The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror

by Stephen Jones

  “Typical,” he muttered. “Bet all these people are here to look at the park. Won’t be able to move for tripping over them, gawking, taking pictures.”

  “And that makes them different to you – how, exactly?”

  Allan said nothing as he pulled in beside the last one in the row, a dirty Ford Focus with a baby seat in the back. He reached into the back of their own car and fished around for the bag containing his camera and notebook. When he got out, he slammed the door with more force than Linda thought was strictly necessary, although she refrained from commenting.

  The late morning heat was oppressive, like a wet woollen blanket. Linda pushed a limp strand of brown hair behind one ear, then smoothed out her skirt, which felt damp and clammy. Allan glanced at her.

  “Don’t know why you wore that,” he muttered. “Not very practical.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe if you’d told me we’d be climbing over fences and forcing our way through undergrowth I’d’ve worn something more suitable, like Army fatigues and steel-toed boots. Silly me, I thought when you said ‘amusement park’ it meant some place civilized, with a midway and something to eat. My own stupid fault. After all this time I should’ve known better.”

  Allan said nothing. They were here now, and he was determined to make the most of it. Nothing Linda said would get him down. He’d deal with it later, like he always did, try to smooth things over. The main thing at the moment was to figure out a way into the park.

  “Looks as if there might be a door in that fence.” He glanced at the house. “Wouldn’t be surprised if this was built when the park was.”

  “Maybe.” Linda shrugged. She had been looking at the row of cars. “Don’t think you have to worry too much about anyone else beating you to your scoop.” When Allan looked puzzled, she pointed. “Most of these are pretty old. They don’t look like they’ve gone anywhere in years. Someone probably has a spare parts business on the side.”

  Allan looked more closely at the cars, and had to admit that Linda was probably right. They all looked old and battered; at least two of them had flat tyres, and the oldest one – a mid-1970s station wagon at the far end of the row - was so rusted that the car would likely fall to pieces if anyone tried to move it. No competition, he thought with satisfaction.

  Linda’s voice broke in on his thoughts. “So, what’re we going to do? Stand here all day? C’mon, Allan, let’s get this over with.”

  “All right, all right.” He slung the bag over his shoulder. Part of him wanted to head straight to the fence and go in, not bother with anything like permission in case someone tried to stop him, but another part of him knew from experience that it was best to get acknowledgment from someone – anyone – of what he was doing, to save awkwardness later on. Not that something like lack of permission would stop him; he’d just find another way in. He always did. He jerked his head in the direction of the house. “I’m just going to go and make sure it’s okay,” he said, and began walking towards what looked like the main door, at the back of the house facing the park. After a moment Linda followed him.

  There was no doorbell, so Allan rapped on the wooden door, the sound harsh in the still morning air. After a few moments there was a noise from inside, as of footsteps hurrying. A woman’s voice called out anxiously “Bill?”, and the door opened so suddenly that both of them stepped back a pace.

  The woman who stood framed in the peeling paint of the door frame was probably in her early thirties, but looked considerably older: her hair had obviously not been cut for some time, and was streaked with grey, and she wore no make-up on her pale face. She was dressed in a faded T-shirt and skirt, the latter with its hem trailing down at one side and two or three rips, inexpertly mended, threatening to unravel further. A small child – a boy, no more than three or so – was peering from behind her legs, looking half-fearfully, half-hopefully at Allan and Linda. There was a suggestion of more people further down the hallway – a muffled murmur, as of voices whispering – but no one else appeared.

  Allan cleared his throat. “Uh, hi. We were – we were hoping to be able to get into the park, have a look around. Do you think that would be a problem?”

  The woman looked them both up and down. A look almost of disappointment had appeared on her face when she had opened the door and seen them. It was now replaced by one of resignation, and Allan had a sinking feeling that she was going to tell them they couldn’t go in. Some sort of caretaker, he thought, there’s bound to be one. He was taken aback when she said, in a flat voice, “There’s nothing to stop you going in, if you want to.”

  “Really? Wow, that’s – that’s great. Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. It’s got nothing to do with me. Anyone who wants to go in there is free to do so.”

  “Ah. Well, that’s good to know. Are you the caretaker or something?”

  “No. This used to be the caretaker’s house, a long time ago. You can get into the park through there.” She pointed to the door in the fence at the bottom of the yard.

  “I see.” Allan nodded towards the parked cars. “Guess you get a lot of people coming here, wanting to have a look.”

  The woman followed his gaze. “A few. Not many. Those cars are all ours.”

  “‘Ours’?” Allan queried.

  “Yes. The people in this house.”

  “Have you lived here long?”

  “I’ve been here for . . .” The woman paused and her brow furrowed, as if the effort of calculating were a difficult one. “Two years. Maybe. Not as long as some.”

  “I see.” There was a pause, and when it looked set to continue indefinitely Allan said, “So it’s okay if we go in, then? We won’t disturb anything, cause any damage. We’ll let you know when we’re done, if you want, tell you when we’re leaving.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. We’ll know when you’re done.”

  “Ah. Well, that’s – that’s great, then. We’ll see you later.”

