CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "‘Mr Sunny’s Fun House Retreat’. The Ruins of a Long Abandoned Amusement Park" Creepypasta

Episode Date: January 30, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Darkly_Gathers: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Sergio Diaz: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/le1zSUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

I'm a Amsterdam, why? I've been forgotten how a tooprikes. Doi! Toh! Toh! With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 19 euro in place of 25.

Book you tickets on NMBS International.com. The festival season is aangboken, and that betticket. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com.com. On the look to a water-dict tent, a comfortable luget. Oh, so, knus. And Lupeart print regalards. Now, Kim has Kim has the modder more to make him

just like that's only modder on. Oh, just even, only mudder. Oh yeah, only muddur. DROG blithe. Goar for. Find what you knowdhap. On Amazon.com. The crack screen fizzles in the darkness.

It's the only thing still working in my immediate vicinity. It's littered with dead pixels and a faded magenta bar strikes down a segment of the screen's left half. But the visuals and the same sound are still quite clear. Welcome to Mr. A Whorbles her cartoonish voice and a soundbite of cheering children rumbles out of the speakers along after it. Sparks burst from a distended

cable to my left. It hangs from the ceiling with exposed and dangerous wires. The screen shows me a POV of a camera, one held at the height of a child. The viewer is taken on a compressed, fade-tore of the funhouse retreat. It's an amusement park. The sun is shining and all around are smiling children and happy families, eating ice cream and running from ride to ride. Colourful arches stand tall overhead and friendly faces sell popcorn and stuffed animals

from pathside carts and stands. A roller coaster whooshes by overhead to the sound of thrilled screams and cheers and the camera pans across the food gallery, inviting looking restaurants and milkshake bars. Mr. Mr. Sunny himself appears on screen. It glitches for a moment as he does so. Mr. Sonny is a costume character. He has an orange humanoid body and a large, soft yellow head.

It looks like a grinning sun. The expression is fixed, of course. His mouth does not move as he speaks. The grin is stretched a little too wide. The eyes are staring and dead. It's impossible Who's wearing the costume? There is no exposed skin.

The voice is masculine. Where the sun always shines, He boasts, putting one hand on his hip, and throwing out the other in a comical wave, high-fiving a young boy who scampers past him. Collect an autograph from me for a free Mr. Sunny stuffed buddy. Have you seen me yet today? Be sure to keep an eye out and come say hi if you do. He jocles.

The camera spins round in a circle, showcasing the best that the park has to offer, as another roller coaster flies round in a spiral in the near distance. The camera completes its spin, and Mr. Sonny is closer. Unless, of course, I see you first. He laughs. The screen glitches again. It shows us more of the park, more well-tended trees and clean pavements, posters adorned with grinning characters and immersive, interactive games and stands. The camera shows us the retreat's waterpark.

Large sprinklers send out blasts of raining water and children splash gleefully around in the puddles and pools. Mr. Sonny watches the antics from afar. Not for me, thanks, he laughs, putting out his hands. Mr. He says, A kid squirts in and he jumps to his feet. Hey, why you little?

The kid laughs and runs away as Mr. Sonny chases good-naturedly after him, shaking his fists in a playful display of mock outrage. The little movie fades to black. Then, after a beat, begins again from the beginning.

Loot. The cable to my left spark up again and I make a note of my little map. This ruined section of funhouse. The map is my work in progress. I've scoped out most of the park already tonight, moved pieces into place, prepared. I stuffed the map back into my jacket, then stepped through the smashed and moss-covered double doors to the outside world. Clouds have passed over the moon and it is darker now than it was before. around me. Ruin. Forest-eaten, fungus-conquered

carcasses, enormous skeletons of rusted metal and cracked plastics. Shells and hollow shadows have monuments once so proud and so bright. There is no brightness here now. All remaining traces of colour are faded and lost the shades of murky, unfriendly green and rotted brown.

I shift my backpack a little higher in my shoulders. It's heavy necessary. I can My flashlight remains to my belt. I do not wish to turn it on as my eyes have adjusted well to the darkness. I continue my walk along the path and past the ruins of always once a gift shop

to my right. The glass in the windows is all but gone and a section of the roof has collapsed in on itself, taking some of the wall along with it. The gift shop stands opposite of scuff-stuff, of Mr. standing tall and waving

of a green filled foundin. Mr. Mr. eyes have been scratched completely from his face.

