Nightmare (2 page)

I looked at the sign not with suspicion or doubt, just weariness. It was the third such sign to be thrust in my face since my
friends and I had stepped into the line. It might have seemed more
authentic had "Ghost Town®" not been printed in the bottom
right corner of the faux wood.

"There was always this one closet at my grandparents' house
that gave me the creeps when I was growing up," said Jill, rubbing
her gloved hands together both to keep warm and-I assumedout of nervousness. "It was a linen closet in the bathroom at the
back of the house, and it was really dark inside. Whenever I looked
in there ... I don't know. It made me feel cold all over."

Jill had been my roommate at Columbia University for our
sophomore and junior years. For our senior year, I was paying
extra for solo on-campus housing.

Angela, meanwhile, was Jill's best friend since high school.
She was similarly coifed with long, straight hair, and talked so
much like Jill that I often thought their brains were psychically
linked. At Jill's words, Angela shivered slightly but smiled. "I've
got one," she said, glancing around to make sure none of the other
amusement park patrons in this line were listening too closely.
"When I was like nine or ten, sometimes my great-aunt would
pick me up after school and I'd stay at her house for a couple of
hours until my dad got off work. Her husband was this really
mean old guy who'd done all these awful, evil things to her, but
he died before I was born. She kept this old recliner in the house that belonged to him, and I hated it. It was ratty and nasty, and
it smelled funny. And when I was in the room with it alone ...
I swear sometimes I could see a figure out of the corner of my
eye. When I'd turn to look, there was nobody there. But for just
a second, it was like this guy was standing right there watching
me, and he wasn't moving. It terrified me to death, even though
I eventually figured it was all in my head."

"Wow," said Jill, her eyes wide and sincere.

"Here's the really crazy part. After a few years, my aunt decided
to finally get rid of that chair. And would you believe-after it
was gone, I never saw the figure again."

"Ooooh," said Jill, not quite grinning but still enthusiastic. I
saw Angela and her glance my direction, hoping for a response.

I think they were frustrated when I didn't react to either story.
I couldn't help it; I was bored and distracted by thoughts of the
beginning of classes in a few days. I leaned out and inspected
the line the three of us stood in, estimating there were at least a
hundred people in front of us, waiting to enter the ride. It was
going to be a long night.

Jill and Angela were hardly my closest friends, if I even had
anyone in my life who qualified. But Jill always paid her portion
of the dorm room rent on time and never threw any parties-she
just attended them elsewhere with Angela-so I found it hard to
complain about the two of them. Even if I wasn't all that compatible with them, personality-wise.

They'd gone out of their way to invite me on this little presenior-year jaunt, even though, as Angela had not so delicately
put it, "We realize this isn't something you're dying to do, because
of... well, you know."

It was an unspoken but absolute rule in the dorm that no one ever talked about my upbringing. I wasn't ashamed of it, or even
made uncomfortable talking about it. It wasn't some big trauma,
either. It was just ... out of the ordinary. Way out. And I wasn't
interested in looking back. I only wanted to look ahead.

But I had impulsively agreed to come along with them, and
the pleasantly surprised faces that Jill and Angela displayed when
I said yes were all too genuine, and I knew why. I was serious
about my studies and my chosen major, and I wanted very badly
to be taken seriously. But senior year hadn't yet begun, and as
crass as I knew this silly trip would probably be, the truth was, I
longed for a little company. My last friendship had ended badly,
and I was surprised at how much I missed the companionship
and solidarity of having someone around. It was something I'd
never expected to need, but once it was gone, I wanted it more
than ever.

"So what's your biggest fear?" asked Jill, trying to keep the
conversation going.

"Um," ventured Angela, "forgetting to wear clothes to
class?"

Jill laughed. "That's not scary, that's just embarrassing! I'm
talking about knee-quivering, pee-inducing, `I-want-my-mommy'
kind of terrified. What scares you that bad?"

