Dark Ride

  “Dark Ride is Dante's Inferno meets Alice in Wonderland with a big dose of Stephen King thrown in for good measure. Loyd provides a pitch-perfect new voice in young adult fiction.”

  Coke Sams

  Film maker (“Blue Like Jazz”

  and “The Second Chance”)

  “Dark Ride carries tones reminiscent of C.S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Four teenagers from the town of Cassidy, Tennessee find themselves trapped inside a ride called The Enchanted Forest at Storybook Hollow Amusement Park. Their adventure takes a supernatural turn for the worse. ‘A chilling tale for the ages.’”

  Ken Beck

  Author, Editor, former Newspaper Columnist

  for The Tennessean

  “Put down the technology and get lost in the lives of some students who go on an interesting ride of their own. Enjoy a day of twists and turns that you will never forget.”

  Robert Oglesby

  Center for Youth and Family Ministry

  Abilene Christian University

  “Todd Loyd's creativity and storytelling ability will delight and encourage readers young and old. He uses his love for Christ and his dramatic skills to weave a story that both teaches and entertains.

  Jeff Walling

  Author, Speaker, and Senior Minister

  at Providence Road Church

  in Charlotte, North Carolina

  “For more than a decade now I've witnessed Todd Loyd's compelling, engaging, and even hilarious creativity draw teens into a story bigger than themselves — God's story. Dive in for a read and enjoy the ride.”

  Chris Seidmon

  Author and Senior Minister at

  the Farmer's Branch Church, Dallas, Texas

  DARK

  RIDE

  TODD LOYD

  FRANKLIN GREEN

  PUBLISHING

  www.franklingreenpublishing.com

  Dark Ride

  Copyright © 2012 by Todd Loyd

  Published by

  Franklin Green Publishing

  PO Box 51

  Lebanon, TN 37088

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief quotations in critical reviews and articles.

  ISBN 978-1-9364 - 8722 - 6

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Jacob Michael for his mentoring and experience that guided me through this process. I would like to also thank my “creative brotherhood” which consist of; David Skidmore, David Rubio, Jon Shoulders, and Dave Clayton. If not for an especially productive night on the steps of the Otter Creek stage this story would have never been told. Thanks to Chris Lee for showing me this could be done, to Zach Watson for laboring through the first edit, and to Steve Davidson, for just about everything (except comic genius). Thanks to Steve Kenney and Josh Cherry for their input and friendship. Of course, most of all, thanks to my wife, Amanda and three boys for sharing and enduring the formation of this story over the last 5 years.

  May 1986

  Visions of a carefree holiday had been shattered, and it was only the second day of summer. It didn't matter that it was his last three months at home before going off to college. The ultimatum was this: he was going to get a job.

  Well, it was actually nicer than that. His parents said something to the effect of, “If you work now, we'll help you with school, but if you don't, you're on your own.” So off to work he went in khaki shorts, a polo shirt, which was some disgustingly teal color, white socks, and white shoes with no lettering or logos visible. This, aside from the optional sunglasses, was the official attire for every employee at Storybook Hollow Amusement Park. A nametag topped off his garb—“Doug.”But no one called him Doug. It was always Douglas. Except when he was in trouble with his dad, and then it was Douglas Edward Finch. Or when his mother talked to him. To her, he was Dougy—her attempt to freeze him forever at the age of three and a half.

  Working at an amusement park with the tagline “Where Everyone Experiences Their Happily Ever After” seemed like a fun option. And Douglas didn't think the first day was so bad; he got the lay of the land, filled out paperwork, filled out more paperwork, and he learned where to punch in and how to work the time clock so he could get paid.

  But the second day was a completely different story. It was work. Dull, tenuous work—and not very fun at all. He'd drawn the lot of being trained by Clyde, a legend of sorts…or more like a fixture. The old man showed Douglas the ropes by barking out orders, filling his head with endless facts, and going through a mental checklist that the old grizzled veteran had probably never written down. After they had been at it for nine hours and walked through every inch of the place, Douglas wondered, “Does this guy ever stop?”