Black ooze leaks from his joints and from the corners of his mouth. The moon reappears from behind the cloud

and Mr. Sunny's shadow is sent long and dark out before him. I step through it and avert my gaze

carrying on along my way. Creeping vines slither beneath the conchewing concrete and the walkway up and have cracked the walkway up at various and difficult to traverse angles. I don't want you to think that I'm not afraid of this place. Because I am.

I am terrified and more than most would be. I paused to adjust my backpack again. It's nothing special, just the one I use for school. I tighten my belt. That's my dad's. I borrowed it from his toolshed. He won't notice. I pass by billboard, the wording is hard to make out, but it boasts proudly the percentage

of power that the park draws from hydroelectricity. There's a waterfall near the amusement park centre, one that cascades into a pool, ringed with both real and fake fiberglass rocks, and this waterfall feature is pictured on the billboard. The exact percentage of renewable power, however, cannot be read. The statistic is lost beneath layers of grime and weather damage. As I'm looking at over, something creaks and groans in the darkness. The noise is a long, low screech, and it sends rivers of ice across my skin.

I shoot a look back behind me and then stand stock still, waiting, keeping my breathing level, and listening intently for anything further. small skitters across the path, but neither rotted or bench. It's too fast for my eyes to catch it, but I silently pray that it's nothing more than a rat, or a squirrel. I wait a little longer, but nothing happens, so I carefully continue on along my way. I check my map. Not many more places to go now, just a few more. Taped to my map is a picture of a young boy and a young girl. a girl. They have their arms

each other and both are smiling. The boy me, the girl, my sister. The picture gives me courage. It gives me strength. I grimace and slide the folded map back into my jacket. Down crack

stone steps and round the park's hillside I go. It's difficult now to tell where the pavement ends and where the wild grass begins. There are no beautiful, carefully cultivated flowers here anymore. just vines and dark ferns, hungry undergrowth. The branches of trees stretch out far across the walkways.

They wind through smashed windows of stalls and have absorbed nearby, long defunct machines into their wood. Pushing aside a cluster of leaves, I find myself in a segment of the park I have always hated, even before its collapse. The Spider's Web An enormous figure of eight, And tracks is laid out And away from me into the shadows And wreckage Smallish, cup-shaped carts

Are affixed to the rails at various intervals Each big enough for three Or perhaps four people to sit in And overhead, above it all, As a colossal steel wire web Shoots and forest grind drip down from the web's intersections and a monstrous,

perches across it, for ever in time, its eyes once glowed, now they are dead and devoid of life. It looks almost as bad now as it did in my nightmares. Dare you ride? Asked a provocative sign

affixed at the section of the operating booth to the left. I dend. Not today, nor any other, for that matter. Instead, I take a deep, and step down from the rail's, I glance up at the great spider

as if it would go suddenly burst into life. It does not, of course, and I set out through the enormous loops of steel, past the still and silent cup carts, and kicking through the ferns and vines into the rides very centre. Towards the standing, standing stone in the middle. back in the day, this stone was layered in netting, that has all fallen away and rotted now.

The stone is glaring in its difference to its surroundings. This is no fake rock. It has not been constructed or painted. You can tell quite clearly in its appearance, and the sense of weight it conveys without even touching it. This rock is ancient, for ever, far, far longer than the park, far older than the construction of Mr. Sunny's funhouse retreat. I stop at his base and crane my neck, looking up.

There are a series of inscriptions in this stone, carved deep into the rock. On the left side are a series of simple holes. Near the top is a single hole. this single hole and a little further down are two. two dots. beneath the two and so on and so on, all the way down. On the right hand side, directly across from and accompanying each set of dots is a rough animalistic shape, a different carving for each set of dots.