"I don't know," replied Angela as the three of us wormed
through the zig-zagging line and I took another peek at the line's
progress, trying subtly to distance myself from this conversation.
"The thought of being chased through the woods by a crazed ax
murderer?" Angela finally answered.

Jill laughed again. "Well, it's a cliche, but it's scary, I'll give
you that. Personally, I don't think there's anything worse than
a creepy little girl. I mean, think about all those old movies and video games where some bizarre, detached little girl with haunted
eyes just stares blankly at everyone while terrible things happen
to them. It's like she has no soul. It freaks me out just thinking
about it!"

We turned another corner in the line and my eyes found a
new sign. This one warned, "YOU MIGHT VOMIT."

Jill and Angela laughed nervously at the sight, but then
Angela turned to me. "What about you, Maia? What's the scariest thing you've ever seen?"

My mind slowed down for a moment, and my eyes shifted
slowly to Angela as an answer came immediately to mind. "Uh ...
I don't think I should say."

Both girls watched me with sudden caution. Their demeanors
betrayed that they knew they'd suddenly trodden into unwanted
territory. "Why not?" Angela almost whispered.

The only answer I could give was the honest one.

"Because if I told you, you would wish I hadn't."

I looked away from their stunned expressions, trying to act
nonchalant. Finally, after a long pause, I heardJill exhale quickly
in a halfhearted attempt at laughter, but it came out awkwardly
and sounded like a nervous cough.

They quickly changed the subject. "Did you hear about that
children's advocacy group that's suing Ghost Town because its
rides are so scary?" asked Jill.

"That's so stupid!" replied Angela. "I mean, if you're dumb
enough to bring your kids someplace like this, you deserve whatever you get."

I'd heard about it, too. It was big news. Having opened just
six months ago, Ghost Town amusement park had become the
hottest ticket in America. Fright junkies from all over the world were drawn to its state-of-the-art thrills and chills, which were
reported to contain the most realistic recreations of the paranormal ever fashioned. I doubted that claim very much, having
seen the paranormal firsthand, and knowing it to be nothing
like the over-the-top digital effects displayed in Hollywood horror films.

Truth was always stranger than fiction, after all.

But the place was a source ofintrigue, I had to admit. Almost
as soon as it had opened, Ghost Town had landed at the center
of controversy. There were endless reports of attendees suffering
ongoing terrors by the things they'd experienced here, some supposedly even requiring psychiatric counseling-which of course
only added to the place's popularity. The crown jewel in Ghost
Town's arsenal was the Haunted House, which was supposed to
be unlike any other haunted house ever built. It aimed to become
known as "the definitive paranormal experience"-a guided walkthrough tour that promised a face-to-face with the most authentic depiction of ghosts and apparitions ever seen. The Haunted
House ride was the most popular attraction at the park, it was
the main reason for all of the controversy, and it was the very
ride that the three of us were in line waiting to enter.

As our place in line moved up and we read more of the foreboding signs, each increasing in its dire predictions, I couldn't
help noticing that Jill and Angela were growing progressively
more anxious. Their laughs were more nervous and their jokes
cracked at a higher volume.

I was no more nervous now than I was at any other time in
my life. I just couldn't be.

Growing up, I'd seen and done things that these two weren't
equipped to imagine. I knew it would take more than a fun house to rattle me-a lot more-no matter how technologically advanced
it was.

I wondered again why I'd agreed to come along, when I had
so much prep to do for school.

Angela and Jill were looking extra nervous now, but fortunately Angela could always be counted on to fill any awkward
silence.

"You know that thing when you walk from a bright room
into a dark room and you think you see, like, a faint light that
shouldn't be in there?"

Jill had her mouth open to respond when I spoke first. I didn't
mean it to come out sounding condescending, but there was a
clinical tone to my voice. "It's a retinal afterimage. A trick of the
eye. An impression of residual light after the light's source has
left your field of vision."

"I know," replied Angela, who smiled. "But it's still creepy."

I chuckled without humor, shaking my head.

"Yeah," added Jill, "and if the dark room has a mirror, it's
even more-"

Jill's words were interrupted when something lunged at the
three of us from the right of the line, emitting a terrifying, otherworldly sound.

