The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror

by Stephen Jones

  No answer. Damn, she hoped he hadn’t found a way in. The place was ready to collapse. “Allan!” she called, anger giving an edge to her voice. “Allan, come back here!”

  Still nothing. She turned and looked again at the undergrowth, and, as she did so, caught out of the corner of her eye movement inside the wire cage by the Fun House entrance. She swung her head back towards it and could see, between the trees, a figure inside it, half-crouched down as if looking for something. Or trying to hide.

  “Allan! Allan, this isn’t funny. It may have been a Fun House once, but that’s no reason to . . .”

  “Who’re you talking to?”

  Linda spun round. Allan had come up behind her, from the passage between the Fun House and the Bumper Car building. “Is there someone here?”

  “No, I . . .” Linda looked back at the wire cage. The trees shifted in the wind, almost as if obliging her, and she could see that it was empty. “I thought there was someone in there, that you were playing a joke.”

  “Not me. The only way to get in there is from inside the building, and I can’t find any way in that looks safe.” He sounded regretful. “Got some good pictures, though.”

  “Oh, well, as long as you’ve got some good pictures then everything’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “What’s wrong?” Allan sounded genuinely puzzled.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just getting tired of poking around old buildings that should’ve been pulled down years ago, that’s all. Like that abandoned factory two months ago, where I got that gash on my knee. Thought I was going to need stitches.”

  “Well, you didn’t, did you?” pointed out Allan, in a reasonable tone that set Linda’s teeth on edge. “Okay, c’mon, let’s see what else we can find.”

  “More abandoned buildings, probably. Thrilling. Let’s face it: you’ve seen one, you’ve pretty much seen them all.”

  “I guess.” Allan didn’t sound convinced. “But there’s more here than just empty buildings; lots of rides still on the site. One site I found said that there’s a Tumble Bug ride somewhere. There are only four in existence still.”

  Linda stared at him. “You know, I’ve been trailing after you to places like this for three years now, but you never cease to amaze me. You’re thirty-two, for God’s sake, Allan. Shouldn’t you have grown out of this sort of thing? Going around looking at all this shit that no one except you and a handful of other people care about? Children’s rides! Why?”

  “Because – well, because I like it, that’s why!” He shook his head. “What’s not to like? It’s all a part of our past, and it’s disappearing, and unless people like me find it, see it, photograph it, it’ll be as if it never existed. It’ll just be pictures in books that no one looks at.” He gestured at the expanse of greenery around them, the forlorn buildings behind them. “This used to be an amusement park. Not just that, it was the midway, the heart of the whole place. Can’t you picture it the way it would have been fifty years ago, with kids, families, music playing, the smell of fried onions, the sound of the rides? All those children, almost sick with excitement at the thought of a day at White Lake Park? All the happiness that was here once? Someone has to remember it, otherwise it might as well never have been.”

  Linda started to say something, but was stopped by the look on Allan’s face. He looked like a big kid himself; in the car, on the drive out to the park, his face had worn the expression of a child anticipating a major treat. She sighed instead, and made a You win gesture with her hands. “I don’t want to be here all day, Allan, okay? It’s too hot, and this place gives me the creeps.”

  “Yeah, what was it that spooked you so much back there?” Allan gestured at the Fun House.

  “I told you. I thought I saw someone in that wire cage thing.” She recalled something else. “And before that I thought I heard someone in the bushes over there.” She pointed.

  “Really?” Glad to be back on neutral territory, Allan took a few steps in that direction. “Over here?”

  “Yeah. Look, it was probably just the wind or a squirrel or something. Forget it.”

  “No, hang on a minute . . .” Allan moved away through the trees, and it did not take many steps before he appeared to be swallowed up by the foliage. Linda waited for a moment, staring intently at where he had vanished. Suddenly she heard a choked cry, followed by a short laugh. “Hey, Linda, come here. I found your intruder.”

  “What? Allan, this isn’t funny.”

  “No, honest.” He reappeared between the trees. “Come look.”

  She followed him into the undergrowth, peering nervously around her. Allan motioned to a dense clump of maple saplings. “Come and see.” Gingerly she stepped forward, and parted the lower branches; then jumped backward with a screech.

  A face was leering at her: livid and fierce, vivid reds and too-pale whites. It took a moment for her to register what it was, and when she did she turned on Allan in anger.

  “You bastard! You knew I’d jump, that it’d scare me half to death. Jerk.”

  It was a wooden sign, in the shape of a clown. Out of the garish red mouth came a speech balloon, inside which were the words YOU MUST BE THIS TALL TO RIDE THIS RIDE. One

  of the clown’s arms had obviously indicated the height requirement, but it had vanished, and only a jagged stump bleeding splinters remained.

  Allan raised his arms in a would-be placating gesture. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would make you jump like that. Startled me, too, but look.” He pointed further into the trees, and Linda unwillingly looked in that direction, her heart still pounding. She could vaguely make out, in the undergrowth, metal shapes, trees growing through and around them.

  “What is it?”

