Atop the tallest peak was a balcony, eye level with Andrew’s seat. There was an open doorway. The interior was pitch black. He wondered if there were offices or a meeting room inside but it didn’t ring true in his mind. The place seemed much more archaic than that, like it truly was a medieval castle that had been taken from the dark ages and plopped in the center of an amusement park. There was something about the doorway that made his skin tighten and his hairs straighten, just as badly as when he’d been in his room.
The fear was exhausting, coming at him from both sides. He sat like that for a long time, watching the castle and wondering if anything watched back, turning every so often toward the room and expecting to see Raymond making his way onto the balcony, until he finally nodded off.
When he checked beneath the door again in the morning the feet were gone.
Chapter Eight
The boy was right.
There was something in the castle and it did stare back. It watched from the shadows, barely moving, admiring the boy and the hotel and its kingdom. So much hard work had gone into resurrecting Dream Woods. It seemed thousands of years had passed since the day the gates were closed. But all along, while the rest of the world thought the place was abandoned, gears were turning. Workers were working around the clock to get things back in motion.
The thing watching from the highest doorway, sitting on a throne made of flesh, stitched so exquisitely it looked more like art than death, was once named but was now known only as The Director.
He was in control of this operation. He had led the workers each day, told them to keep pushing around the clock until it was finally time to open once more. It seemed like an endless amount of labor, though it would be worth it in the end. Thousands of families would flock back to Dream Woods once they learned it was open again, though there would be no traditional advertisements. The park would call to those that remembered childhood vacations filled with joy and happiness. Its reach was infinite.
“And what of the park’s reputation?” Doris had asked him a while back. “Do you expect people will forget such things? It won’t matter how much fun they had when they were children when you factor in certain events best left unmentioned.”
The Director had smiled, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Have faith. They will remember only what was good. Happiness has a way of blanketing the darkness. They will return to Dream Woods and they will be children again.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Doris had challenged, one of the brave few who ever dared to question his orders. “What if someone remembers both the good and the bad? What if they come back knowing the truth?”
The Director had nodded, deep in thought. Doris was right, of course. There were certain individuals out there that would see through the veneer, and would know what truly happened at Dream Woods. “Let them come too. We will open our gates for anyone and everyone. They will meet the same fate. They will bleed just as freely.”
Doris seemed satisfied, her uniform of pale flesh stretching wide as the smiled. “You truly are a visionary, sir.”
“No, not a visionary. Just someone who can’t give up on his dreams.”
Tonight the breeze carried the scent of rotting things as it blew into The Director’s chamber. It made him happy. The park’s real face was breaking through. It was almost time.
From behind someone knocked on his chamber door.
“Come in.”
The door opened and heavy footsteps followed, growing closer until they stopped just behind the throne. The Director recognized the footsteps, did not need to turn around to know it was Sebastian, the face of Dream Woods, standing there. The Director could hear all of his workers from miles away, could feel them in his bones, because they were part of him, part of the kingdom.
“Are we running on schedule?” The Director asked.
“Yes,” Sebastian said. His voice had once been high and crackly, uneven to the point the other workers made fun of the poor boy. Now Sebastian was second in command. Should anything happen to The Director, Sebastian would sit upon the throne. Because now there was no boy beneath the flesh and hair. The boy was long gone, transformed into something else.
“And how many visitors are we up to now?”
“One thousand, thirty-two. Slightly below our initial projections.”
“Give it time. More will come tomorrow and the day after.”
“And the rides? The machinery? They will need to be oiled. The workers are hungry as well. It is hard to control ourselves with food walking around.” Sebastian’s breath smelled of carrion. It matched the breeze nicely.
The Director scratched at his face, his claws gouging the dry sandpaper skin. “I understand how difficult it can be to work day and night with such hunger. Perhaps we can begin preparations for the feast. No dinner is complete without a first course.”
“I will relay the message.” Sebastian turned and headed for the door.
“Oh and one more thing,” The Director said.
“Yes?”
“Speak with the recruiters. Make sure we find some new talent. Dream Woods will not last forever without its gifted workers. The more the merrier.”
“Of course.”
The Director thanked him and kept his eyes on what lay beyond his chamber, past the balcony and the rides, past the diligent workers below, toward the hotel across the way. The boy who had been watching had fallen asleep. Who knew what nightmares had woken him but now he dreamed peacefully. He was scared, yes, but there was something else in his eyes, something like curiosity.
The Director wondered if the boy might be their first hire of the season.
Chapter Nine
Regina Michaels sipped her coffee, turned the newspaper page, and spotted a picture of her dead boyfriend. Steven was sprawled out on what looked like a mine car of some sort, his insides mostly outside now. His stomach had been flayed and though the black and white image was blurry, it was clear that his midsection was empty.
His eyes were open, staring.
Regina set her mug down too quickly. It clanged on the saucer and a brown puddle formed beneath. She wiped it up with a napkin and tried to ignore the looks she was suddenly getting. She doubted she would be recognized but you could never be sure. She wasn’t all that famous but she did have fans and, like it or not, she was a public figure now. It would not look good if a mid-list writer had a breakdown in a New York coffee shop.