They appear as follows, and I shall tell you what I see. alone carved dot near the top of the small spiral creature, crudely carved, but it looks something like an ammonite, one of those prehistoric fossils. Below these carvings and beside the two circles is a smallish snake, like the ammonite above it, is carving and indeed all the rest is crude, but the head and body of the snake are clearer. The snake appears to be frilled. Beside the three dots is a lizard, It stands awkwardly on its back legs Its frill has extended Its limbs are clumsy and long

Below this Beside the four dots Beside the four dots Is a rough carved man Or manlike creature Thin and boneless appendages Have burst forth from the frills in the shoulders And creep out alongside its arms

Below the four are the five And beside the five Is a thing more like an octopus than a man still stood hunched, eyes, Two void-prics in the stone Beneath are the six Beside these six, the octopus is gone And in its place is carved a wide circle

The circle has writhing and intertwined appendages Going around and around And the circle itself is ringed with eyes Finally, at the very bottom And just below my eye level Are seven closer dots in the rock beside the edge of the tentacle. This tentacle was clearly part of a larger carving, one much larger than the carving above it.

However, most of the stone here has been cracked and eroded away. Rubble sits among the ferns by my legs. I am washed in a dark and sinister wave of dread as my eyes scan the stone from top to bottom, as if there is something cold and shadowy squirming beneath my skin. I take a picture of the stone, and make a note of my map, eager to leave this part of the park behind, and as my pen scrolls its way across the paper, my ears prick up at the sound of creaking metal. Not like before, this is closer and more constant. I swivel around at once. Nothing is immediately obvious to me at first, just that noise in the gloom.

An insect flits by my face and I swatted away. and in the manner of some monstrous, awakening from a slumber, the ride starts to my utter dismay to blink and grind into bleary life. Sparks start jumping out from the rails. Overhead lights fizzle and judder from dead, cracked glass, into glowing trails of rails and eyes. The stone and myself and the overgrowth are all washed with a deep indigo light, and I am compelled to look up and over to the fiberglass spider,

in the steel-yre web. Its eyes, begin burning with their own angry light. It's my nightmare. It's just like my nightmare, but it's all coming true. It's too soon, I muttered to myself, glancing down to my watch. I'm not ready. But I've seemingly run out of time. The map is hastily stored into my jacket and my backpack bounces painfully against my upper back, jumping, jumping, jumping and trying to to return to the safety of the concrete beyond.

But I do not make it in time. The cup-shaped carts have begun to shake, and they start to drift their way around the rails, slowly at first shore. But in no time at all, they have begun to whizz and whir, speaking deliriously as they do so, all around me and the forgotten lights. of the spider's web. The jumping shadows play tricks in my mind. I have to keep glancing up to the spider to be sure that it isn't creeping its way across the web towards me. I take a step back in panic as a rush of air blast past me, watching as the spinning cup shoots around on its perpetual path. The noise

of the ride grows louder and louder. The lights flash. Over to my right sounds a terrible grinding and a fountain of the white and gold. One of the one of the cups has caught in the branches of the tree and it spins angrily, stuck more or less in place as it tears off twigs and leaves in a flurry. Another cup over to my left

disconnects entirely from the rails, broken as they are, and smashes violently into another going the opposite way. Metal and plastic fly in all directions as the ride goes faster and faster. The rush of air blows my hair back from my forehead,

and I clenched my fist in determination. to wait for the right moment. I hopped the rail before me and jump to the next safe section of grass as a cup goes huddling around the tracks just behind me. The concrete of the path isn't far away. I can make it. The right speakers unseen crackle and fizzle. The spider is...

hungry, a gravelly voice taunts, and villainous laughter reverberates around the rails. A nearby billboard, half-buried in foliage, depicts a cartoon sunny, racing around in one of the cups. In the billboard, it's clear that the cup is supposed to be the hollowed-out shell of a spider's egg. It's not so obvious on the cups themselves now, following their seasons and seasons of damage and wear. In the picture As the sunny is grinning He winks at the audience Despite the presence of the spider overhead

Saliva or venom drips from its fangs I hopped the next set of rails Stumbling a little But catch myself And preventing a painful potential crash onto one of the carts careening around and away

The spider is hungry laughs the voice Flea your face the terror of the spider of the spider. It begins to glitch out. The spider is. The spider is. The speaker's crackle. And to my horror, the cadence of the voice changes somewhat. Children, it says, so brave, so courageous, ever the heroes, detreg so boldly into so dangerous a place, unarmed and reeking of innocence, so hopeful, so sweetly ignorant. It's his voice, Mr.

