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  Chuckling, he chides himself for his paranoia and thinks, We have been in here every night. And I have been in here hundreds of times with no cause for alarm. Except for that time I caught a stray cat…and the time I found a couple of teens sneaking around after hours…and that night twenty-two years ago. There it was again: the memory Clyde refuses to give life to.

  Walking slowly and bending to pick up the occasional box of popcorn to sling into the black waste bag, Clyde opens the doors into the next room. Looking around, he watches as Gwen passes by and seizes a half-eaten candy apple with her gloved hands.

  This bristles Clyde. “What a waste, twenty years ago, no kid in his right mind would have just tossed a perfectly good apple on the tracks. Kids are just spoiled these days. Oh, there I go again, sorry to sound like a—.” He pauses mid-sentence and calls out, “Gwen?”

  His young assistant is gazing towards the wall on the far end of the room.

  “Do you hear that?” she asks.

  “What?”

  “Music.”

  Before the next words come out of his mouth, every hair on his body is standing at attention. “What music?”

  “You know like a calliope. You hear it don't you”

  A flood of memories tears down every restraint he has built up, and he thinks, It is happening again.

  He says, “Gwen there's nothing we can accomplish tonight that I can't just do in the morning. Let's get out of here. It's awful late.”

  “Clyde, you don't hear that music? Aren't you curious?”

  “Gwen, I'm tired. Let's pack it in.”

  “But, Clyde, it's coming from that room just ahead. Don't you think—?”

  “I think I'm tired. We're leaving.” His bright blue eyes look directly at the girl. Motioning to the door behind them with his head, he leaves no more room for argument.

  He did not care if she was confused. He simply wanted them out now. “Let's go,” he says and gestures for her to lead the way. After shaking her head in utter confusion, she does.

  Clyde lingers a moment, straining to hear the music he's imagined all these years, but all he hears is…nothing. He didn't hear anything that night twenty-two years ago, either. The night Douglas Finch went missing for good.

  Chapter 5

  The Enchanted Forrest sits still. It will be another 12 hours before the park opens its doors. Standing motionless, a figure is waiting patiently, somewhere in his own world of dreams, thinking, It will come like it always does, but this time I'll do it. This time, I'll succeed. The thoughts tantalize him and comfort him, although he knows it will be the same result. He muses, There she is, the girl in red. Standing, tempting, mocking.

  He plays the scenario over in his mind, wondering what he can do differently. How can I reach her? What if I jump as soon as I hear the whirl? Deciding to play this new scenario out in his mind, his arms move. He moves on his own. His hand rises in front of his face, and his eyes blink. With shock and elation, he realizes he has control. There is no music, no lights, no chaos, and yet he can move. With a sudden jolt of freedom, he lunges at the girl, although every joint prepares to be halted in the air. Headlong, he smashes into the girl. The pain of the fall is of no consequence; he got her. He looks at his victim joyously. The years of failure have now been rewarded. Saliva runs free. His jaws flex, and his teeth shimmer. Preparing to tear at the girl, a strange realization interrupts the joy.

  What is this?

  He rips and slashes for signs of blood, or any life. He growls.

  A replica? This is no girl. She was real, the girl is real. All these years, and now that I am free, someone has fooled me. Replaced her with this. A plastic statue.A new feeling rips through his mid-section. He is famished. He must feed. How long has it been? The pain is so intense that it seizes his stomach into a convulsion. The instinct is overwhelming.

  Food. The girl. I will find the girl. She must be here. She will be mine, and then I will feed. Now that I am free, I will feed!

  Chapter 6

  The sign outside the door reads, “Employees Only–Break Room.” But it's not much of a break room. A relic of a coffee maker sits atop a counter next to a grimy sink, a solitary drink machine offers sodas that passed their prime five years ago, and leaning against an unused wall is a yellowstained, folded-up card table. Clyde, hands on his hips, tries to forget what happened last night. He shoves a hand into his back pocket and removes his wallet and opens the black leather flap. There she is: Edna. The picture was taken for an old church directory back in ‘74. Instinctively, any time Clyde is at a loss, he thinks about Edna. She passed away ten years ago, but looking at her picture brings him comfort. Relishing the respite, Clyde speaks to her.

