The Forever Funhouse

The Forever Funhouse

Bob Warren (June 16, 2021)

When the City condemned the dilapidated old Excelsior Fun Park, Cassidy became excited. "We've got to go back," he teased his friends. "You're only immortal once," he laughed at the hazards. 

At night he'd sometimes gaze across town at the dark silhouette of the forlorn Ferris wheel. It seemed to taunt him like a challenge. He'd not been back there for years, not since he and Willow were fifteen. They'd often go there for kicks in the summer, for the Midway's blinking lights and its raucous sounds—the crazy carnival rides, the Tunnel of Love, and their favorite, the funny old Funhouse—days that stuck with him like cotton candy. Yet, those memories could not quell his sorrow or regret.

Over the years, the park had slowly crumbled from neglect, soon to be just a dream. Before it passed away, he'd visit once more, perhaps to redeem himself.

Late one night, while Cass lay in bed, a blink of light winked in his window. He looked outside—another blink. The spokes on the Ferris wheel lit up for a moment. He froze and starred without a breath.

"Do it again," he whispered, "please." He watched and waited and rubbed at his eyes, but all remained dark. Cass closed his eyes.

He awoke the following day, ready to explore Excelsior Fun Park. He arrived, though, and found it locked up in chain-link—a captive awaiting its final sunset.

The Excelsior rollercoaster still loomed overhead, but its cars no longer rattled or raced down its hills. No screaming kids or laughing families rolled along its rails. Instead, its skeleton just swayed and creaked, and only seagulls screamed from above.

Cass found an unlocked gate by a shed—practically an invite, he laughed to himself. Tentatively, he entered and found his way through a lonely, dirty carny camp where the air smelled like smoke. Remnants of poverty littered the ground. 

The carnival rides parked on the Midway seemed eager to run and thrill again but instead sat quiet and sleepy. Empty game booths stood sullen in rows, with no one waiting to try or to play. 

Cass climbed high on the creaky Tilt-A-Whirl and surveyed the park below him. He stood there and watched as though he were waiting, perhaps for someone to welcome him back. 

Yet no one came, and nothing changed until the wind changed direction and tossed his hair. He smiled and sighed and shook his head. What had he expected—why had he come?

Then, something flashed, and he turned just as fast. Had the Ferris wheel lights blinked at him again?

No, perhaps not, just a glint of the sun, but Cass stood and watched as the gondolas swayed. At last, he turned and walked away from the fickle Ferris wheel that would not blink.

Cass continued along the Midway, looking and searching for something not there. He and Willow had most loved the Funhouse, but where was it now—where had it gone? 

Finally, he found it, as tawdry as ever:

THE HOUSE of FUN and ULTIMATE HORROR.

Its giant crazy clown face still leered over the door. Those funny wavy mirrors still hung to each side. 

Cass stopped and shuddered as he stared at that face. His last time there had been with Willow years ago. They'd gone in together, but he'd come out alone.

Cass stepped up to where the line once had started, where a chain locked the doors, and a sign said, KEEP OUT! Cass scoffed at the sign. He was no vandal but had come on a mission. He knew what to do that was right.

Cass stepped away and aimed for the door. He charged with a bellow, "AH HA!"

The chain rattled. The doors thundered! Cass fell to the ground.

The chain held fast.  The door seemed shaken, hanging on its hinges.

When Cass recovered, he kicked at the door. The handle ripped free, and the chain to the floor. The door slowly swung open.

The clown's big mouth opened like a cave. Cass paused a moment,  then entered like before—eager and sweaty and ready to scream.

Inside the room, though, he found no mystique. The light from the doorway had spoiled the dark. He entered the maze, and the light stayed behind. Cass seemed to know his way all the same—tilted rooms, shifting floors, crooked doorways, and winding paths—it all seemed so simple, to Cass anyways, even in the dark.

Then up ahead, the roof had collapsed, its innards lay exposed to the sky. Debris from the roof lay scattered throughout. So, Cass stepped slowly, but then he full-stopped.

What was that? Cass turned and strained to look.

He gasped—someone had laughed and continued to laugh. Somewhere in the Funhouse, the voice seemed to taunt him.

With bated breath and wide eyes, he paused then called out, "Willow, is that you?"

A giggle.

"Oh, God," Cass whispered.

Then he shouted, "It's me! I'm back! I came back!"

His eyes darted from one door to another, from one passage and then another. They all looked the same!

Cass seemed to panic, then ran down a hall. "I hear you—I'm coming," he shouted again!

The laughter led Cass through the maze, the black and white checkered room, the upside-down crazy room, and the spinning spiral staircase. He continued on and on.

Finally, he stopped and sat on the floor. The laughter stopped too. With his head on his knees and his eyes closed tight, he whimpered. "Willow, I can't find you. I just can't go on."

Perhaps he had slept or maybe fainted, but when he awoke, it was nearly dark. Around him, mirrors covered the walls. Now he was lost in the Hall of Mirrors: Reflections of reflections, and millions of those. He covered his eyes and moaned.

Again someone laughed, but it echoed this time. A girl in the mirrors stared back at Cass. She smiled and laughed, "Welcome back, Cass."

"I'm back like I promised," Cass cried to her face! "We'll get out! Follow me! Don't make me stay!"

He continued to shout until his voice failed. The Funhouse fell silent again.