damn about this little girl to leave town. Your boss told you that I said that?”

“He was very clear about it and very upset with us.”

Sheriff Miller got serious really fast and looked up, staring around his office, taking a peek at all his underlings through his glass walls.

“Well, I'll tell you, small-town police work can be a pain.” While he was indignant, suddenly, it didn't seem like he was so surprised. “What it sounds like,” he said, “is that we've got some sort of prank or impersonator. If you need me to talk to your boss, I can do so right now.”

“Thank you,” Kimberly said. She pulled out the note that had his phone number on it.

Off-Screen.

As Sheriff Miller called our boss to tell him the truth, Kimberly noticed that Antoine was sitting at a desk not far from the sheriff's, and he was staring at us as if trying to get our attention.

Since we were Off-Screen, we didn't see any problem in slipping away from the sheriff while he was on the phone.

We paid him a visit.

“I've done some digging,” Antoine said. “I've been talking to the secretaries. The phone number for Harless Automotive called the sheriff's station asking for Sheriff Miller not more than an hour before his body was found. They directed it on through. I don't know what the conversation was about or if he ever picked up, but I find that suspicious. I asked the sheriff about it, and he said he didn't talk to anyone from Harless Automotive.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Benny or someone else using Benny’s phone called the Sheriff? That was interesting.

“Good work,” I said.

Antoine nodded. “These people are so odd. They like me because I'm a local hero and I was born here, but they treat Sheriff Miller like he's the town idiot because he's only been here for ten years. He was appointed by the Greater Carousel City Council, not by a local election, and that's causing some grumbling. They still talk about it like it just happened a decade later.”

“Yeah, we get the sense that they're not really hot on outsiders,” Kimberly said. “We're getting all kinds of strange looks.” She shifted her tone to something softer. “Are you doing okay? Is everything… alright?”

“I'm fine,” Antoine said.

“I see you found one of our best and brightest,” Sheriff Miller said from behind us. He had finished his call with our boss. “Deputy Stone here managed to capture a fugitive from justice from Carousel Proper when he was passing through town. Old-fashioned shootout and everything. He's a regular Old West gunslinger.”

He patted Antoine on the back.

“It's not all that,” Antoine said. “I was just at the right place at the right time.”

I couldn't help but giggle. Antoine had a trope called Everyone Loves a Winner, which guaranteed that his character would be coming off of a really big success whenever the story started. It was supposed to be a good conversation starter and endear him to the locals. Looked like it might have been working.

“I just wish that I could find this girl,” Antoine said.

“Don't we all,” Sheriff Miller said. He looked at Kimberly. “I called your boss. I cleared things up. You're free to continue working,” the sheriff said.

He left us and went about his day. We sat there talking to Antoine and getting caught up on his end. We were all confused about when a haunted scarecrow, or any enemy, would finally show up.

While we discussed this, the Sheriff came back and said, “Now, we're about to close down shop here, but there is an emergency town hall meeting about this very matter. I suppose the council is finally getting up off their butts to help, but they wouldn't tell me that, would they?”

As we went to leave, I noticed another deputy sitting at his desk staring at us. It was Tommy Patcher, the same Tommy Patcher who had taken the clothing samples from Dina.

He didn't look happy to see us, but when he noticed me looking, he smiled.

On his desk was a small altar that included a picture of the Patcher ancestors along with a candle. The candle was lit.

On-Screen.

I had never seen a building that lived up to its name as well as the town hall in Eastern Carousel. It was at the center of town, and it was one huge hall. There was nothing much more to it. There weren't even chairs; everyone stood around, waiting to see what we were there to learn.

There were roughly 150 townsfolk. They came from every walk of rural life that I could expect. Farmers, hunters, and homemakers alike clamored to find out what news they had been gathered for.

Kimberly and Antoine stood next to me as we observed the crowds. Nick was filming.

“There sure are a lot of Patchers in this town,” Kimberly said. She wasn't wrong; at least a fifth of the room was named Patcher on the red wallpaper. Corduroy Patcher from the general store was there, as was Woody Patcher from the gas station and even Eustace Patcher, who had grumbled something rude at Kimberly.

There were husbands, wives, and even older children all crowded together, waiting for the news.

They all spread like the Red Sea when a man named Jeffrey Fields and his wife, Della, arrived.

On-Screen.

From the look of it, they were like Eastern Carousel royalty. Jeffrey had a stern, uncomfortable look on his face that never left. He was a solid, slow-moving man. His hair was gray and combed neatly. Della had red cheeks and was tightly wound and emotional. She walked unevenly and clung to her husband as if he were holding her up. She was in her late twenties or early thirties; I couldn't tell. She was very pretty, a regular small-town princess.

As we watched, a group of three women came and stood in front and to the left of us. They were normal NPCs, and they were doing normal NPC things. They started to whisper.

“The queen is making an appearance,” one of them said.

“You can tell she doesn't want to be here, not in little old Eastern Carousel,” another added. “I hear her husband came into a lot of money not too many years ago. She can't stand to be around us country bumpkins anymore. She's got her new house up in Snowblind, I hear. New house, new car, new life. And all she had to do was marry that dullard.”

“Oh hush, you two hens,” the third NPC said. “This is important, and it's not time for gossip.”

As she walked to the front of the room, the two of them were greeted by a man named Merle Patcher. He must have been 40 years old. He stood tall, strong, and confident. I could see the years of work under the sun had left their mark.