  The woman said nothing as they turned and headed towards the door in the fence. They were both conscious of her gaze on them as they made their way through the long grass, although when Linda turned and looked while Allan wrestled with the door in the fence she saw that the woman had gone and the house door was shut. She thought she saw a curtain twitch at one of the lower windows, and there was a suggestion of a figure standing at one of the upstairs windows, but she could not be sure.

  Allan grunted and swore as he struggled with the door, which was jammed shut. “One good thing, it means no one else has been this way for a while,” he said, giving the door a shove. With a creak and a groan it swung open, and Allan almost fell through, recovering his balance at the last moment. He peered through the opening and took a deep breath. She couldn’t see his face, but Linda knew that his eyes were shining and that he had a goofy smile on his face, like a kid getting his first look at the tree on Christmas morning. How can I compete with that? she thought. Before she could block it, out came the answer: You can’t.

  She watched as Allan disappeared through the door, and for a moment thought about not following him, of heading back to the car – she had a spare set of keys in her bag, after all, she could just get in and drive away, leave him here to his precious park, go do something interesting, something she wanted to do, instead of trailing after him as she had so many times, pretending to be interested. He probably wouldn’t even notice she wasn’t there. Then, as she saw him receding into the undergrowth that choked the other side of the fence, Linda took a deep breath of her own and followed him in.

  If she hadn’t known she was in a former amusement park, she would never have guessed. Trees crowded round on all sides and weeds ran rampant. There was the suggestion of a trail, but nothing to indicate what the site had once been, until she was brought up short by Allan stopping suddenly in front of her and muttering “Holy shit, that’s brilliant.” A moment later he was fumbling inside his bag for his camera, and Linda moved around him so that she could see.

  A white sh
ape loomed out of a thicket of buckeyes ahead and to their right. It looked as though the vegetation were trying to seize the building and pull it back in amongst the trees, and it took Linda a moment to realize what it was: a small booth with an overhanging roof and windows on three of the four sides, one of them half-covered with a wooden shutter. The building had once been painted in gay shades of red and yellow, but the paint had faded and peeled, and one side showed signs of scorching. Linda was trying to figure out what it was when Allan spoke.

  “Ticket booth,” he flung over his shoulder. “Great, isn’t it?”

  “Brilliant.” Linda took a step closer. “Why’s it burned?”

  “I dunno. I think there’s a lot of fire damage in the park. People get in, start fires just for the fun of it.”

  “Whatever turns you on, I guess.” Linda tried to picture what the booth would have looked like with children lined up in front, jostling each other as they waited impatiently to buy tickets, coins and crumpled dollar bills clutched in sticky hands, the sounds and smells of the midway assailing and enticing them from all sides, but failed utterly. Nothing of that past remained. Instead of the music and clatter of the rides there was the soft, sad sound of wind through branches; instead of the smell of corn dogs and fried onions and cotton candy there was the scent of grass and dirt and dead leaves. She shivered and moved closer to Allan.

  “Can we go now?” she asked, and he turned to her, startled.

  “What do you mean, go? We only just got here. There’s tons more to see.”

  “I just meant can we move on? How many pictures of a ticket booth do you really need?”

  “Yeah, okay, I see what you mean.” He dug around inside his bag for a moment and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He studied it, twisting it and glancing round him as if trying to orientate himself. “Okay, we came in about here,” he muttered, looking at the paper, “which means that if we head in that direction” – he pointed – “we should hit the midway. C’mon, let’s go.”

  They skirted round the empty booth, Linda casting a backward glance at it as they moved away. The one shutter still in place moved slightly, as if waving at her, and she quickly turned and headed after Allan, who was following a rough path which led deeper into the trees.

  “So, are we headed anywhere in particular, or are we just wandering aimlessly?” Linda’s voice sounded harsh in the silence.

  “Well, I really want to see some of the midway rides. What’s left of them, anyway. That’s where the real interest is.”

  “Interest? You’re kidding me.” Linda waved one hand at the desolation around them. “If there was any interest in this place it wouldn’t be left here to rot. What happened to it, anyway?”

  Allan shrugged. “I don’t know. There’re different stories. There was a big fire in the grand ballroom, when the park was still going, and they had to shut it down for a while, and I think people started drifting away, forgot it was here. And there’s supposed to have been someone who died on one of the rides.”

  Linda stopped in her tracks. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “No, of course not.” Allan stared at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Are we here on another one of your ghost hunts?”

  “No, we’re not here on a ‘ghost hunt’. Honestly, what do you take me for?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. Remember that house you just had to go to on a certain date, and that place – where was it -where that ghost ship was supposed to appear? Took me two days to get warm again, all so you could think that maybe you saw something. That I didn’t see, in case you forgot.”

  Allan shook his head. “Jeez, Linda, would you stop twisting things? All I said was there’s a story about someone dying here on one of the rides. I don’t even know if it’s true. It’s hard to pin down that kind of thing, ’cause these places always try to hush it up if they can. If it did happen, it was a long time ago.”

