Dark Ride Read online

  Jack turns back toward his house as he unwraps the paper and glances at the top headline: “End of the Story for Storybook Hollow.” He freezes.

  Chapter 2

  It's been two hours since Jack read the haunting words. Sitting on the corner of his bed, he reads the article again for perhaps the fiftieth time.

  End of the Story for Storybook Hollow

  After decades of entertainment, Storybook Hollow will be shutting its gates for good, making this the park's final weekend. It is a sudden end for the Park, which has been open for nearly 60 years. The current owners of the once popular local amusement park, Newcastle, Inc., sighted decreasing attendance and rising maintenance fees as the reasoning. Senior spokesman, Art Snodgrass, told The Herald that they intend to build a new outdoor mall where the park has stood since 1952. The original owner sold the park to the group before his passing in 1989. Many locals hoped that the sale would revitalize the park since many of its attractions had become dated. The park has suffered major losses within the past ten years, and many locals have considered the park an eyesore.

  Snodgrass continued, “While we hate to let go of this part of Cassidy Falls’ past, judging by the recent attendance lull, we feel like today's consumers want a totally different experience.”

  Hopefully the new outdoor mall can pump some energy into an area in need of a facelift.

  The last few words reverberate in Jack's mind. Swiping his falling bangs from the corner of his left eye, Jack blinks back tears that have been waiting to gush out for the last two hours. Storybook Hollow had been his palace, his escape, and the home of his fondest memories. He thought that maybe if he just read the article one more time he would see that it was just a hoax.

  “Jack!” his father yells from downstairs. “Where is the paper?”

  The thundering voice of his father wakes Jack from his self-induced stupor.

  “I have to leave for work soon, and I want to see if the letter I wrote made the editorials.”

  Readying himself to reveal the horrible news to the rest of the family, Jack slowly descends down the steps.

  The Braddock family mornings were always the same. His mom, Brenna, would scrap together some breakfast for his dad, but the kids were forced to scavenge for themselves. This suited Jack just fine. He simply raided the pantry, looking for the white powdered doughnuts his mom always said were bad for him but bought anyway because he asked her to.

  “So what's the game plan for today?” his mother cheerily calls to him. “Another day of fun at the pool? It's the last days of summer. You should take advantage of them.”

  Jack does not respond.

  His father, Wallace Braddock, proud partner of Gaylord and Braddock Accounting, waits in anticipation. Grabbing the paper from Jack, he greedily he scans the editorial page.

  “Here it is! They printed another one of my letters.”

  His father's obsession with writing letters to the local paper has gotten out of hand. The letter writing has become a badge of pride to Wallace and a bane to Brenna. He reads it aloud as if the family has actually never heard it, forgetting he read it to them at least five times before he sent it off.

  When will the city see the injustice? Just because our elected officials cannot meet a budget, it does not give them the right to allow the citizens of Cassidy Falls to be hounded on the highways and intersections by their very own police officers. There are more speed traps in this town than there are streets. Why are we being punished? Because drivers roll two miles an hour over the speed limit?

  Ignoring the victorious dramatic reading of her husband, his mother can see that Jack is in a daze and asks, “Jack, are you okay?”

  “Brenna here is the best line,” Wallace says then continues reading, “’It seems to at least this citizen that their relentless pursuit of speeding fines keeps them from doing more important things like keeping the citizens of Cassidy Falls safe.’” Wallace looks over to his wife. Scanning her face looking for praise, he is sorely disappointed by her lack of adulation.

  “Wallace, hush. Jack, what is wrong with you? I thought you were meeting the boys at the pool?”

  With the scolding fresh in his mind, Wallace Braddock finally looks at his son and sees the boy's dropping demeanor. For all of the good intentions of Wallace Braddock, he is a businessman through and through. There have been one too many days when Wallace has simply ignored the kids.

  From the corner of Jack's eye, he sees Blair turn her attention away from some reality show and focus on him.