Next to him was a teenage Joshua Patcher. We had met Joshua before. He lived in the white farmhouse at Patcher Family Farms, where the Final Straw II was set. Of course, he was all grown up when we met him, but this was the past even for him.

Merle hugged Della. So did Joshua. Tugg Montgomery was behind them, looking nervous.

Since we were On-Screen, it didn't take long for them to turn around and get ready to speak to the crowd.

Antoine leaned over and said, “That's the council rep for the city. Sheriff says he’s a stuffed suit.”

Jeffrey Fields held up his hands and said, “Alright folks, thank you for coming out to meet me today. We have a great turnout, and I'm just gonna get this out here. I don't wanna take more of your time than we need to.”

Then he broke into what was clearly a prepared speech.

“I stand before you with a heavy heart. With this week’s events, I am deeply moved by the tireless efforts and unwavering dedication you have shown in the search for young Tamara Cano. Our community has come together in an extraordinary way, displaying resilience, compassion, and a collective hope that has been truly inspiring. Your actions have demonstrated the strength and unity of Eastern Carousel, and for that, I am profoundly grateful.”

People applauded nervously.

“However, it is time we took into account some hard truths. We have searched for four days. Four long days. Prospects are not good.”

He paused because a lot of NPCs started to whisper in shock at the direction his speech was going.

“Look, people, our crops are ready for harvest, and right now, the Weather Service is suddenly predicting a surprise frost. Our livelihoods are at risk. This search, while noble, cannot last forever. At this point, the experts I've spoken to tell us to prepare for the worst. After careful consideration and consultation with the search teams and local authorities, I must deliver some difficult news. It is time for us to face a harsh reality and call off the search.”

Some people clapped, and some people called out in righteous indignation, condemning the decision.

He raised his voice so that he could be heard above them all.

“We must begin the painful process of healing and look to the immediate needs of our community. While this decision is heartbreaking, we need to focus on the tasks at hand, keeping Tamara and her family in our hearts.

Let us honor Tamara by supporting one another and ensuring our town continues to thrive. Della and I share your grief and are committed to navigating this hardship together. Let us move forward, not forgetting Tamara but honoring her by keeping our community strong and united. Thank you for your—” Someone yelled out a curse word, interrupting him. “—understanding.”

People were not happy. Most of the townspeople who had come did not support this. At the same time, some applauded his decision, notably the Patchers, who were quickly moving from lead suspect to obvious suspects.

From the back of the town hall, I heard screaming.

“You're canceling the search?” Dina yelled over the fervor. “You called everybody here to cancel the search, and you didn't even invite me to tell me that you were giving up on finding my daughter?”

The room went silent. Most of the townspeople were absolutely disgusted to find out that Dina had not been included.

“Ma'am,” Jeffrey Fields said, “we all feel for your daughter, but we have to make sure that our lives moves forward here in Eastern Carousel. We cannot pause time just for one person.”

“You bastard!” she screamed. “Why would you want to cancel the search now? Sounds to me like the only people that would want the search to be over are people that have something to hide.”

Uh oh, I thought immediately. That accusation might accelerate the story. On second thought, I didn’t mind that.

“Who am I supposed to be filming?” Nick said, whispering in my ear. I had almost forgotten he was filming.

At first, I was tempted to tell him just to do his best, but then I thought better of it. “Film the Patchers,” I said. “Over there behind the council rep. Keep the film on him and them.”

I wanted to record their reactions.

Dina continued to rant, but it became clear that Carousel had gotten enough footage because we went off-screen not long after.

Dina was a banshee there at the end. It was a great performance.

After the town hall meeting, the four of us got together and shared information. We were all suspicious of the Patchers to the point that we had basically concluded that they were guilty in this somehow. We just didn't know the details.

And where was the magic scarecrow?

As we walked back into the boarding house, we discussed our plan of attack and how we would narrow down our suspects and find out what was going on. I stupidly went on about my theory that the Patchers were getting nervous and that soon they would start attacking us.

I was wrong about that one.

On-Screen.

“You have another message,” Miss Moreland said as we walked through the door.

A chill ran through us. This could not be good.

The message pad had a simple message: “You're off the story—for real.”

This again?

Kimberly immediately called the number, and even though it was late at night, Ron Foley answered.

“What is happening?” Kimberly asked. “We already cleared this up with the sheriff. We haven't been getting complaints.”

“Kimberly,” Ron said, “this isn't coming from the local PD. Our bosses are sending down the message. The station's owner called me himself. There's nothing I can do about it. It would seem that he got a request personally from the City Council. Something about the town needing to heal and harvest their crops, yada yada yada.”

Kimberly started to say, “We are never going to leave. We are going to get to the bottom of this whether you're paying us to or not.”

But by the time she started to speak, we were Off-Screen.

Everything was dark suddenly, and all I could see were the words:

TEN YEARS LATER

I opened my eyes, and I was in an office building on a high rise. Glancing out the window, I saw Carousel Proper. All around me were people wearing 1970s attire and carrying papers around. There was a logo for Carousel News 9.

Before I could explore much, a young woman walked up to me and handed me a file.

“You said you wanted everything out of Eastern Carousel that was related to the disappearance of Tamara Cano or any major crimes. Is that still in effect?”

“That's right,” I said. “Anything out of Eastern Carousel.”

I grabbed the file folder.

The year at the top was 1976.

The information she had given me was a hot wire out of Eastern Carousel.

There had been two murders that day.

A sheriff, Thomas Patcher, and a civilian named Tugg Montgomery were now dead.

They had been beheaded.