  “Well, Edna, last night was something else, huh?”

  Clyde remembers back when the Enchanted Forrest first opened. Originally it was a kiddie ride until Mr. Ross decided that the park needed something a little more edgy and had all of the scenes altered to make it more frightening.

  A well-rusted hinge signals that Clyde is about to have company. It's Gwen.

  “Clyde, I was in the Enchanted Forrest this morning.”

  “You what?”

  “Look, I was just curious about that music, and I was looking around when I noticed that the Wolf is gone.”

  “The Wolf is gone? You have got to be kidding. How? That thing weighs a ton.”

  Of all of the special effects in the Enchanted Forrest, the Wolf in the Red Riding Hood Room, which is placed on a track so that it startles the riders, is by far the best scare of the ride.

  Clyde wonders if this has something to do with the music but tells Gwen, “Bet it was some college kids pulling the ultimate prank.” Clyde wonders who the culprits could be.

  Gwen offers, “I bet that Colton Spurlock is behind this. He and those guys over at the Midway games are always up to no good.” She pauses, then adds, “Oh brother, Mr. Snodgrass is going to be angry.”

  “Oh no. We're not calling him.”

  “But that's what we were told to do in training.”

  Clyde stows his wallet and replies, “No need Gwen, let me take care of this.”

  “But Mr. Snodgrass is already on his way.”

  “You called him already?”

  She nods, a bit sheepishly, and Clyde's face falls. To say that this is not exactly what he wanted to deal with today would be an understatement. Handling delinquent teenagers is easy, and making adjustments for stolen property at a closing park is manageable. But, dealing with the manager, Mr. Snodgrass—pull out a calculator and start adding.

  Chapter 7

  The Braddocks’ kitchen counter has seen better days. Large clunks of peanut butter and jelly are smattered here and there, along with an empty milk jug, a half-full bag of chips, and some bills and coupons messily stacked next to Brenna's purse. Jack walks into the living room with his recently constructed sandwich to see if anything good is on TV, simply looking for a way to kill time until 6 p.m. when his dad takes him to the park. Jack considers laying on the couch to doze off. He had not gotten much sleep last night due to envisioning exactly how he would pull off grabbing his prop from inside the Dark Ride.

  Flopping down on the couch, he tries to catch up on some sleep, but, once again, thoughts of how to get the prop disturb him. His target would be a small golden statue inside one of the first few rooms that make up the Enchanted Forrest. Within the ride, there are several rooms that revolve around the fairy tale of “Jack and the Beanstalk,” the old familiar story where the character Jack climbs a beanstalk, enters a giant's castle, and steals a goose that lays golden eggs to help his family out of poverty. Obviously, by sharing his name with the hero of the tale, Jack thought there would be no more appropriate keepsake than a small golden statue of a goose that the ride displays in the “Giant's Room.” The statue rests on a fireplace. The major problem would be getting out of the small moving vehicle in order to snatch the item. He had to figure out some way. The statue is just too perfect, Jack
reasons. Just like his namesake, Jack would take the golden goose.

  His plan to sprawl out on the couch and take a nap is futile. He cannot sleep while wrestling with the problem. Jack contemplates, How can I get out of the train to get the goose? Will I be able to leave the ride and hop back on before it gets away from me?

  Just then Blair waltzes into the room, phone to her ear, as always. “I know they are just obnoxious sometimes, no all the time…one day he will get what he deserves…that will be too sweet.”

  Jack is curious as to whom his sister is speaking, but decides to ignore her. Flipping on the TV, a commercial for Titus Chick, Mason's dad, is on.

  “Do you need someone in your corner? Have you been

  arrested for a D.U.I.? Have your rights been infringed?

  The law office of Titus J. Chick is here to help.”