But this certainly warranted such a reaction. She did the math in her mind, wondered if today was the anniversary of his death. She shook her head. His body had been found in October and it was only mid-July, the heat outside bad enough to make you collapse if you tested its wrath.
Surely no editor would allow such an image to be printed. It was immoral, wrong on plenty of levels. And this was the Herald, not some National Enquirer rip-off. The front page spoke of turmoil in the Middle East, followed by another upcoming recession. These were real stories, not gags or shock pieces. She read the text above the photo, telling herself Steven’s eyes weren’t moving in her peripherals.
She expected to see a write-up on Dream Woods. After all, that’s where Steven had been killed and the mine car belonged to one of the rides, the Haunted Tunnels. It had been one of her least favorite attractions during her tenure at the park and she had noted this many times in her current work-in-progress, a non-fiction piece that would expose Dream Woods for what it really was. Her agent had already told her it was ludicrous. People would think she’d snapped.
Judging by the picture—not to mention everything she’d experienced at Dream Woods—she could not rule insanity out.
The text was not a write-up or an opinion piece. It was not even a remembrance of Steven’s death.
It was an advertisement, a sick and twisted piece of marketing.
Above Steven’s bloodied body there was a headline.
Dream Woods Back Open For Business.
She swallowed, wiped away sweat. It couldn’t be. It was a joke
, that was all. Some sick prank from some sick fuck journalist. Maybe someone had been fired and decided to botch an issue on their way out the door, one last middle finger pointed at management. She ought to call the paper and ask to speak to the editor directly.
But even in her head it sounded false.
“Would you like a refill?”
Regina spun her eyes from the paper to the waitress, a twitchy and bony redhead. She smiled nervously, had probably come over to check on Regina.
The newspaper was still open, Steven’s dead face staring. She moved to turn the page but thought better of it. She cleared her throat. It was hard to speak. “Yes, I’ll have another. Can you do me a favor while you’re at it?”
The waitress nodded. “Of course.”
“Will you tell me what you see on this page? Right here?” Her finger touched the spot where Steven’s stomach should have been. She wondered what had ripped him open and run off with his intestines. It could have been any number of things.
“Excuse me?” The waitress picked up Regina’s mug, her hands shaking.
“On this page, right where I’m pointing to. What do you see?”
“The… the classifieds? Did you mean a specific listing?”
Regina looked at the image again, forced it to disappear so that job postings would replace it. It didn’t work. “You said you see the classifieds?”
The waitress nodded, her lip trembling a bit.
“You see no image, no picture whatsoever? And for that matter, you see no advertisements for a Massachusetts theme park called Dream Woods?”
The waitress opened her eyes wide and shook her head. She looked back at the front counter, perhaps hoping there was a customer there. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid not. It’s just the classifieds. And besides, I’m not sure if you heard but that place closed down years ago. On account of the murders.”
Regina nodded, remembering things she’d once tried to forget, though they were fresh in her mind from the book and even fresher now that they were staring her in the eyes. “Tell me,” she said. “What did you hear happened at Dream Woods? Seems like everyone has their own version of it. Kind of like Roswell when you think about it.”
The waitress shrugged. “Just stories, I guess. I heard lots of people were killed, like there was some kind of massacre. I heard about a cult or something or maybe even a creature, like a New England Bigfoot maybe. I was just a girl when it closed. We used to tell ghost stories about it when we went camping.”
Regina nodded. “I’m sure you did. It’s the perfect subject and the perfect setting for nightmares.”
The girl lingered for a bit, tapping her foot unevenly. “I guess I’ll go get that refill.”
“Actually,” Regina said, taking out her wallet, “I think I’m good. I’ve got some place to be.” She handed the girl a ten, told her to keep the change, and grabbed her purse and the newspaper.
Outside, wincing at the sudden heat and the smell of piss that seemed to emanate from the Manhattan sidewalk, she tossed every page of the newspaper into the nearest trash barrel, save for the advertisement she told herself could not possibly be real.
Dream Woods Back Open For Business.
***
Regina’s agent was difficult to reach by phone. His name was Derek Reynolds and he preferred electronic communication. She’d only met him once, at a conference in Seattle a few years back, and had spoken with him only several times since then. Her output was not what it used to be. The Dream Woods book seemed to be taking forever. His voice was high-pitched, almost comically so, and she supposed that’s why he avoided calls at all cost.
She dialed him anyway. His secretary answered, told Regina Mr. Reynolds would be right with her, and put her on hold. She waited patiently as monotonous background music bored a hole into her skull. She crossed the street, ignoring a few honking taxis.
After what could have been fifteen minutes, Derek picked up. “Hello? Regina?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Is everything okay?” His voice sounded even more clown-like over the phone. She almost felt sorry for him.
