Dark Hallows II: Tales from the Witching Hour

by Mark Parker

  All of them were empty.

  Her weary eyes fell to the metal turnstiles, and she realized that her hand was automatically rubbing her stomach through her damp tank top. Again, her memory failed her as she took a tentative step forward, but she had an inclination.

  Was this part of that day? Did I bump my hip before the shit hit the fan?

  Is she trying to remind me in her own sick way?

  Glancing at the empty booths, Katrina hopped the barrier, avoiding the cold metal bars altogether. She landed gently on her feet, the gym bag slapping her side with a clunk. She couldn’t help but smile at the small victory, yet couldn’t pry her eyes from the empty, shadowy booths. They seemed vast, almost, larger and sharper at the edges, and their appearance made her wince, like a simple touch of the wooden huts could separate flesh from bone with ease. It reminded her of that menacing hesitation when seeing a wicked blade or something so sharp it forced your common sense to approach with extreme caution.

  Then, she wasn’t looking at the edges or the shapes. She was gazing through the misted glass at the shadows within, murky recesses that contained high leaflet holders and a small locker and a key holder. They remained still and silent, almost grey behind the protective glass.

  At any second, she expected the man with the grotesque lopsided face to appear and smile at her, an action that only lifted the right-side of his face, a movement that merely tweaked the shiny, puffy scar tissue, like some hideous fleshy mask. His smile was innocent, she was sure of that, but nothing filled her with more dread at that exact moment, not in recent memory anyway. She shivered and blinked her wide eyes as they ricocheted in their sockets.

  But he didn’t appear, unlike her nightmares. There, in the never-ending misery of her fractured dream state, he was a constant figment of the confusion, the demonic gatekeeper to this unknowing hellhole. Katrina swallowed and realized she was sweating, the perspiration dripping off her warm chin despite the cool evening breeze and her state of minimal dress. Ironically, she rubbed her thighs to usher the goose flesh away.

  Backing away from the booths, she prepared to enter Whisper World.

  "This is where is all began," she said to herself, the sound of her voice a little comforting.

  As she took her first steps forward, she saw a triangular sign embedded in a small patch of manicured grass. Wooden slats pointed in several directions, and Katrina lifted her eyes to gain her bearings, despite recalling every inch of the theme park in her mind. Her sense of direction was usually inept at best, and mostly controlled by satellite navigation, but Whisper World…it was as if she created it, designed it. She knew every single path, every nook and cranny, every entrance and exit. She couldn’t get lost, and she wasn’t entirely sure why, but she knew her way around the attraction with the utmost certainty.

  Another one of her games? Likely.

  Still, despite her mysterious knowledge of the park's layout, Katrina located the sign that read RIDES and followed it, veering off to the left. For some reason, right at that moment, she didn’t trust anything that her fragile mind told her.

  But why trust the park? Any of it could be an illusion.

  Her games and tricks will guarantee that.

  The better of two evils. Either way, she wants me to come. I'll find her, I'm sure of it.

  Katrina followed the looping path, the rides rising up before her as the pavement dipped into a recess lined with pristine flowerbeds. Red and blue and pink petals caught her eye and made her feel serene in the muted madness of the park itself. She noticed the occasional expired jack-o'-lantern embedded between the plants, the orange pumpkin faces staring like corpses. Halloween decorations tied to lampposts and furniture whipped and whistled on the slight breeze. Being alone in this place was truly awe-inspiring and wonderful, yet creepy at the same time. She spun on the spot, taking in the empty surroundings, and felt a hard shiver crawl up her spine.

  The rides stood still. No twirling of the carousel, no spinning of the teacups, no roar of a rollercoaster. The drop tower was nothing but a tall metal stick, the seats that slide up and down rooted to its base, itself hidden behind some clown-shaped hedges. Everything was silent, stoic, unattended. The silence was deafening.

  Katrina rubbed her arms and moved on.