  “They're closing Storybook Hollow.”

  Not missing a beat, his dad isn't surprised at all and says, “’Bout time.”

  “Wallace.” His mother attempts to redirect her husband.

  “Well, look at it this way, son, that area of town was really going downhill fast.”

  Again Brenna rebuffs, “Wallace, really?”

  “What?”

  She gestures to Jack, who is on the verge of tears. Her eyes shoot daggers at Wallace, and the man retreats into his letter to the editor.

  Jack is aware of the conflict. His mother has been on his dad's case for years. He overhears her in quiet conversations with his dad at night, saying things like, “You have other responsibilities, Wallace,” and, “The kids really need their father right now.” The pleas are always met with his father's irritated retorts, such as, “I do the best I can, Brenna. When are you going to appreciate the fact that my work is what keeps food on the table?” For years the cycle has continued behind closed doors. Now it is happening right in front of Jack's eyes. Dad is thinking about his business and his letters, and mom is irritated.

  His mother turns to Jack. “I'm sorry, dear. Those things tend to happen, though. Part of growing up.”

  “But they're gonna build a mall on top of it.”

  This has Blair's full attention. “A mall? Sweet! Think we'll get an Abercrombie and Fitch?”

  Brenna begins to play referee. “We can't afford that place, sweetie. Not many people around here can.”

  Pouting, Blair says, “I can browse.”

  “Nobody cares that a local icon is going to be bulldozed?” Jack angrily scolds his family.

  Brenna finally stops what she's doing, goes over to Jack, and as tenderly as she can, responds, “What can we do?”

  Out of the side of his mouth, Wallace offers, “I can write a letter.”

  “Dear?” instructs Brenna, which is code for Wallace to shut up.

  Jack considers a moment, then states, “I want to go. Tonight or tomorrow.”

  “Not by yourself,” Brenna advises.

  “Then you or dad can take me.” Jack includes his mother because he's being nice. The whole family knows that Brenna, after having had a bad experience with Blackbeard's Pirate Ship as well as a bad funnel cake a few years ago, proclaimed she would never set foot near the park again. So, all eyes turn to Wallace.

  “Oh no. The only night we have free this week is Friday. And that's game night.”

  “Dad, come on. How many more game nights at the Zuckerman's are you gonna have versus how many more times can I go to the park?”

  Wallace Braddock stares back at his son. “Let's don't get overdramatic, Jack. Talking to me like that is not going to get you anywhere.”

  “Wallace, Jack is very upset. Perhaps you could make up for some lack of sensitivity by overlooking his tone just this once?”

  Jack can see that his mother is on his side. He looks at the businessman, clad in suit and tie, to see if her persuasion is registering.

  “Okay Jack, I'll take you tomorrow night.”

  It is a victory, but Jack is still in mourning and too upset to even acknowledge his father's acquiescence. He gives a nod to his mother, who came through for him, and simply turns and walks back up the stairs. A bittersweet victory. He would go to the park tomorrow. One last glorious night at the Hollow.

  Chapter 3

  “I saw it, too, Jack. You’re the first person I thought of. I
know you’re, like, super bummed. We all are,” says Mason Chick, speaking gravely to his friend.

  Jack had been downright despondent ever since stepping foot into the local swim club. Mason, a taller boy, terrifically tan and built with muscle beyond what a fourteen-year-old’s frame should carry, looks years older than Jack although he’s only a few months his senior. As Jack knows to be his fashion, Mason launches into an inspirational speech.

  “Jack, look, this is the last weekend of the summer. You have to make a choice. We can either walk around for the next two days like a pack of mope-a-sauruses or you, Scotty, and I can have the time of our lives tomorrow night.”

  “Can you believe they’re out of bottle pops?” says another voice coming up from behind the two boys.

  It belongs to the pudgy Scotty Carnahan. Pushing his glasses up from the bridge of his nose, Scotty’s face holds a since of bewilderment. “First the park and, now, no bottle pops. Is there any justice in this world?”

