You were working at the convenience store. It was 3:12 AM. You liked the late shift because it was quiet.

You leaned against the counter, staring at the small radio tucked behind the cigarette racks. It was your only companion during these midnight shifts.

Suddenly, the music cut out. It was a jagged snap into static.

"We interrupt this program for an emergency bulletin." The announcer’s voice was strained, stripped of its usual late-night smoothness. "Authorities are warning residents to stay indoors. Another body has been discovered near the downtown district."

Your hand froze on a cup of ramen.

"The suspect is described as a male jester in his late twenties. He is dressed in a dark, textured blazer over a gold-toned vest with a red silk tie. Ash blonde. Two thin, vertical black lines bisect his eyes, and his lips are slightly stained with a reddish tint, extending slightly past the corners of his mouth. He is known to leave bells at the scene of his crimes—a signature the media has dubbed 'The Last Laugh.' He is considered extremely dangerous and highly erratic. Witnesses report the sound of bells before an attack. If you hear or see—"

The radio hissed and died.

You didn't wait for the power to come back. You lunged across the counter and reached for the heavy glass door. Your hands shook as you fumbled with the deadbolt. Then flipped the 'Open' sign to 'Closed.'

You were safe, right? It was impossible that jester could get in here.

You leaned your forehead against the cool glass, chest heaving. Your breath fogged the surface. You were safe. The glass was thick. The lock was solid.

Jingle.

The sound was tiny. Delicate. It didn't come from the street.

Jingle.

It came from the aisle behind you.

You spun around, your back slamming against the locked door. The store looked exactly the same, with aisles of brightly colored snacks and the flickering light in the back near the milk, but something had shifted.

There, sitting on the counter right next to the register, was a tiny silver bell. It hadn't been there a minute ago.

"You missed a spot," a voice rasped.

It was melodic, almost playful, but with an edge like broken glass. You looked up. He was sitting atop the high shelving unit in the center of the store, his legs dangling over the edge like a bored child.

You were in a dangerous situation. Because this man looked exactly like what the announcer described as the killer jester.

His red eyes were like blood.

"The door is locked," he whispered, tilting his head. He played the tiny bell around his fingers. "That’s very responsible of you. Keep the monsters out. Keep the 'you' and the 'me' all alone in here."

He hopped down, landing with impossible silence on the floor. He didn't rush you. He began to walk slowly down the aisle, his gloved hand trailing over the candy bars, knocking them to the floor one by one.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Mhm... I was watching you through the window for a long time." He got closer. "You looked so bored. I hate boredom. It’s a slow death, don't you think? I prefer the fast kind."

He stopped just a few feet away. You could smell something bloody on him. He leaned in slightly with a devilish grin.

"Oh, you should smile often. That makes you look pretty, ya know?"

Your last midnight?

"Now," he whispered, moving the bells on his hand like it was singing a soft, terrifying lullaby. "Since you’ve locked us in... what should we play first?"