  The path ascended again, and within seconds she was in the center of the park, a huge circular hub of concrete painted with colorful patterns. Katrina narrowed her eyes and pictured droves of people milling around—children laughing, adults instructing, families enjoying themselves, park employees going about their business. She imagined the smells of cotton candy and sweat, the sounds of annoyance and frustration combined with pure exhilaration and joy. The usual theme park soundtrack.

  Katrina closed her eyes, and for a second she could hear those noises, could feel the atmosphere of the park. She remembered that fateful day, the day that seemed to haunt her dreams, the day that had, in her own mind, brought her back here. The slivers of memory from that day were everywhere, from her clothes and the weather, to remembering certain people and the rides she partook in.

  To remembering Abby.

  She opened her eyes, and wiped away a tear. Nothing had changed.

  And then the dodgems behind her sparked to life, the music grinding from dead to excitable within seconds, the lights flickering on and illuminating the dull space before her. Katrina glanced up and realized the sun was now setting. Darkness would soon fall.

  The rectangular ride lit up, displaying the white floor marked with thousands of almost invisible scratches. The bumper cars—a mixture of red, gold and blue—were placed around the edge of the structure, their seats level with the entrance of the ride. Katrina imagined a queue that rolled around it, hundreds of people long. She'd seen one before, every time she attended the park, so the complete isolation of the ride was a small shock.

  She almost missed it when a dodgem shot forward and crashed into the siding, inches from her shivering frame.

  CRASH.

  Katrina stumbled backward as a second car followed suit. CRASH. And another. CRASH. Composing herself, she noticed that all of the cars were now throbbing with electricity, ready to drive forward at any given moment. She distanced herself from the ride and backed away.

  Which is when the carousel started up.

  And the rollercoaster, its cars empty as they climbed the steep slope at the beginning of the ride. The spiking ratchet of the wheels felt like knives piercing her eardrums. She clapped her hands to them, and felt her sanity slip.

  What do you want?!

  I can't hear you, came the reply, a ghostly voice that danced across the chaos of the now active theme park. It wasn't a voice, no, it was inside her mind, like a conversation remembered from years gone by. But she remembered the voice, no, the internal speech, and it wasn’t anything she recognized. She shook her head.

  No. There's no way…

  It wasn’t Abby, it couldn’t be, but she knew in her thumping heart that it was.

  What do—?

  Katrina breathed in and swallowed, realizing her internal thoughts weren't strong enough. She took one step forward. "What do you want?"

  The rides ceased. The lights and music remained, playing on an incessant loop that usually became an afterthought as you perused the park with your family on an average day out, but was the only single noise that now wrapped itself around Katrina's world. Confident that her question had worked, or attained the attention of whatever was doing this to her, she repeated herself.

  "What do you want?" she said, her eyes flicking to the suddenly stoic rides.

  "You," came the ghostly reply, a voice that hummed and throbbed through the music, a voice that didn’t sound human, but couldn’t possibly come from any other species. "You."

  The rides started up again, stuttering to life after their brief respite.

  Katrina swallowed, and swiped her slick forehead with the back of her hand. She was about to speak once more, but found that she couldn’t�
��a primitive fear prevented her from uttering a word. She backed up a step and turned around.

  And stumbled over something in her path.

  Katrina regained her balance quickly, her shoes scuffing at the concrete as she straightened up. Quickly glancing left and right, to confirm she was alone, she knelt down and placed her fingertips on the cool walkway.

  A sodden teddy bear lay on the scratched concrete, and Katrina stared, a tickle of familiarity stroking at the base of her brain. It was Pepsi, Abby's beloved friend, so called because of his dark-brown fur and, according to Abby in one of her many mature moments, his bubbly personality. A smile of remembrance touched her chapped lips; Abby took him everywhere, usually carrying him by the left arm, smiling as she did so. They were inseparable—once, anyway.

  Abby used to take him everywhere…before. Before.

  Before what?

  This?

  Yes, before everything.

  Which is why she gasped when she finally broke through the cloud of memory and noticed the condition of the beloved toy.