“I’m afraid I’ve had a change of plans. I’m going to have to cancel a few appearances, one of which is tonight. And tomorrow night.”
“Jesus, Regina. It’s Saturday and you sold out The Strand. People paid to come see you talk about non-fiction for an hour in New York Fucking City. That in itself is a miracle, and now you want to call it off?”
“I really am sorry, but like I said. Something came up.”
“As in an emergency.”
“As in I was just given a rare opportunity at some research for my book. I think it will make a huge difference.”
Derek sighed. It sounded like a dog whimpering. “And you’re sure you can’t reschedule? I mean, how rare is this opportunity? Did you find someone else who used to work there? Or no, let me guess? The place is open for business again.”
Her skin prickled as she descended the subway steps, the newspaper page still in hand. “Are you kidding me? What’re the chances of that ever happening?”
“Then what the hell is it?”
“I can’t talk about it right now. But just trust me on this.”
She could see him rubbing his eyes and grinding his teeth from here. “Okay, we’ll let them know the bad news.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. Oh and Derek? I might be hard to reach over the next couple of days. The cell reception’s a bit spotty where I’m going.” He started to say something else but she hung up. The nearest car rental shop was ten blocks north. She waited for the subway car, leaning against a pole. Though the street had been packed with pedestrians and tourists, down here it was too silent. Across the platform a mother waited for the train with her daughter. Eight feet to Regina’s left was a man wearing an oversized sweatshirt, the dirty hood covering his face. He spoke to himself without pausing in between words, never seeming to run out of breath.
She looked again at the photo of Steven, poor stupid Steven who she’d told time and time again to stay away from Dream Woods, especially after dark. He had been one of two people to which she’d told the truth, the other one being her therapist, who believed her story was a coping mechanism of some sort, a way to deal with everything that had happened at her workplace. Steven had seemed to believe her. He may have been lying to make her feel less crazy but he’d never said as much. For that alone she had loved him.
But then he’d gone and got himself killed. He’d always considered himself an urban explorer. He’d gather a few friends, grab a few beers, and head to some abandoned location. Sometimes they filmed their trips, even toyed with the idea of pitching a show or starting a club. She had hoped it was just a phase, something he’d eventually grow out of, like a toddler picking at bug bites.
“It’s a good way to run into trouble,” she used to tell him. “These places, they’re not safe. They’re abandoned for a reason.”
“You should know,” he’d say. “You used to work at what is now the mother of all abandoned locations.”
“No. Don’t even start that shit. Promise me you won’t go there. I mean it.”
He would laugh, kiss her forehead. “Of course not. You think I’m crazy?”
No, she hadn’t thought he was crazy. Just stupid. While she’d been visiting a friend back in Boston, he’d taken off. His fellow explorers hadn’t been around so he’d gone solo. She wondered, not for the first time, what really had happened, what he’d seen and if he’d screamed when it came for him. Had it been a quick death or had he suffered in the end? She’d always imagined the former were true but her gut told her differently.
So did his guts. She cursed herself for thinking that way.
His body had not been discovered for several months. Though everyone had told her not to give up hope, she’d known he was dead that night when she’d reported him missing after he hadn’t returned her calls. Love did that to you, got in your head and ate away at you like a psychic disease.
And now the place was back open.
It sounded crazy even in her mind but some internal compartment, some deep crevice of her thoughts, had been expecting this. Some things were so horrible they never truly went away, only faded into the background for a while.
Something moved to her left. It was one of them, one of the many things she’d seen while working at Dream Woods, things that were far from human and could not be described faithfully because they were so unlike anything in the rational world.
It grabbed her arm and readied to drag her away to the Haunted Tunnels.
She cried out, pushed it away, and saw that it was only the man in the hood.
“You still got your admission ticket?” he asked. He held a hand to his mouth and coughed something thick and slimy into it, tossing it to the ground like a reflex. It plopped onto the edge of the platform and dripped off the side toward the tracks.
She stepped backward, hoping the mother across the platform would call for help. “What did you just say?” She stared at the darkness beneath his hood, tried to tell herself it was just skin under there, normal human skin that did not hide anything hideous beneath its layers.
The man reached for his hood, slowly pulled it back.
She tensed, ready to see the truth.
But he was just an ancient man with a snarly beard and rotten skin. “I said you got any change?”
Her heart stopped for a long time and she wondered if she was having a stroke. Eventually it began to beat again and she slipped a shaky hand into her pocket and handed the man a five-dollar bill. It was the only cash she had.
“Appreciate it, ma’am. You have yourself a nice day now, okay?”
She nodded, smiled, relieved yet still on edge.
He headed for the bench, talking to himself much faster now as he entered the stairwell.
Light shone in the tunnel. The subway car appeared and screeched to a halt. She waited patiently while the passengers exited before making her way inside. Much to her shock, she was the only one on her car. It would fill up any moment, she told herself. She prayed for an oncoming tourist or five, perhaps an entire tour group, but there was no one. The car’s brakes unlocked and the doors closed.
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