  The smell of chlorine is overwhelmed by the wafting scent of suntan lotion, and Scotty’s pale belly bears the white greasy evidence of a fresh coat.

  Mason playfully punches Scotty in the arm and says, “Look the park is closing, we can’t change that. Take the rest of the day to sulk if you guys want, but I refuse. Tomorrow night I better have the old Jack back, or it’s going to be a waste of time.” Walking away from the others, Mason walks to the steps of the taller of the two springboards.

  “He’s right, you know,” Scotty relents.

  “You always think Mason is right.”

  And, he did: in all the years Jack has known Scotty, he’s hardly ever crossed Mason. While Scotty is Jack’s friend, Scotty worships Mason.

  Jack’s mind is awash with emotion and thinks, How can these two take this so lightly, after all of the good times they have had at the park?

  Splash. A torrent of water drenches the two boys. Mason swims over and tells them, “That was my best splash all day.”

  Ignoring the wall of water that has cascaded over him, Scotty tries to cheer his friend. “If it makes you feel any better, Jack, what if we all got some matching T-shirts at the airbrush stand in the park? They could read something like, ‘The three amigos’ last night in the Hollow.’”

  “Scotty, that is the single most stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. I wouldn’t be caught dead in an airbrushed T-shirt,” Mason retorts.

  Jack decides not to comment. He agrees with Mason, the suggestion is pure Scotty, who happens to be the shortest of the three and not the most socially gifted. While Mason is always about sports and girls, the heavyset Scotty is a hopeless nerd. He loves to read, but not anything cool like comic books. He has an unnatural fascination with reading and studying about old folk stories and fairy tales. In fact, Scotty is quite the expert on Grimm’s, Hans Christian Anderson, Tolkien, and others—a trait that qualifies him for über-nerd status. Other kids at school tease him relentlessly, unless Mason is around. The fact that Scotty and Mason are friends at all is one of the school’s ongoing mysteries.

  Just then, an idea pops into Jack’s head. “Mason, I think Scotty has a point.”

  “Are you kidding me, Jack? Look you two can get your little T-shirts, but I am not making that mistake. Do you have any idea what a babe like Lauren Van Wormer would say if she saw me in something like that?”

  “No, Mason, I have a better idea. What if we grabbed something from the park like a keepsake?”

  “Go on, I like the way you’re thinking, Braddock.”

  “I remember when they closed the Dairy Dipper over on Campbell Lane. One of my sister’s friends grabbed a sign from inside one of the walls. It says something like, ‘Try the Dip’s Mango Monster Shake.’ Blair has it hung up on the wall in her room.”

  Mason grins. “I get it. We can take something from like inside the Enchanted Forrest! That’s your favorite ride. It would be like a keepsake.”

  “Wouldn’t that be stealing?” interjects Scotty.

  “Can it, Scotty, I like it. Maybe having a memento like that will bring Mr. Poopie Pants out of his slump?”

  “If we could get something cool, it would be like a little bit of the park will remain with us,” Jack confides.

  It doesn’t take much to convince Mason of questionable behavior. “Okay, I’m in. We’ll all get a prop from inside the Enchanted Forrest. Besides, it won’t be stealing since they’re just going to bulldoze the place anyways, right?”

  “If you think it’s all right, then I’m in,” Scotty says.

  “Great! One last hurrah at Storybook Hollow. Now, I’m going to make a wave so large that the lifeguard up there will never forget the name Mason Chick.”

  Jack cycles through his mind about the ride, his ride. The Enchanted Forrest is the park’s only dark ride and his favorite attraction. But what would he take? There are dozens of props small enough to sneak out of the ride, but how could he actually get one of them without anyone seeing?”

  Mason makes another thunderous splash, and a pretty teenage lifeguard blows her whistle and screams, “You little troublemaker! Get out of the pool and sit your butt on the side!”