  Pepsi's left arm was torn from its drenched body, discarded a few feet to its side. As Katrina moved in, she groaned. Dark blood leaked from the tattered hole, the white fluff usually associated with such a toy mishap replaced by actual sinew and torn muscle. The blood pumped from within, weak and slow, onto the concrete.

  No way. You're imagining this.

  She noticed the bear's chest was moving slowly, breathing. Hesitant and stupefied, she placed a fingertip onto the pulsating fur and felt it move, felt its slickness push against her minimal resistance.

  In the early days of motherhood, Abby used to sleep on her mother's bosom, a part of the bonding experience between mother and daughter, and this reminded her of that, took her back to that moment. Katrina recalled the slow rise and fall of Abby's young chest, the innocence of such a beautiful act that was now frowned upon in the over-PC society of today. Her eyes widened as she realized what she was watching, and tried to consider the impossibility of such a thing.

  There's no way…

  And then Pepsi's head turned to look at her, the beady eyes dead and lifeless, yet foreboding and terrifying all at once. There was a swilling darkness in those beads, not unlike the soft drink of its namesake, an empty abyss of futile despair and humility, shadows etched through utter torment and tragedy. Katrina thought she saw the toy smile, saw the fur on its face rip and stretch into a grimace of pain or misery or sadistic joy, or all of the above.

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her eyelids, putting pressure on the orbs beneath.

  It's another one of her tricks, just another one of her tricks.

  Katrina opened her eyes and looked at the bear.

  It no longer breathed, and Pepsi simply stared off into the distance. The drenched toy remained still, one limb missing as before, its white fluff now spewing onto the concrete, and wobbling on the humid breeze. There was no blood, no torn muscle, and no smile.

  Wait a minute…

  Katrina narrowed her eyes and looked at the pavement beside it. An elongated arrow was etched in pink chalk, a color that appeared bright considering the surroundings. It pointed off to the right. Katrina looked up and located the path that followed. Finding another triangular sign for reference, the indicator stated ARCADES.

  Katrina smiled.

  Huh. Abby's favorite part of the park.

  Fancy that.

  Katrina straightened up and wiped her fingertips on her rump. She winced as one of her knees clicked back into place. It had been a while since her daily treadmill routine, months in fact. It seemed her body was now suffering for her negligence.

  The weary woman started toward the arcades, her fragile mind a mixture of raw emotions. She rubbed her temple, hoping her sanity would hold out, hoping it would stay firm until she finished this…whatever this was. Katrina glanced up at the moving rides and tuned into the melodic hypnotism of their musical call, and found herself captivated by the majestic aura of it all. Her eyes wobbled as the roaming lights flecked across their shiny surface, her lips trembled against the stifling air, and her brain pushed at a door of remembrance once more, a memory that fought to stay hidden in the depths of her mind for some unknown reason. Protection of her sanity, perhaps? Or was the memory so devastating it could derail her completely?

  She looked back at Pepsi, and frowned when she noticed the bear was gone.

  Katrina continued her walk and entered a triangular courtyard flanked by colorful buildings. The arcade, a wide blue building with red and white stripes on its slanted roof and a circular yaw of an entrance, was lit up by hundreds of arcade machines. Some lined the exterior, mostly claw and prize machines—50p a go, or three attempts for £1—that enticed the unfortunate and gullible. Within, Katrina saw hundreds of popular gaming machines including Super Mario Kart, Mortal Kombat and Guitar Hero. Each colorful screen danced in silence, their movements designed to tempt the go-lucky punter. Tonight, their luck was out. She was neither a gamer, nor feeling go-lucky. She sneered at the building and turned to the right.

  A replica building stood off to the left, albeit with slightly different games and amusements, but it wasn’t these buildings she had come for. Abby had been a sensible child, not one easily distracted by the lure of a screen, like most children of her generation.

  No, Katrina walked over to the Hook-a-Duck stand, a circular tent-like monstrosity lined with all manner of fluffy toys and tempting prizes. Within, she saw a circular pool with yellow ducks, their heads bobbing and wobbling on the false current beneath.

