The theme park had been unused for the better part of a decade, and the land had started to take it back. Grass sprouted between the metal struts of the ferris wheel, overtook the bases of concession stands; moss grew on the walls of the restrooms and an eerie silence filled the air, a sharp contrast to the delighted screams and running feet that had once filled this place.
By day, it was a little unsettling; filled with mangy looking dogs, wild and rough, chasing off the deer that otherwise might have taken over. Now and then, some ride shifted, squealed into the rustling quiet of the place. At night, it was something of a nightmare. The abandoned rides took on monstrous shapes, and every now and then something scuttled through the dark, chasing after scraps. The breeze whipped through and whistled desolately.
Some nights, though, it was worse than others. Some nights it wasn’t just abandoned, dark and lonely and creepy. Some nights, the lights came on and the carousel lit up and started singing, the music turned dark and wicked by the slow decay of time. Kids who dared each other to check it out ran off swearing that they’d heard voices, or heard a hand on their shoulder, or felt a strangely cold breath on their necks.
Probably, it was just the wind. Just a weird quirk of the power, some generator that came on now and then. The voices were a matter of overactive imagination.
Probably.
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