  He received his answer by hearing more statements such as, “In case the toilets back up, you got plungers in that shed there or behind the water ride,”…“Never let anyone park in that spot. It's reserved,”…“That's where the breakers are…unless it's at night. Then you gotta flip the power switch in the carousel, but only after priming the charger plate,”…“That right there? Pixie's? Best funnel cake in the park…if you ever have a hankerin’ for that kind of stuff.”

  On and on it went.

  Their goal that day was to simply make sure everything was ready for the opening weekend. But Douglas was still trying to learn his way around Storybook Hollow. It was like a maze. Even when Douglas came as a kid, he'd always get lost. Clyde said the place was “intentionally made that way. Keeps people in the park longer. They get lost. Decide to get on another ride. Spend more money. Hope we never have a fire emergency—whole place'll burn all the guests.” Douglas couldn't tell if his mentor-slash-boss was serious or not. Old Clyde never seemed to laugh.

  Clyde had always been at Storybook Hollow. At least as far as Douglas could remember. But both the park and Clyde were showing their age. Douglas longed for the old man to simply say, “Okay that's it for today,” but instead, he heard, “Now for the Dark Ride.”

  The Dark Ride, like Clyde, was a legend of the park. The main attraction, actually. One of those “get in a car and drive through the dark” rides that teens like to steal a kiss on, scares little kids, and parents dread. But the story of the ride was what made it fun because it found a way to blend together all of the old stories and fairytales. Douglas had many good memories of the ride, and even though it'd been a long day, he was a little excited to see the ride “behind the scenes.”

  They entered the musty old building. Clyde said, “Now we're gonna need to make sure everything's in order. Calibrate the runners. Tighten the ratchets on the anti-rollbacks. Streamline the—”

  “The anti-roll what?”

  “Keeps the car from rolling back-erds.” But then Clyde stopped and took a closer look at Douglas. “You need to be writin’ any of this down, or you got it?”

  “I think I got it.”

  “Then stop interruptin'.”

  Clyde went on about the “car barn” and the “Linear Induction Motor” and the “Friction Bars” until Douglas felt like his brain was melting out of his ears, which could be due to info-fry or to the fact that the air conditioning hadn't been turned on and it was about 100 degrees inside, even at 10 p.m.

  Aren't there laws against slave labor? Douglas wondered, trying to squelch his growling stomach.

  Clyde was busy working on an electronic short of some kind, fixing it with saliva and black electrical tape. “Yeah, that'll hold.”

  Douglas thought, At this rate, we'll be here till sun-up. H
e asked, “You think I can go on ahead? Check out anything on down the road?”

  “The track. On down the track.” An electrical ZAP sent Clyde's fingers to his mouth and he sucked on them to ease the sting. “Yeah, go on ahead. Make sure there's no debris or anything, then meet me two rooms up. We gotta check a couple of props, which is a two-man job, and then we'll call it a night.”

  Douglas pushed through two heavy doors. The power was on but Clyde had turned the cars off so neither of them had to avoid the large moving vehicles that carried guests on their tours through the ride. Although two feint lights glowed overhead, they were almost useless. He had relied on Clyde's large black flashlight to provide light, but now he reached into his canvas work belt and grabbed the one he'd gotten on the cheap at Barney's, the local discount store. Shining the flashlight from corner to corner, he knelt beside the tracks, illuminating the curving trail all the way to the next set of doors. Nothing. All was clear. He kept moving. The faster this went, the better. He was looking forward to getting home to finish the remains of a large mushroom and green pepper pizza from the night before, which was nestled into the top shelf of the Finch family fridge.

  Then he heard music.

  Douglas stopped and craned his neck to make sure he wasn't making up the sound. He wasn't. Sure enough, a strange, soft tune was being emitted from behind the wall to his left.

  Sounds like a calliope, he thought.

  Stepping over to the wall, he listened some more. Sure enough, he wasn't hearing things.

  He called out, “Hey Clyde? Do you hear that music?”