Jill and Angela both screamed at the top of their lungs,
clutching at each other. It was a spectral form that glowed with
a jaundiced iridescence. But it was just a fancy fake, an advanced
animatronic with billowing black fabric robes and a face made to
look like authentically rotting flesh that had been partially peeled
off to reveal the bones underneath. It moved with smooth grace,
spiraling around us, on some kind of hidden magnetic track in the ground. Its mouth looked remarkably real as it opened wide
to let out its chilling scream.

But no matter how real it looked, it was just another part
of the park.

We watched as it raised a single hand to point at the three
of us while it "flew" away backwards on its hidden rails, off to
scare some other poor souls elsewhere in the park.

My friends were pale white, but laughing now, as were half
a dozen others in line on either side of us. I think it took a few
moments for Jill to realize that I hadn't screamed like they had.
And that I wasn't nearly as amused by all this as they were. I felt
like the Grinch who stole Halloween.

"That didn't scare you at all?" Jill moaned.

My arms were crossed and had never unfolded as the "specter" attacked us. I replied, "I saw it coming." I nodded behind
Jill and Angela, in the direction the animatronic creature had
come from.

Jill and Angela seemed put out by my inability to be frightened, and I suddenly wondered if my lack of outward enthusiasm might be misinterpreted as being ungrateful for the invite.
I decided to put some effort into perking up for their benefit.

The line moved again just then, and I caught my first glimpse
of the Haunted House as the three of us rounded a corner. "Is that
it?" I asked, doing my best to sound at least a little intimidated
by the looks of it.

Truth be told, it wasn't what I'd expected. With the out-ofcontrol hype surrounding this walk-through "ride," I had pictured
some huge monstrosity made to look like an ornate mansion that
Bela Lugosi might come wafting out of in his full Dracula cape.
I'd imagined seeing candles and creepy old lampposts layered with cobwebs adorning the outer edges of the attraction, a creaking, rusted iron gate that sealed off the property, and a chimney
coughing out black smoke.

Ghost World's Haunted House had none of these things.

The most surprising aspect of it was its size. The Haunted
House was remarkably small, made to resemble a ramshackle
condemned house with no more than five or six rooms. It looked
weathered and old-at least fifty years and seemingly more. It had
only one level, and all its windows were boarded up, with no light
escaping from inside. There was no precision to its appearance;
every part of it looked like the whole structure was barely holding together. The pieces of metal and wood attached to its sides
and roofwere various shades of black or gray or muddy brown. It
looked like something one of the hillbillies in Deliverance might
have cobbled together up on a lonely mountain.

A basic screen door on the side of the house served as
the entrance, resting at the end point of the line in which we
stood.

It was all smoke and mirrors, of course, and I imagined that
the peeling paint around the windows, the chipped mortar, and
rotted wood were some sort of composite materials crafted intentionally to look weathered by decades of decay.

One final sign caught our attention. It read, "YOU MAY
HAVE NIGHT TERRORS."

I had to look away in order to conceal a yawn I couldn't
quite swallow.

A female amusement park worker in a blood-stained white
apron smiled as she handed the three of us complimentary barf
bags with the Ghost Town logo emblazoned on them. "Just in
case," she said cheerfully.

I saw Angela and Jill glance at one another, their faces betraying a severe unease. The Haunted House was less than fifty feet
directly ahead now, and I noticed that it had been intentionally
hidden from visitors out wandering through the park by clever
use of foliage and the wooden fencing surrounding the line to
get in.

No doubt to add to its mystique, I thought.

One of the reasons the line was so long for the Haunted
House ride was that large groups could not enter at one time.
Ghost Town policy was for no more than four individuals to take
the Haunted House tour together, so entrance was staggered as
a few tourists were let in every few minutes.

Jill opted to keep our group to just the three of us, so when
our turn finally came and the dark kitchen door creaked open
by itself, only Jill, Angela, and I stepped inside.