  Allan had set off in the direction of the shapes. “I think it’s the – yeah, it’s the Flying Cages!” he called over his shoulder. “Man, I’ve never seen one of these rides. Read about them, though. Used to be in the touring carnivals that went round the county fairs and things, but you don’t see them anymore.”

  When she got closer, Linda wondered why anyone had bothered in the first place. The ride seemed to consist of four large metal cages, each one originally a different colour, although the paint had faded and chipped away, leaving only a few traces on the metalwork. One of the cars still had remnants of pale blue cloth trailing from the sides, and Allan nodded.

  “That would have been where the cages were padded,” he said. He went up to the nearest one and gave it a push. There was a harsh squealing noise and the cage began to move slightly, and Allan gave it another, harder push. It rocked back and forth for a few moments, the framework which supported it groaning in protest at the unexpected movement. After a few moments its movements stilled and it came to rest once more, and there was silence.

  “Wow, it still works. This one, anyway.”

  “Is that all it did? Swung back and forth?”

  “I think so. Like I said, I’ve never actually seen one before.”

  “Guess those really were simpler times.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Linda. A lot of rides look pretty tame from the ground, but when you’re in ’em they’re terrifying. That whole loss-of-control thing. I mean, imagine being in one of these, it’s swinging back and forth, higher and higher, faster and faster, and there’s music playing, and you’re bouncing from side to side, trying not to lose your balance, watching the ground come at you, people screaming, yelling . . . it’s a real rush.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. That kind of thing never appealed much to me. I like to keep my feet on the ground. Even when I was a kid I didn’t like to . . . hey, are you listening?”

  Allan had turned his head suddenly, and was gazing back the way they had come. When Linda repeated her question he turned back to her with a start, as if only just remembering she were there.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked, puzzled.

  “What? I didn’t hear anything.”

  “I heard – well, I thought I heard
music.”

  “Music?” Linda stared at him. “No, I didn’t hear any music. Maybe someone’s car stereo turned up, or music from a nearby house.”

  “No.” Allan shook his head. “It almost sounded like . . . I don’t know, like old-fashioned calliope music.” When Linda looked puzzled, he said impatiently, “You know, like on a carousel. A merry-go-round.”

  “Nope. Didn’t hear anything like that.” She gave a short laugh. “What a pair. I see things, you hear things. Maybe it’s time to leave.”

  “No. Not yet. There’s too much more I want to see.”

  Linda glanced at her watch, then at the sun overhead. “Okay, Allan. But not too much longer. And no more scares, right?”

  “Right.”

  They headed back the way they’d come, Linda carefully not looking at where she knew the clown stood. Once back in front of the Fun House they stopped, and Allan looked at his plan.

  “This way, I think,” he said.

  “You think? Where’re we going now?”

  “Further along the midway.”

  “Looking for your Stumble Bugs?”

  “Tumble Bugs,” he said impatiently. “No, well, yes. I mean, I want to see them, obviously—”

  “Obviously.”

  “But there’s lots of stuff here I want to see. I just want to wander down the midway, see what we find.” And he set off, once more leaving Linda to trail behind.

  They walked for thirty yards or so, Linda looking over her shoulder now and then to see where they’d come from. She wanted to be sure they knew how to get out again when Allan finally got tired and called it a day. She also couldn’t quite shake the feeling that they were being followed, and she wondered if the woman at the house had tipped someone off that they were in there. She was glancing over her shoulder again – was that someone moving back behind a tree, just out of sight? – when Allan stopped dead and she stumbled against him. She was about to say something when he shushed her and pointed to their right.

  “What is it?” she asked, any urge she might have had to say “Sorry” gone, but he merely made a shushing noise and pointed again. She looked in that direction, but even then it was a few moments before she realized what she was looking at.

  “Ferris Wheel,” Allan whispered. “Wonderful!” And he was off, camera raised, leaving Linda to stand and stare.

  It had been a Ferris Wheel, once, but now it was a shell of its former self. They were sideways on to it and she could see the outer rings which had once supported the cars, which were gone. Trees grew up and through the Wheel’s structure, and it looked like a giant child’s toy suspended in the branches, ready to break free and roll away in a heavy wind. She would not even have seen it had Allan not pointed it out, and Linda shivered, wondering what else was in the trees, then hurried to catch up to Allan, who was at the base of the Wheel, staring at it in admiration.

  “This is incredible,” he said, turning to her, eyes aglow. “I had no idea there was so much of it left. Amazing.”

  “Wonderful.” She gazed up through the branches to where the Wheel sat silently above them. “This place is like a graveyard. No, it’s like a morgue, full of dead bodies. Couldn’t someone have given them a decent burial, at least?”

  Allan shrugged. “Probably cost too much. Cheaper to leave it here than break it up and haul it out.” He raised the camera again. “Just a few more shots.”

  “I’ve heard that song before,” Linda muttered, but stood while he took a few more pictures, stopping every now and then to throw out some comment that she only half-heard. She glanced back the way they had come, and there it was again; that faint trace of movement at the corner of her eye, as of someone ducking out of sight. She shook her head. If someone had tipped off the police then the cops wouldn’t be hiding behind trees.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Allan was beside her, his eyes sparkling, his face happier than she had seen it in some time. “I’ve got a real treat for you now. No” – he raised a finger to his lips – “I’m not going to tell you. You’ll see for yourself. We’re almost there. It wasn’t too far from the Ferris Wheel.”