I turned to look behind me, at the lights, the spiders, the shepherds and the screeching rails. Where are you? I whisper. The spider is hungry, laughs the voice. Sparks fly, and with a concerted exertion of effort, I jump suddenly forward and scramble up one of the concrete steps,

scrambling away from the danger, as the cup cart spin furiously round and around on their tracks beneath the watchful gaze of the spider. I don't have much time now. I take off at once, checking that nothing has fallen from my belt or my pockets as I consult the map. I take a sharp left and sprint through the ruins, past the old water park to the control centre nearby. The water is dark and grim, a large plastic feature in the shallow end, a once friendly-looking giant froghead, one that beamed with pride. as children

It has now The appearance It has now the appearance A lurking terror The depths Learing it passes by Who dare to venture too close My feet splash in the water

As I cross the flooded ground I ignore what might have been A series of bubbles From the darkness to my right The control centre It's prime At the power to redistribute water And adjust pressures

From various parts of the park It can adjust the intensity It can do all kinds of things The glass is all smashed up here And the doors are either gone or cracked completely from their hinges So getting in isn't difficult I can sort my notes

I'm going to have to implement my plan Much sooner than I'd expected darting to the appropriate section of controls I spin a great and rusted wheel I have to put a bit of effort in at first as it clearly hasn't been touched in a long, gradually, round, gradually, round and round it goes.

I check the control panel. Blinking lights that represent different areas of the park change color from yellow to red. Some blink dead entirely. I check to make sure that the appropriate levels are all in the right places. Pipes hiss and leak all around me. I ensure that the levers connected to the waterfall stems

are directly engaged. Certain ones near the top, and particularly the ones in the pool at its base. I watch ticks. Time is not on my side. So I take one last look, and I hope for the best. It's now or never. I'm just to. Why?

I'm forgotten how it works. Do you? Toad. With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 9.0 in 5.000. Book you tickets NMBS international.

The festival season is and that beteked Modder. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com. com. On look to

a waterdict tent, a comfortable lute bed, oh, so, and Lupeart print regalarze. Miao.

Now, now have Kim not not so much that dancing the moderm man there, oh,

wait just even, has he now only modder on? Oh, yeah, only modder. Drove blithe? I flee for

You know what you need for the I flee the control room Dants in the corners of my vision When able to shake the sensation That something is following me through the ruins I take a shortcut through a nearby building Mr. Sonny's 4D experience

Raising through a shattered emergency exit and down corridor after corridor I pass through one of the main rooms The rows of seats are all empty now of course But, as I tried to manoeuvre my way through the screen blare suddenly, the screen blarets it entirely. The indigo light from the spider's web did not do much to help my night vision, but the light from the screen here obliterates it entirely. I shield my eyes in distress as white intensity blasts out from across the room. The screen cuts through colours, yellow, cyan, magenta, and then to black.

and Mr. on screen. His permanent stretched across the yellow he peers down at the ghost audience at myself caught in his glare an artificial breeze begins to blow through the room and I feel it rustling my clothes. Hello, friends!

Mr. Sunny beams down at us. Computer technology has been used to make his mouth move. Not so permanent grin after a while. then. The effect is disturbing and unsettling. What should I say, friend? He says, peering a little closer. The breeze blows up into a wind. I stand my ground, staring at the monster through the screen. Black ooze leaks from the place that mist the sunny's head meets his neck. He twitches, and something writhes behind the mask. Something presses up against the headpiece, making one of his eyes

temporarily bulge. You are trapped in the web now, I can help you, but I can't help. I can't do it from here. I stare at the monster, afraid, yes, but angry also. I can help you escape. I can help free you from this place. Mr. Sunny always helps those in need. I bore my hatred into the soulless eyes of Mr. and the room darkens. He leers closer His little speech falters He changes his track.

