One Scary Ride

What is my biggest fear?

I couldn't pinpoint when this dread first took root in me. What I do know is that I was just a child, no older than six—or was it seven?

It hardly matters now.

That day I was left alone on that boat is stuck into my memory like glue. The sudden shift in my surroundings was jarring—an alien landscape, vast and unknowable. And then there was the singing. Oh, the singing. That was the most horrific part of it all. Even today, the mere thought of those haunting lyrics makes me shudder, and I can almost sense the chilling embrace of death, waiting just beyond the shadows. I remember calling out for my father, my cries of despair echoing down the chasm-like hall, reverberating off the walls like the wails of dying souls. I remember the fleeting glimpse of his face at the tunnel’s end.

It wasn’t just the horror of being alone that tormented me; it was the predatory, yet dead eyes of those THINGS watching me. They sang that terrible dirge. Sometimes, when I think of that song, I find myself awash in a cold sweat. There have been moments—only some moments—when I’ve found myself losing control, my body betraying me entirely. 

But only sometimes! Not all time... despite what my wife will tell you.

But I digress. I’ve since ventured into activities that would terrify most—skydiving, for instance, was exhilarating. Whitewater rafting was a blast, even if my brother didn’t share my enthusiasm. Heck, I’ve braved some of the most extreme haunted houses available. But, definitely not the ones where you need to sign a waiver. Those ones are little too much for me.

Despite it all, I’ve managed to build a good life for myself. I’m considerably older now—far beyond the reach of such childish fears. I married my college sweetheart, secured a decent teaching job at a local community college, and welcomed two children into the world. I have a son and a daughter, a refreshing pair of souls who are infinitely braver than I was at their age. Yet, as much as I wished for their courage, I was determined not to expose them to my past fears.

However, everything shifted one day when the children voiced their eagerness to visit the very city where my fears were born. I tried with all my might to convince them to choose a different destination. 

“How about hiking in the White Mountains?” I offered, picturing dark green forests and clean-smelling air.

“No like hiking!” my young son pouted. He was sticking out his tongue in disgust.

I then suggested the sunny beaches of Nantucket. I thought about building sand castles with my son and daughter.

“No, I don’t wanna go to the sea!” my daughter shouted, her face scrunching up like I offered her Brussels sprouts. “Plus, it’s too sandy!”

Did she not understand the simple joy of a beach resort? We fell silent for a moment, contemplating our family vacation. I was gearing up to suggest a bustling trip to Chicago or the iconic streets of New York City when my wife interjected, proposing a single place: the one destination my kids wanted to go more than any other. It's a place that most parents loathe, yet know their children adore. For me, however, it represents where my greatest fear began. I hated the idea of revisiting that place, but I also didn’t want to let my kids down, nor face the fallout of their disappointment. And my wife’s eagerness added to the pressure. Later that evening, she gently reassured me.

“Everything will be just fine. Nothing will go wrong. I know you have your history there…” With a heavy sigh, I finally relented.

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it for the kids.” Even though images of those singing demons started appearing in my nightmares that night.

Weeks went on and then, suddenly, the moment arrived. Our flight down was average, which was a relief from my growing anxiety. Checking into our hotel was even more boring, which was as first. but my thoughts were consumed with what awaited us next. My childhood fears gnawed at me, overshadowing what should have been the thrill of family vacation. I was so preoccupied with my childhood fears that I wasn't shocked by the prices at dinner—twelve dollars for a single Coke? Almost double that for chicken fingers! 

What if we ran out of money? Perhaps dipping our toes into family fun could be avoided altogether! But then again, the image of my disappointed children and the inevitable frustration on my wife’s face weighed heavily on me. I couldn’t bear the thought of cutting our adventure short and hearing about it for months—maybe even years—to come. That night, sleep eluded me, my mind racing about what was to come.

I think I slept a solid 10 minutes, thinking about my place of fear. Despite the sun shining down on us, and the humidity growing, I felt this sense of dread pushing down on me. As much as I tried... June's happy voice cut off my concentration.

June, my daughter, tugged at my shirt, a gigantic grin pasted onto her round face. “Daddy! Come on! There it is! The line isn’t that long…”

I glanced at her hopeful face and felt a rush of determination. It was time to be brave—for June’s sake, and to avoid teasing from my wife. 

As we approached the entrance, an overwhelming wave of dread washed over me… the singing.

Not the singing! Those melodies filled my ears like a requiem bell; similar to the screech of a bat slicing through the silence of a hot summer's night. I can take almost any song.

Just.

Not.

This.

The lyrics of those little demons started to fill the air, echoing like a sinister chant: “It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world after all, it’s a small world after all, it’s a small, small world.” 

Sweat trickled down my brow, and my body shook, almost in a horrible dance with the rhythm of that... hymn.

The cruel words played on: “It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears. It’s a world of hopes, and a world of fears.”

That final line was mocking me.

Thankfully, my daughter's high-pitched voice breaks me out of this fearful trance.

"Uh, Dad?" she says, tugging at my shirt. "You're not too afraid of this ride, are you?"

I couldn't bear to look at her, my little girl, seeing me so scared.

"Dad, they are just like my own dolls," she pleads. "Please, look at them!"

I can't let her down. I seethe through my nose.

I fucking hate this ride.