Pop. “You win a small prize, or pop three more and trade it in for a medium!”

He worked the balloon pop game every year when the carnival came to town. The $15 an hour was a nice boost to his monthly disability check, but he did it for the kids.

Unlike most of the games at the carnival, the balloon pop was one anyone could “win”. With a little help, even the smallest kid could launch a dart at the balloon wall and hear that satisfying pop. The smile on their faces never got old.

This year was no different than years past, except that the price per dart had gone up again. Now the thrill of winning cost $3 per dart or $8 for three. The prize was different too, three sizes of a green stuffed frog with a gold crown and bulging happy eyes. It was cuter than some years and seemed to be bringing people to the booth.

And there was one other new thing. The five win bonus. His manager told him about it the first night. It wasn’t something he could advertise to anyone. It was a “VIP opportunity” that people learned about if they paid for a special carnival pass.

If someone asked for the “Five Win Special” he gave them 5 darts for $5. If they popped five balloons, they got a prize from a special bin with “premium quality plush frogs.” He’d explored the bin and they were definitely heavier, and maybe a little higher quality.

Initially he didn’t give the new game any thought. He waited to hear the request, which happened four or five times per shift, handed over the five darts, and gave the winners their special prize.

It was strange though. The people who asked for the Five Win Special always approached when no one else was around. Maybe that was part of the deal, so others wouldn’t overhear and ask for the same deal.

He could have accepted that explanation, why did the people who played the Five Win Special game never had kids with them? And he couldn’t ignore the fact that these players never smiled even a little at the “pop!” when their darts pierced the balloons.

There was something going on with this special game, and he’d been around long enough to have a theory.

That night, at the end of his shift, as the carnival was shutting down, he slipped one of the premium plush frogs out of the bin and into his backpack. He’d take it home, take a closer look, and then return the next morning before they did the daily prize inventory.

As he approached his car with the plush frog in his backpack, it was dark, but the streetlight revealed four figures. At that moment he realized he’d made a mistake, a potentially fatal mistake.