You are different, he says. You are not reacting as one would expect. What's your secret, child? I close my eyes. I gather myself And I carry on along my way. I reach the end of a row and start heading down the stairs.

steps toward the emergency exit. This seems to frustrate Mr. I hear the jump in his emotions. Where are you going? Don't you know it's rude to walk away when someone is talking? And then his tone changes further. The supposed care for my well-being drops entirely. I hear terrible, terrible recognition in his voice.

Oh, oh, that's right. How could I forget? Mr. I think, we've met haven't we? Noblemalus Nolan. You were supposed to be my fore. A striking shot of fear

roots me suddenly to the spot and I cannot help but look back over my shoulder to the screen and the theatre room. Mr. Sonny's CGI mouth laughs wide. Never matter. Your sister was an excellent four. She served deliciously. I'm sure you'd be glad to know

A visual of my sister It's projected across the screen I'm in the picture too It shows us on the log flume ride shouting gleefully It's been a long time Numberless I hope you've been well across these years

I've certainly missed you here We've all missed you here The lights change to red And the wind rises You will be my six Numberless Nolan You will be my six and then, and then, and only need one more. How long will that take, a week, how long, how long before others are sent in after

you, how long before more children come searching for exploration and adventure? And they will find me. They will find me. I crack my feet from their positions, glued as they are to the floor and take off. I run through the emergency exit and down another moss-full corridor as Mr. laughs loud and large from behind me. There is no escape now, number six. I run and I run and I run.

I smash through the broken doors to the rear of the building and take off towards the center of the park, towards the waterfall and the rapids ride. The ride where I lost my sister forever. Rumbles to the speakers, all crackling, Back into life as I run through the wreckage. Lost little boy, all alone in the darkness. I follow my map. I double-checked the location of the waiting area for the rapid ride.

I used to come here a lot with my family, as a young kid, and I always hated that waiting area. It's underground, you see, and intensely claustrophobic. The sounds of the rushing rapids river And all around I was constantly afraid that all around That all those people waiting in line Will be trapped and flooded

As the water rushed in Transformed into desperate Climbering bodies all scratching and clawing each other As they tried to scramble and swim the way to the surface I arrive and check that the waiting area doors Are still sealed shut When they're open, they lead into a tunnel in the ground, but fallen metal has locked the entrance doors in place. There's only one way in and out now.

And that's the waiting area's exit. The exit leads directly up to the rapid's ride itself. I carry on uphill to the ride's beginning. The waiting area yawns from the ground to my left. It's little more than a hole, really, with some steps down into the gloom, and, a flaked old handrail. most of the tiling walling beyond has broken off and fallen away, crumbled to wet dust on the waterlogged flooring.

The waterfall is right beside us, the park's centrepiece. The sound of its constant rush, the ongoing pour of the water into the pool is loud, and I can feel the splashes drizzle against the side of my face. Puddles are already forming on the ground beside me, but the pool is leaking, and beginning to overflow through the fiberglass rocks that it lines. Leaning up against these rocks is the panelling from one of the rapid's rides rafts. It's large and roughly circular. It's the part who sit on, designed to look like wood, but it's actually made from hard plastic and fiberglass. It isn't connected to the raft, so there's no seats or sides, or any rubbery buoyancy ring or anything.

just a cracked, a long, left here, a long, left here for someone to collect at some point, but that someone never came. I look out over the records of the park. The waterfall rushes to my right.

The rabbit's ride quietly churns just behind me, and ahead is ruin. Show yourself, Mr. Sunny, I managed to croak out, coward, shadows. Shadows

through the darkness. I take back, though I'm careful to step too close to the rapids ride and the churning river. It has just restarted of its own accord. I can hear the machinery crackle into life. The water starts

pulsing, and the ride groans and churns as the rafts begin drifting down the river. Though they aren't really drifting, of course. They're not floating. At least not here in the boarding area. They're being dragged by mechanical gears and churning metal tracks, bubbling and frothing. They're being hauled along by an underwater conveyor belt, a belt of ever grinding and ever chewing steel teeth.

Warped theme park music begins to play from the speakers, slower and deeper than anyone would expect. My chest rises and falls. It's going to appear any second now. A pair of old A pair of the air On the path's opposite side. There are enormous old things Great spotlights that send patterns up into the sky.