  “That was Denise,” Blair says. His sister reaches down and grabs the remote, flipping off the TV.

  “Who's Denise?”

  “Can it, egghead—you know exactly who Denise is.”

  “No, I don't.”

  “Uh, yes you do. She happens to be the lifeguard your little friend soaked yesterday afternoon with his little cannonball routine.”

  “And this matters to me because?”

  “You tell that brat that next time Denise will have him expelled from the pool—for good.”

  “She can't do that. Besides, she's a lifeguard.” He repeats the word slowly for emphasis, “Lifeguard. Isn't she supposed to get wet? I say occupational hazard.”

  “Oh, you guys think you're so cute. You know, your little pranks are going to catch up with you one day. What if Denise was mad enough to call her boyfriend, who's on the wrestling team, by the way? She could simply say one word like, ‘sick 'em,’ and Mason would be begging for mercy.”

  “’Sick ’em’ is actually two words.”

  “Oh, you are really smug, aren't you?”

  “What are you gonna do, have Colton Spurlock beat me up? Maybe you guys can talk about that at the mall tonight. You can arrange your hit then.”

  Jack could see Blair reaching her breaking point. And like all good younger siblings who smell blood, Jack goes in for the kill. “Maybe mom and dad would be interested to know Colton is on your speed dial. I think that information would intrigue them since you were forbidden to date him.”

  “You little!” Blair's face twists into an angry snarl.

  Evasive maneuvers are required. The sandwich drops to the floor, and Jack leaps off the couch and heads for the stairs. Turning to gauge the distance between him and Blair, he realizes that her arm is coming forward with an object in it. Jack ducks as the phone whistles through the air.

  Crash! The projectile smashes into a family portrait hanging above the piano.

  Both siblings look at the portrait in horror.

  The picture is one of those false illusions. All four of them dressed in khaki pants and white button downs sitting on the beach. It's their mom's favorite thing in the entire house. She paid a photographer loads of money while the family was on vacation to come and snap the photo. Jack always gets a kick out of how happy and peaceful they all look. Mere seconds before the photo was taken, Jack had been arguing with Blair, and their mom had been riding Wallace about taking a call from work on the beach.

  A thorough investigation reveals a small chip in the glass.

  “Now you're in for it, Blair. Looks like someone is going to get grounded.”

  “Mom will never notice. You better keep this quiet.”

  “Oh, mom won't notice, huh?”

  “No, she won't unless some useless little brat tattle-tells.”

  The insult inspires Jack to push on. “So mom won't notice what you did, huh?”

  The sinister idea just pops into his head. Jack bends down and lifts the phone to the picture. With a quick forward motion he slams the instrument hard against the crack.

  A thin trial of shattered glass stretches out from the original crack like a spider web.

  “I think she'll notice now. Looks like someone is in big trouble.”

  “You…you!” Blair screams.

  Blair's scream is so loud that Brenna Braddock is called away from folding clothes upstairs. The familiar footsteps patter down the carpeted steps.

  “What in the world are you two fighting about now?”

  Neither Blair nor Jack makes a move.

  Brenna scans the room. “My picture!” Her face shows a look of total despair.

  “Blair did it, mom. She got so angry, she threw her phone at me.”

  “No, he did it. Mom, he took my phone and slammed it into the picture!”

  “Enough!”

  The ferocity of his mother's voice sends a cold chill up Jack's spine. He realizes this is serious. The look, the tone—they were reserved for capital offenses.

  “I have had it up to here with your antics, both of you. Where did I go so wrong that my two children treat each other like this?” She pauses, red-faced, to think. “You're both grounded for at least a week.”

  “But mom, it was all Blair's fault.”

  “I don't care whose fault it was. One week—no TV, no movies, no car, no anything! You will be in your rooms, unless you're doing chores. The chores will commence tomorrow morning.”

  “Mom, I was going to the mall tonight.”

  “No, ma'am, you will be staying right here.”

  Blair storms up the steps. SLAM!