  Linda looked around. Trees whispered in the faint breeze, and somewhere far off a bird chirped. “Everything here happened a long time ago,” she said flatly. “I’ve never been anywhere so empty.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not that empty.” Allan pointed to their left, and Linda saw a faint glimmer of white. “Lots to see, for those who are interested. Who care.”

  “I care,” Linda muttered. “I care about getting the hell out of here and getting on with our holiday.”

  “I know. You’ve made that clear. Only – well, we’re here now. Let’s just look around a bit more, okay? Please.”

  “Fine. But you owe me, big time.”

  Allan, having gained his point, said nothing, but hurried off in the direction of the blur of white they had seen. Linda, after a moment’s hesitation, followed.

  As they got closer the shape revealed itself as a large building that had once, no doubt, been impressive, but was now in danger of collapsing in on itself. Two blank windows, like eyes, stared out from under a high roof, and what had once been an overhang running the length of the building’s front had had its supports give way and was now hanging limp against the wall. Beside it was another building in even more desperate shape, a tangle of trees and vines choking collapsed timbers, threatening to drag the whole structure into the ground. Allan whistled.

  “This is great.” The camera was out again and he was snapping away. “I’m going to get some brilliant pictures.”

  “Of what?”

  Allan spared her a quick glance. “What d’you mean?”

  “I mean what is it we’re looking at, exactly?”

  “Oh. I see.” Allan considered the buildings, then looked at his plan of the park. “I think this one” – he pointed to the more intact of the two buildings – “was the Bumper Car ride, and the other one was the Fun House.”

  “Some fun.” Linda looked at the battered building and shivered. “Looks like a good stiff breeze would knock it over.”

  “Yeah, I’m lucky I got here before that happened.” Allan headed towards the Bumper Car ride. “I’m gonna take a look inside.”

  “Are you sure that’s safe?” Linda didn’t really want to get any closer to it, but she followed anyway, picking her way through the weeds pushing their way up through the cracked ground.

  “Only one way to find out,” said Allan, his voice muffled as he pushed his way through an opening where several boards had fallen, in to a section that was leaning – dangerously, Linda thought – to one side. “Oh, man, look at this!”

  It took a few moments before Linda’s eyes adjusted to the gloom of the building, which was in stark contrast to the brassy brightness outside. The openings along the sides, which would once have been thronged with onlookers watching the happy mayhem within, were boarded up in places, and in others choked with trees, which stifled the sunlight trying to filter in from without. The floor was covered in dirt and leaves and splintered pieces of wood, and in one corner lay a heap of what looked like broken chairs. Running along the back, across from where they stood, was what had obviously once been a covered gallery: a few shafts of sunlight punched their way through holes in the roof, and cables dangled limp from overhead, the lights they had once supported long gone.

  Allan was picking his way carefully across the floor, pausing every now and then to take a picture. “Jeez, I’d love to find some of the cars,” Linda heard him say. “Wonder what happened to them. Oh, hey, look at this!”

  “What?” Linda had only moved a couple of feet away from where they had entered, and was reluctant to advance any further. The building looked anything but stable.

  “There’s a hole in the floor here. Looks like someone cut through with a chainsaw. I can’t really see much . . . hang on a sec.” He fished around inside his bag and pulled out a flashlight, then shone it through the hole. “Nothing but a load of junk,” he said, disappointed. “Hey, what the . . .” He moved suddenly to his left, trying to angle the flashlight as if to see better, and there was a cracking sound from beneath his feet. He scrambled ba
ckward as Linda retreated to the side of the building.

  “Allan, for heaven’s sake, come away from there. That floor’s probably rotted through. If it gives way you could kill yourself.”

  “No, it’s okay, just something shifting. All right, all right,” – as Linda opened her mouth to protest – “I’m coming back. Nothing much more to see in here anyway.”

  “What was down there?”

  “I told you. A load of junk, dead leaves, that sort of thing.”

  “I thought you saw something else.”

  “No, just shadows, that’s all.” They were back outside, and Linda breathed a bit more freely now that they were on safe ground. “C’mon, I want to check out the Fun House.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Linda glanced at the dilapidated building beside them. “It makes that last one look like a prize home exhibit.”

  Allan said nothing, but walked away around the front of the Fun House, past a rusting, peeling iron rail that led up a concrete slope to where the entrance had apparently been. There was a wire cage beside it half-obscured by trees, and Allan pointed to it.

  “That would have been where the ticket guy sat, probably. Look, you can see the exit sign on the other side of it. Looks like they had another fire here.” Out came the camera. “I’m just going to walk round, see if I can get a better shot.” Before Linda could say anything, Allan disappeared around the corner.

  Linda ran her eyes over the front of the building. The entrance looked almost passable, but the exit was covered with boards clumsily stacked against it. One was slightly askew, as if someone had tried to get in that way, and all showed signs of scorching.

  Too bad the whole thing didn’t go up, thought Linda. Would’ve been an improvement.

  There was a sound behind her, off in the trees, as of a branch snapping. She whirled round, peering into the undergrowth. Nothing moved. “Allan?” she called, rather faintly; then, more loudly, “Allan? Where are you?”