Monday, October 24, 2016

Story Time: The Shortcut

By Mark Ivan Cole
(Stream-of-consciousness illustration by the author)
Why do we assume that abandoned amusement parks are haunted? It’s a cliché, really, a trope, a cheap setup. Just say “abandoned amusement park” and we instantly expect cannibalistic clowns, feral Ferris wheels, horrifying halls of mirrors, and murderous merry-go-rounds. The ease with which these things alliterate is a dead giveaway.
Surely, this particular abandoned amusement park was not haunted. Surely the age-old “it was a stormy night and my car broke down so I took the shortcut” was just a plot device for a campfire tale. But it was storming, and my car had broken down, and going through the abandoned amusement park was a shortcut. Of course it was.
I probably shouldn’t have bothered with the shortcut since I was already soaked to the skin. Climbing the wall wasn’t too bad, but I landed in the brambles on the other side. I tore my pants and shirt and was pretty scratched up by the time I extricated myself. Now I wasn’t just cold and wet; I was muddy and bloody, too. Quite a sight, I suppose, considering I’d just come from what was supposed to have been a nice, quiet Halloween party.
I don’t drink much. Anything that messes with my head makes me nervous. I steered clear of the spiked punch after one small glass. Still, parties deteriorate quickly for the only sober guest. I hung around for half an hour, hoping the storm would subside, but when the host wheeled out some clothes racks, and costumes started getting passed around, I quickly made my escape. Nobody noticed me driving away in the rain. I should have been home free.
Did you know that lightning can fry the electrical system of a modern automobile? It fried my cellphone, too. I suppose I shouldn’t have been charging it but I didn’t expect to get struck by lightning. Who does?
I sat in the car for a long time, waiting for the storm to die down. It didn’t. I got impatient. I figured if I wasn’t electrocuted when I touched the door handle, I was probably okay. I didn’t die, but I was drenched almost as soon as I exited the vehicle. By the time I got over the wall, I was a walking disaster.
They say misery loves company. I disagree, especially inside an abandoned amusement park on a stormy night. I just wanted to get through there without meeting any ghoulies or ghosties or long-leggedy beasties or things that go bump in the night. I used to run steeplechase back in college, but I can’t go that fast in the dark. It’s hard to see anything close by when the nearest streetlights are all the way on the other side of the park, outside the wall. I doddered forward like a decrepit zombie, uncertain where to step next. Periodic lightning strobe-lit everything, giving me random fleeting glimpses of rusted-out thrill rides and decaying concession stands. One doesn’t realize how garishly these things are decorated until their peeling paint is illuminated in a flash like that.
I kept reminding myself that this was all some cosmic joke. I reminded myself again after I lost first one penny loafer and then the other in the sucking mud. The socks were next. It hardly mattered. I was getting close to the gate now.
After my wall-climbing debacle, I wasn’t sure how I would get out. The huge, iron gate was locked from the outside, of course. The chain hadn’t rusted enough to be yanked apart, and I didn’t happen to have any bolt cutters. I had to climb again, this time without shoes.
That proved difficult. They don’t make gates to be climbed over easily. One would think that they might be less concerned about people trying to get out, though. I suppose the few horizontal supports on this side were evidence of that. I tore some tender skin trying to get purchase on those little toeholds. Desperation overcomes all kinds of pain.
Once up there, though, I had to negotiate the spear tips on top. I could see a bit better now that I was within range of the streetlights’ sulfuric glow. There was just enough room for me to ease over the spiky bits while hanging, sloth-like, from the skeletal arch that used to support the welcome sign. I almost made it. My wet trouser leg got snagged and ripped stem to stern as I crossed over. I suffered a bit of a gash, too, but I was glad to be mostly out of the park.
Shaking, I clung to the gate, looking for a safe way down to the sidewalk. There wasn’t one. My grip failed and down I went. If my feet hurt before, they hurt worse now. So did my knees, my hip, my elbow and my palm. Somehow, I avoided slamming my head on the concrete. Lucky me.
I limped to the streetlight, hoping to hitch a ride. Apparently, everyone smart enough to stay home had done so. I seemed to remember there being a bus stop near here somewhere, so I staggered on down the sidewalk.
Headlights coming up from behind threw my shadow ahead of me. I pivoted awkwardly and stuck out my thumb. The car slowed a bit, but before I could be grateful, the engine roared and the car zoomed past, spraying me with roadside runoff. I think I cursed.
I don’t know how far I dragged myself. At some point, I remember a pickup truck pulling up beside me.
“You need a ride?” someone yelled. A guy. Sounded all right.
I made noises to the affirmative.
The passenger door opened and the light came on inside the cab.
I couldn’t see the driver. All I could see was the passenger holding the door open. Bright orange, frizzy hair rimmed an otherwise bald head that was too white, even for a Caucasian. Wild eyebrows arched wickedly over heavily shadowed eyes. A bulbous, red blotch of a nose hung above a nasty, toothy grin that split the face literally from ear to ear.
“Get in!” yelled the clown, still holding the door open. “Get in!”
Did I mention I ran track in college? I came in fourth in the steeplechase my junior year. That was the closest I ever got to the winners’ stand. On this night, though, inspired by such an invitation, I probably would have come in first. For all I know, I outran a pickup truck. Not until I was standing in my apartment, still shaking, did I remember it was Halloween.
Hell of a costume, buddy. Hell of a costume.

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