Ten clowns roam the hallways, their bowties and morals twisted in intricate loops.

Nine juggling pins sit in nine hands. The tenth was lost an hour ago in a scuffle.

Eight bodies lie in the hall of mirrors, mouths carved into awful smiles.

Seven of those mirrors lie shattered on the floor.

Six people remain, running and hiding in the maze.

Five of the clowns break off to the left.

Four survivors are children.

Three are together, huddled close in a dark, dark corner.

Two clowns bear down on them, noses squeaking.

One more breath is taken.

Zero children remain.