  “She’s hot, Mason. Better lay low for a while,” Scotty warns.

  “I know she’s hot, that’s why I did it. I need to go home anyways. Dad wants me to mow the yard. So, tomorrow night, it’s a deal.”

  Scotty follows Mason as he scampers over for a towel and leaves Jack, once again, to his thoughts. The idea has cheered him up a little, but something inside tells him that perhaps Scotty’s reservations are right. Still, he tells himself, Nah I need something, I deserve something. After all, no one loves that place, that ride, more than I do. I will claim some Storybook Hollow history for myself tomorrow night!

  Jack makes his way to the front gate where his Schwinn bicycle is chained to the rack. Suddenly, an image pops into his head. As he hops on the bicycle, he knows exactly what he is going to take.

  Chapter 4

  For 50 years, Clyde Spahn has spent his entire working life in the park. He cannot help but feel a twinge of remorse. He was only 18 when the original owner, Mr. Ross, hired him on to do cleanup work. He wonders where the time has gone. The last two days have been filled with questions: what would Edna think of all this, and what would he do now? Retirement hadn't been something Clyde was waiting for since his job wasn't just about the money. It was about being useful and doing something with his hands. With a grunt, Clyde comes back to reality and pulls a hose from a shed behind the Tilt-A-Whirl.

  “So, this is the last weekend. It just seems so sudden,” says Gwen Purvis, his assistant for the summer. She comments as if the old man had not already churned that fact over in his mind dozens of times.

  Clyde thinks, She is making small talk, that's what Gwen does. Ever since she was hired, that college student has babbled incessantly. Still, Clyde did not mind the girl. He actually found her constant chattering comforting, but, tonight, he would prefer if she just kept her thoughts to herself.

  Hosing down the floor of the Ice Cream Shack, the star-filled sky provides just enough light for Clyde to mark his progress. It's obvious the employees here have been careless. Ice cream coats the cement floor. Since when did we sell purple ice cream? Clyde wonders.

  Gwen pipes up again, much to Clyde's chagrin. “It's been a fun summer, you know. I never dreamed this would be the last. I thought I could work here next summer as well.”

  She pauses, hoping for some response but gets none, so she presses on. “You would think they could have given us more notice. I mean none of the employees had a clue ‘til that stinking newspaper article came out today. Don't they have to give us, like, 30 days’ notice or something?”

  No response again. Changing the subject, Gwen looks for something to say that will solicit a response. “Want me to put the hose up?”

  This time Clyde graces her question with a simple, “Yep.”

  Shutting off the hose, Gwen rolls it back on its wheel. When she moves on
to store it, Clyde takes himself back again. What will I miss the most? No question, the kids. While he and Edna have two girls of their own, he always felt like the kids who came to the park often were like his extended family. He had kept this place running for decades and seen thousands of smiles, and realizes that he will miss the little screams of glee. His nostalgic moment is interrupted, though, as Gwen returns.

  “Okay, captain, time to hit the Forrest. It was running fine today, so all we really need to do is make sure there is no debris on the track.”

  “Got it.”

  The Dark Ride stands silent in the back corner of the park. It is the oldest and most famous ride in the park and has developed into Storybook Hollow's version of a Haunted House. Clyde anticipates the maintenance check to go quickly, after which he could go home to a TV dinner and some late night television. Rubbing his grey beard, Clyde pushes through the heavy black doors into the ride along with Gwen. A memory pops into Clyde's head, but before it has the chance to stake a more permanent claim, Clyde shudders and forces himself to do something, anything, to not remember that night. It is like this every time he walks in, a nightly battle in his head.

  “Gwen, don't wander too far off now.” Not wanting to voice his reasoning, Clyde adds, “It's awful dark in here and you might hit your head on something.”

  “Clyde, we have been in here every night this summer, and you tell me that at least three times a night. You know, I'm almost 20 years old.”