  They walked back to the cracked surface of what Linda supposed had been the main course of the midway, and had not gone far before Allan stopped. “There,” he said proudly, as if he had conjured it up out of mid-air in a spectacular piece of magic, and Linda saw the Coaster.

  It had looked impressive and faintly menacing from the road, but now, close to, it was even more startling. They were standing near one end – the turnaround, Linda knew it was called – and could just make out the rest of the structure stretching out through the trees, dipping and twisting. Allan, of course, had his camera up, and Linda gazed at him for a moment, wondering how a person could be so enthusiastic about something like this. She had been wondering for three years now, and was beginning to think the question would never be answered; at least not in a way she would ever understand.

  Her gaze fell to the uneven surface in front of them. The sun was at their back and she could see her own shadow, clear and sharp, on the ground in front of her. Her eyes flicked to the ground in front of Allan, and she noted that his own shadow was much less distinct. Some trick of the light, or the ground she thought, and was about to say something when she caught her breath with a hiss.

  There was a third shadow stretched out in front of them.

  It was clearly the head and shoulders of someone – a man, she thought – who appeared to be standing roughly equidistant between her and Allan, and slightly behind them. She turned her head so suddenly that she felt something pop between her shoulders.

  There was no one there.

  When she looked forward again, the shadow was gone.

  She blinked and shook her head, her eyes darting from side to side. She had seen it, as clearly as she had seen their own shadows but it couldn’t have been there. She told herself that, firmly, as she followed Allan towards the Coaster, which seemed to emerge from the trees the closer they got to it, as if shaking itself off like a dog coming out of water. Allan was in such a fever of excitement that Linda was surprised he could keep the camera steady as he darted about, taking pictures from every angle.

  “Oh, man, this is incredible. I had no idea it was in this good a state!” He looked up at the wooden struts which now rose above them, criss-crossing, supporting the track, which looked to be intact. “Amazing. Almost looks operational. Wouldn’t be surprised to see a car coming along the tracks.”

  Linda knew that he was seeing a different Coaster to the one she was looking at; one without maples choking the tracks, or dead trees leaning drunkenly against the supports of the first turnaround, one where guard rails weren’t missing and footings weren’t rotting and sinking into the muddy earth. To Allan, she knew, it looked as it had in its heyday, a place of happiness and excitement and laughter, and for a moment she wished she could see it through his eyes. Before she could say anything, however, he was off again, heading towards a long, low building with an arched roof at the far end of the track, calling “Loading station!” over his shoulder as he went.

  Linda picked her way through the trees, cursing as something caught at her skirt. It took her a few moments to work it free, and when she looked up Allan was gone. On the archway over the entrance she could make out the word COASTER, or at least what remained of it. Some of the letters had fallen off, and what was left was the word COST, with only shadows of the other letters marking where they had once stood.

  She dropped her eyes, trying to see into the station, but all she could make out was a suggestion of railings, with a bench at one side. It was full of shadows, and she wished again that she could see it as Allan did.

  She was suddenly aware of how exposed she must look, alone and vulnerable, and her eyes automatically raked the undergrowth around her, which seemed full of movement, although when her eyes fell directly on a spot there was nothing to be seen. She thought she saw someone move quickly behind a small outbuilding on the far side
of the track, by the dips, and remembered her earlier impression of being followed. If there was someone else in the park, she definitely didn’t want to be there by herself, so even though she had no desire to go inside the station she trudged towards it and climbed the cracked ramp leading up from ground level.

  Within it was cooler, and she could smell rotted leaves and damp earth and something else, something more pungent, less wholesome. She did not want to think about what it was. From outside came the sound of a voice, and her immediate thought was Allan, calling her; but after a moment she realized that it didn’t sound like Allan at all, certainly not him calling her, more like someone having a conversation. The contrast between the dimness inside and the sunshine outside meant she could see little beyond the station, and she made her way down the platform towards the sound of the voice, noting the rails still standing primly alongside the track, the faded yellow line on the concrete indicating where those waiting had had to stand, the brake levers standing at odd angles like thin tombstones.

  Something skittered under one of the benches. A leaf, or maybe a mouse, she told herself, and hurried forward.

  There was movement from outside the station, but when she emerged there was no one in sight. She stared, wondering where Allan could have got to. She looked down what she knew was the brake run, and could see more maples and buckeyes poking between the rails, but there was no sign of Allan. She was about to call out when she heard his voice behind her, down at the other end of the platform.

  “What’re you doing down there? Come here! You’ve got to see this – it’s great!”

  Linda had turned in the direction of his voice, and now whipped her head back round, gazing down the brake run once more. No one was there, of course, and yet . . . She shook her head, surprised to find herself on the verge of tears. She didn’t understand what was going on, and she wanted to run, bolt like an animal, back to the car, get the hell out of Dodge . . .