  “What was that?” came the muffled response from the other side of the doors. “Did you say music?”

  “Yeah. Sounds like a calliope or something.”

  “How you know what a calliope sounds like?”

  “You know…like the merry-go-round plays.”

  “You're hearing things, captain. Ain't no calliopes in this place.”

  Douglas liked the fact the Clyde called him captain. He knew it was something he called everyone, but it made him feel important.

  He turned his attention back to the wall; the music kept on playing. It was also getting louder. Douglas moved along the wall, trying to find the focal point of the sound. As he approached the spot on the wall where the sound was the loudest, he slowly raised his hand to feel for any vibration. At a spot above his head there was a buzzing, static sound, as if someone had just turned on a fluorescent light. A sign he had not noticed before flickered to life. It simply read, “ENTER” in dim glowing green.

  As the sign glowed to life, so did the edges of a door with a faint, green glow illumined all around it. Then a push-bar emerged. Weird, thought Douglas. The music kept playing.

  The old man called, “Almost done in here, your music still playing?”

  “Yeah. I think I see where it's coming from. Gonna check it out.” Douglas, slightly apprehensive but more curious, gripped his flashlight, pushed the bar, and went through the door.

  Twenty-Two Years Later

  Darkness. Complete, utter darkness. It wouldn't be long before the cycle began again. Now it's just anticipation, waiting for the distant whispers, the shrieks of fear, the bravado mocking. It's quiet, black, still.

  Suddenly, there's light everywhere. Blinding light.

  Here we go. A barrage of sound erupts, but the different noises can't be deciphered. It's confusing, but amidst the chaos…it's her—the girl in red. She's twenty feet away.

  I have to catch her. This time'll be different. I'll succeed.

  There's running, pushing, dodging, and lunging.

  Just as fingertips are about to reach her dress, a mechanical juggernaut blocks the path.

  Ear splitting screams fill the air.

  No! She's getting away. Just like last time. And the time before. And the time before. And the…An invisible force that feels like a hand clasping, choking, and pulling,

  The light fades.

  Voices fade.

  There is no sound.

  Then the light wisps out.

  Back to nothingness.

  Next time…next time I'll catch her.

  More waiting. Waiting till it begins again. The cycle.

  “The teens prove clever avoiding the beast.

  One false move and they would have been its feast.

  To survive in the story, their wits must be keen,

  For in this wood there's far worse yet unseen.”

  Chapter 1

  It's a cool July morning. The fog lifts over the town, and the sun hides behind the haze. Slowly, the streets of Cassidy Falls come to life. A newspaper delivery boy wheels his bike along the quiet streets and flings newspapers at dew-covered targets. Men and women in business attire clasp cups of coffee as they shuffle lazily to their high-priced SUV's. The mammoth vehicles grunt and whirl to life.

  In his suburban house at 1223 Crockett Way, Jack Braddock's alarm clock goes off. Reading the numbers in red, he slaps the snooze bar and turns over, thinking another ten minutes of sleep will not delay him. But, after three more minutes of tossing and turning, he lumbers out of bed like a zombie. His eyes are caked with sleep, and he presses his index fingers into their corners, rubbing the dried substance from his eyes and massaging them to prepare for another day. Looking out his second story window, Jack peers into the summer sky to check for rain, then down into his neighborhood, scanning the lawn to see if paperboy has come. Not yet, good, he says to himself, hoping to get downstairs in time to witness the entertaining morning ritual.

  Opening the door to his room, he almost runs head first into his sister, Blair, who is standing at the door. It startles him, and he wonders, What is she doing up so early? She has an intense glower on her face. Jack knows this look well. Evidently, he has made her mad yet again. She is two years older and will be a junior at James K. Polk High School in the fall. She is popular and snooty, and their relationship is more than tumultuous. In fact, it is downright hostile. She has something to say, but Jack fears that listening to her may prevent him from getting outside to witness the morning spectacle.