  Jack is in total shock. He wonders, What about tonight? His little stunt has completely backfired. He thinks, She cannot mean this. Time for some smooth talk.“Mom, I'm sorry about what happened. It just got out of control.”

  He waits a second and then risks it.

  “Can I still go to the park tonight? I mean, it's closing and all.”

  “Jack, you're not talking your way out of this one. You should have thought about the consequences when you and your sister decided to destroy my picture.”

  “But, mom!”

  “Not another word, Jack. I hate that I have to do this, but you and Blair have to learn to coexist.” Jack's world has just caved in. “One week,” his mom says, and then, after pausing thoughtfully, “and no park tonight.”

  Chapter 8

  With mallet in hand, Clyde examines his latest handy work. He has just placed a “Park Closing” sign up in front of the main ticket gate, another painful reminder that he only has two more days on the job. He notices a slick black, top-of-the-line BMW pull into the parking space reserved for Howard Snodgrass.

  “The boss is here,” Gwen announces gloomily, holding the season pass sign that she just took down.

  Oh brother, here we go, Clyde says to himself as he takes a deep breath and prepares for the impending conversation.

  The stout man struggles against his own girth to pry himself out of the front seat. Finally freed, Howard Snodgrass slams the door and ambles towards Clyde and Gwen, obviously irritated.

  “So what's this about a wolf being gone? And why, pray tell, did I have to come all the way down here to see about it?”

  “All the way down here: meant five minutes.

  Gwen clears her throat and says, “Mr. Snodgrass, I thought—”

  Clyde cuts her off, thinking, No need for the kid to get involved, and says, “Looks like we had some vandals last night.” He turns and nods to Gwen. “Mr. Snodgrass, I thought you needed to see for yourself.” Even though Clyde is 20 years Snodgrass's senior, Howard makes everyone address him as mister. Clyde often wonders if Mrs. Snodgrass had to, too.

  “So. You've dealt with vandals before, Clyde. Just do your job.”

  Clyde's job description never included night watchman. Those guys had been let go years ago, after the park's financial trouble had started. Still, Clyde had dealt with lots of things that were not his job. At this point, Clyde decides not to mention the incident with the music from the night before. He is already trying to suppress the memory, and it wouldn't really matter. Snodgrass wil
l ignore him.

  “Actually, Mr. Snodgrass, I was the one—”

  Clyde cuts her off again. “I did not want to bother you, sir, but the fact is that the wolf is a major part of the Enchanted Forrest. The park guests will be upset if it's not there.”

  “Oh, horse hockey. We only have two miserable days left in this miserable little park. Who cares if someone stole a wolf statue? They could steal the roller coaster and I would not care at this point. Now, explain to me why I was called down here?”

  Again, Gwen continues, trying to take the bullet, “Sir, in orientation—.”

  Again, Clyde interrupts her to cover. “I thought since you were the operations manager you would be concerned, that's all.” Her intentions are noble, but he's not letting her fall on the sword.

  “So what am I supposed to do? Call the cops?”

  “Well, maybe.”

  “Clyde, we are not about to call the police down here about some stupid little prop. Do you have any idea what kind of paper work I would have to fill out? Plus, don't the police have something better to do than worry about this kind of garbage?”

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  “Good. Now go back and do all those important things that you maintenance people do like pick up some trash or fiddle with your thumbs. I'm going home. And, Clyde?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Remember, this park is done. Consider this your two-day notice.”

  “You were right,” Gwen declares as Snodgrass ambles back toward the parking lot. “Thanks for covering for me.”

  “Don't mention it.” Clyde peers at the backside of the departing Snodgrass. It takes all of Clyde's reserve not to tackle the man right then and there. He stews, His flippant attitude about the closing is one thing. What does he have to worry about? After all, his rich daddy, Art Snodgrass, CEO of Newcastle, Inc., will probably give him some cushy job. But the fact that he does not even care enough to step in and at least check out the disappearance is revolting. Howard Snodgrass has never cared about the park or its guests, and that, at least to Clyde, is a major reason the park is closing.