Polly’s room lit up in the shades of the morning sun. Rays slanted through her translucent curtains and fell across the posters taped to her walls, most of them featuring Twinkles the Unicorn from Fluffy Friends Funhouse. Ever since what had happened at her aunt’s house years ago, Polly had been terrified of losing the very essence of who she was. That was why a large framed photograph of herself stood beside her rickety old bed — braces, gap teeth, contact lenses and all. Proof that she was still Polly.

That morning, her foot accidentally knocked the frame off the side table.

Clatter.

Polly jolted awake.
“Oh no — my picture!”

The frame lay shattered on the floor, glass splintered around the smiling version of herself trapped inside the photograph. Tears burned her eyes instantly.

Just then, her mother stepped into the room.

“Polly dear, what happened? Oh… the picture broke.” She sighed softly. “It’s okay. We’ll fix it.”

To most people, it would have been nothing. But Polly’s anxiety made tiny losses feel enormous.

Her mother smiled suddenly. “You know what today is, right?”

Polly sniffed. “What?”

“You got selected for the Fluffy Friends Funhouse live stage show! Sweetie, you’re a star now!”

“REALLY?!”

The sadness vanished immediately.

Even though the show was meant for little kids, it had always been Polly’s escape whenever she felt lonely or invisible. And Twinkles had always been her favourite character. She had survived exhausting auditions just to get a role.

Within minutes, she was downstairs gulping cereal straight from the bowl while stuffing spare clothes into a duffel bag.

“Don’t eat so fast!” her mother called after her.

But Polly was already running out the door.

---

El Grande Theatre smelled faintly of dust and cold air-conditioning. Polly stepped inside the empty auditorium and stared at the rows of seats stretching into darkness. Everything felt bigger than she had imagined.

Then she headed backstage.

The green room was strangely dark. Costumes lay scattered across the floor like abandoned bodies. For some reason, the room reminded Polly of something she didn’t want to remember.

Suddenly —

FLASH.

The worklights flicked on.

The costume manager strode toward her, heels tapping sharply against the floor. Her smile stretched too wide.

“Polly,” she said. “I knew you’d be perfect.”

Polly smiled nervously.

“You’re playing Twinkles.”

Everything inside her froze.

The manager disappeared briefly before returning with a huge box that seemed oddly heavy for a costume.

“Suit up.”

Polly slowly opened the lid.

Inside lay an enormous unicorn mascot costume, glittering brightly beneath the harsh lights.

“Suit up,” the manager repeated.

Polly hesitated before stepping into the body suit. The fabric clung tightly to her skin. Then came the beige skin cap.

“NO!” Polly cried, pulling away instinctively.

“You’ll need it,” the manager snapped.

Next came the shoe covers, elastic cords tightening painfully around her sneakers.

“AARGH! Why do I need to cover my shoes?!”

The manager ignored her.

“I said suit up.”

Piece by piece, Polly forced the rest of the costume onto herself. Finally, she lifted the oversized unicorn head with trembling hands.

Pant. Pant.

Her breath echoed loudly inside the empty mask.

“Goodbye, old Polly,” she whispered.

Then she pulled the head over her face.

Immediately, everything changed.

Her vision became narrow and mesh-like. The inside smelled damp and musty, like sweat trapped for years beneath plastic fur. Every breath bounced hot against her skin.

Then the stage lights exploded on.

Music blasted through the speakers.

“Clap your hands, stamp your feet,
Dance with Twinkles to the beat!”

The manager shoved Polly forward.

“DANCE!”

Polly stumbled onto the stage and forced herself to move. The costume felt unbearably heavy. Sweat trickled down her neck. The music sounded distorted now, almost warped.

The audience lights blinded her.

“Clap your hands, stamp your feet…”

Her breathing grew sharper.

The inside of the mascot head felt smaller and smaller. Hotter and hotter.

Then the voices started.

Children screaming. Laughing. Clapping.

Everything blended into noise.

Polly’s knees buckled.

And she collapsed.

---

When Polly regained consciousness, she was lying backstage without the mascot head.

SPLASH.

Ice-cold water struck her face.

“Get up,” the manager barked. “You’ve got a meet-and-greet next.”

Polly barely had time to breathe before the unicorn head was shoved back onto her again.

This time the crowd felt worse.

Children swarmed around her. Tugging her arms. Hugging her. Throwing toys. Some cried the moment they saw her oversized face.

Polly couldn’t breathe properly anymore.

By the time she finally returned backstage, she tore off the costume desperately.

That was when she noticed the red bumps spreading across her knee.

Polly stared in horror.

“Those are just rashes,” the manager said casually. “Ignore them.”

---

But the next day, the rashes had spread further up her leg. The skin burned constantly now. Polly stared at herself in the mirror and barely recognized her own body anymore. Something felt wrong beneath her skin — cold, heavy, rotting.

Still, she forced herself back to the theatre.

Show after show passed.

Every day, the costume felt tighter.

Every day, it became harder to remove.

And every day, Polly felt less like herself.

---

One evening after a performance, Polly yanked violently at the costume leg.

RIP.

The fabric finally came free —

—and blood immediately poured down her knee.

Her skin had fused to the inside of the suit.

Polly screamed.

She ran all the way home without changing properly, ignoring her mother’s confused voice as she slammed herself inside her bedroom.

Then she ripped every Twinkles poster from her walls.

“I hate you!” she screamed. “I hate you!”

She stomped on the posters until they crumpled beneath her feet.

But even afterward, the burning sensation beneath her skin didn’t stop.

By midnight, the rashes had spread across both arms, her cheeks, and most of her body.

Polly locked herself inside her room for the entire night.

---

The next morning was supposed to be her final show.

She convinced herself she could survive one last performance.

Just one.

At El Grande Theatre, Polly slowly stepped into the Twinkles costume again.

This time, the suit seemed to cling to her instantly.

The stage lights flashed.

The music started.

Children cheered.

But Polly could already feel her legs sinking deeper into the costume like wet cement hardening around her skin.

By the end of the performance, she could barely move.

The curtains closed.

Finally.

Polly reached shakily for the zipper behind her back.

It wouldn’t move.

Her breathing became frantic.

Again.

The zipper refused to budge.

The mascot head came off easily, but the moment it lifted away, Polly cried out in pain.

Something sharp pushed against her forehead.

A pale unicorn horn slowly protruded from her skin.

Blood streamed down into her eyes.

Polly stared at her trembling hands.

The costume no longer felt like something she was wearing.

It felt alive.

And somewhere deep inside the theatre speakers, distorted and cheerful, the Twinkles song quietly started playing again.

Author: Samika Sangwar, 14 years old (penned as a part of our first horror writing cohort program)