  “What were you doing in my room last night?” she asks. Jack knows that in her mind an intrusion is a capital offense with the only suitable punishment being death by some ancient Chinese torture.

  “Uh…nothing.”

  “I saw you. My room is off limits to losers, and you are a loser.”

  “Maybe you were dreaming.”

  “Wide awake. Nice try.”

  “Was anything missing?”

  “No.”

  “Was anything moved?”

  Blair thinks a moment. “Not that I noticed.”

  “Don't you think if I was in your room, or even within ten feet of your room, I would have done something to annoy you? You know, like, take something or move something? Maybe?”

  Jack knows it is a convincing argument, but she's not letting him off the hook that easily. “I better not find anything missing. And if my iPod playlist has been altered in any way, I know where you sleep.”

  She storms off, but before she gets too far, Jack stops her with, “Oh and, be sure to tell Colton Spurlock hello when you meet him at the mall later tonight.”

  With the mention of the boy's name, Blair's face turns red.

  Gotcha, thinks Jack.

  He had learned through his vigil outside her door that Blair, unbeknownst to her parents, was planning on meeting the boy at the mall. His parents did not like Colton.

  “Stay out of my room. Stay out of my way. And stay out of the air I breathe.”

  “Okay, logically, how am I supposed to do that? The air you breathe? Really?”

  “And if mom or dad find out I was talking to Colton, I'll know who told them.”

  “It's not like they can't just log on and check the cell—”

  “I mean it, you little brat. Off limits! And if they hear about me and Colton, I've been reading up on Chinese bamboo torture.”

  “Umm, don't you gotta hav
e bamboo for that to—”

  “Mom? I need to get some bamboo for a school project. Can we get some today?”

  A sweet voice from downstairs floats up, “Sure thing, dear.”

  Blair sasses a smile, cinches her robe tighter, and storms off.

  Jack just shakes his head. He waits for the slam of her door that he knows is coming.

  Slam! Jack smiles to himself. If Blair is one thing, she is predictable, a fact he can always count on—and take advantage of. He checks a clock on the wall and thinks, “Oh, no. I'm gonna miss it.”

  Jack launches himself down the steps as fast as his morning legs can take him. He eyes the front door, ignoring his father, who is already watching the morning news in the living room. Bursting out the door, Jack waits at the end of the drive, spying eagerly at the yard of his neighbor Mr. Lambert. No paper, he contemplates. Just in time! Okay Lambert, where are you hiding today? Scanning his neighbor's driveway, he finds Ronald Lambert dressed in work clothes and crouching behind a large Ford truck, one of those four-door, jacked-up monsters that makes more noise than a dump truck. From his vantage point, he sees Teddy Zuckerman peddle down the street launching papers to the right and left. Jack watches as the boy slows for his approach in front of the Lambert's.

  From behind his hiding spot, Lambert runs out from his cover and says, “Don't you dare, boy….” But it is too late. Zuckerman is good. He is already hurling the paper with the precision of a professional quarterback. The package lands perfectly on top of the cab of the behemoth truck. Zuckerman waves at Jack as he peddles forward, and Jack grins as Teddy tosses a copy of the Cassidy Falls Herald to his feet. Jack steals a glance at the undersized Lambert, who is jumping up and down muttering inappropriate words. He's trying to fetch the paper from its perch, which is just out of his reach.

  Jack knows he shouldn't laugh, but he can't resist. Every morning for the past three months, Teddy Zuckerman has launched newspapers in hard-to-reach places. Jack is a fan of a well-played prank, and watching this prank always starts his day off right. Pulling the paper from its plastic sheath and loosening the rubber band, Jack walks back into his two-story domicile ready to comb the headlines and catch the scores of last night's hockey game. As he closes the door, he notices that Mr. Lambert, who has grabbed a broomstick, seems to be attempting to play hockey as he tries to free his newspaper. Jack chuckles at the spectacle of the portly man hiking himself on his tip toes, and then losing his balance a couple of times before finally knocking the paper to the asphalt driveway. Giving one last look behind him at Mr. Lambert, he walks into his house.