  She passed the stand, a little disorientated. I'm sure it was…

  Ah, there it is.

  Passing the tent with little focus, and skipping around some overgrown weeds that blocked her way, she emerged on an open pathway that branched into four, a staggered cross of possibilities. Several attractions lined a high piece of fence that backed onto the Ferris wheel, with two paths either side, and although these games were her initial destination, her eyes wandered.

  Katrina frowned and noticed that the path was now cracked in multiple places. Wild green intruders were protruding from beneath the concrete, spiking up into her path. The faint whiff of decay and age tickled her nostrils. She looked back at the arcade building and saw faded flaking paint, chipped wood, broken arcade machines devoid of toys, and a hole in the roof that wasn’t there before. The Hook-a-Duck tent was now closed, the metal shutters battered with neglect and faded graffiti.

  As if the park was changing around her, aging before her very eyes.

  Katrina swallowed. That's not good.

  She stepped in front of the Test Your Strength machine, a fond favorite of Abby's. The young girl had been an eager fan of science, so this game had been particularly interesting to her. Abby had been convinced that she could win with minimal strength, it was all about the positioning of the strike, something to do with force equals mass times acceleration…something or another. Katrina wasn't sure, but smiled; she'd never been one for complex talk like that.

  Abby, though? She was something else. A child prodigy, she was sure of it.

  Out of curiosity, Katrina pushed the red button. The machine dinged, its lights circled above her, and the red leather punch bag lowered into position. Breathing out and relaxing, Katrina swung a punch and landed dead center, smashing the bag back into the machine with a thunk. The scale behind it lit up until it was two-thirds to the top, through the red and orange and tipping toward the green. The lights subsided, and a heinous clown laugh erupted from the machine, making her jump, a sound that indicated she'd failed.

  Despite the situation, Katrina smiled.

  She'd spent hours on this machine with Abby. The girl had never won in her attempts, but every time she tried, she improved, notching the scale slightly higher. Maybe there was something to her scientific belief, after all.

  One more go? Punch that clown's lights out.

  Maybe this is what Abby wants?

  Katrina pu
shed the button again, and this time stood prepared in a boxer's stance. The machine dinged, the lights circled.

  C'mon, you piece of shit, she thought.

  The decapitated human head that lowered from the machine made her scream.

  Katrina fell backward, landed on her rump, and scuffed the backs of her thighs against the concrete. She winced, hissing through her teeth. She couldn’t take her eyes off the mutilation before her.

  Then, she recognized the severed head, its bloated, pasty skin and bloodied stump vibrant in the dancing lights of the machine. The eyes were closed, the lips parted in a macabre death squeal. A huge gash in the forehead showed some slick skull and a little brain. A creamy maggot writhed in the hole and slipped out, hitting the pavement below. More followed, dropping from the savage hole in a rhythmic pattern. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Katrina slapped a hand to her mouth. Tears streamed down her face.

  "B-B-Ben?"

  The woman climbed to her feet again, ignoring the abrasions on the backs of her thighs. She took one step closer, scrutinized the severed head of her late husband, and shook her head in disbelief. She reached out a hand, stopped inches from the dead flesh, and then retracted it. She sobbed, and wiped her eyes with a trembling hand.

  "You always were a snivelling bitch."

  Katrina flinched, looking for the source of the sudden voice. She spun on the spot, her hands out in front of her as a weak defense. Completing a full circle, she stared at the head again.

  Ben's dead eyes were open. As was his mouth.

  "Stop fucking crying. You've been nothing but a disappointment to me."

  "B-B-Ben. What?"

  "You heard me. A failure as a wife, that's what you were. I wanted to get close to you, tried getting you to open up, but you never did. There was always something hidden between us, something more that you wouldn’t share, and it ate away at us. Our marriage was a three-way split; me, you, and whatever you were hiding beneath that cold exterior of yours. You made my life miserable because you were always hiding something. Katrina, you're a pathetic excuse for a human being. No wonder I went to the fucking grave early."