As with the spider's web, their light is a deep purple And the way that the beam shimmers and warp Give the nightmarish, dreamlike impression For the sky itself is shifting in slow, eerie waves. The ride rumbles and frothes, and Mr. And Mr. Soney appears from behind a corner ahead. I am further uphill than he, but he slithers disturbingly into view at the far end of a broken path from the darkness of the shadows. My blood freezes in my veins.

His shape is just how I remembered him. How he looks in his media, how he looks at his in his statues, that horrible suit, the mascot-style costume, his eyes and expression are fixed, he shambles silently over the concrete, step by step towards me, his suit ever shifting. There is a constant and inhuman motion

in the arms, the hands, the fingers, the head, the legs. Everywhere, a subtle writhing and squirming, all beneath the stained and faded yellow. beneath the dirt and grime-covered orange. The costume writhes as if filled with terrible, angry eels.

Hello, six. He whispers to me as he draws closer. You meet me here, by my rabbits. His head twitches, ooze leaks from his neck. You won't be taken like your sister, you know,

like my beautiful four. No, your taking will be quite different. You must be so, So excited. You were wrong earlier, I whisper. The loudest voice I can manage in the presence of this demon. What you said at the spider's web? You were wrong.

Was I? How curious. I shouldn't think that that were the case. I am not wrong on many matters. I take a step back. He's closer now, reaching out a hand towards me. You called me a child. You said I was unarmed. I was unarmed. I swing around my backpack and tear open the zip. I'm not a little kid anymore, Monster. You think I'd come to this place unarmed? Mr. Sonny increases his pace, cackling, and I draw from my backpack, my father's pride and joy. I didn't just take his tool belt. I took this, his chainsaw, hard, plastic green handle and shun. And shone. shining metal teeth, and with a flick of the flick, it roars into life. I roar along with it and jump deliberately

forwards, swinging the chainsaw round in a merciless arc, shuddering with the reverberations as it tears through Mr. Sonny's hand. He screams in surprise and staggers backwards, eyes still staring, grins still wide. With a burst of black fluid, his hand flies through the air and it slaps against the rock of the waterfall pool barrier beside us. Outspell shivering and desperate, squirming black masses. Long and writhing, like tentacles they quiver and slap against the ground. I hold back a rise of vomit in my throat and press forwards with my attack. I wonder if Mr. Sunny can see the hatred in my eyes as I swing it wildly from left to right. I shave off another corner of his costume and black puss pours,

response. Mr. Mr. he screams turn quickly into laughter. I watch as the exposed squirming flesh in the arms of his suit hardens and calcifies. He stumbles backwards, still laughing until he has retreated into the shadows of the nearest available opening, down the steps to the waiting room

for the rapid's ride. I hesitate at the entrance. He finds this hilarious and laugh. all the harder disappearing into the shadows. Oh, six, so feisty. A wet and disgusting noise. Something between a cough and a burst of laughter echoes from the darkness. How very quaint, but I need you afraid little child. I want you to embrace your fear. Come, come now into the darkness with me. Carry your way. with you like. But come talk with me. And if I am impressed, then perhaps I shall tell you what happened to four. Hmm? Would you like to know where your sister can be found? Where you can find her? My sister.

I let out a quiet, sad sigh. Then take a step back from the waiting area's exit. Dropping the chainsaw, I instead grab a hold of the fiberglass panelling of the broken raft, the one resting against the waterfall, and with all my strength, I haul it and into place. It jodders down the concrete and slams against the wall, where it becomes more or less lodged where it lands,

blocking the doorway and the waiting areas only exit. An effective barrier. Before Mr. Sunny can react, I start grabbing up wreckage and flinging it clumsily into place. Old concrete blocks broken bits of metal. I grabbed the twisted remains of a of a giant, and with a grunt of exertion, I dump it down the stairs where it clatters into place up against the makeshift barrier.

Mr. Sonny has caught on. I can see his shadowy shape and his dark writhing tentacles where the fiberglass raft doesn't quite meet the edges of the passage's entrance. What are you doing, six? he asks me in his low, wet voice. You can't hope to trap me Surely He slams up against it And it rumbles and rattles

He does so again And while he does this I pile it higher and higher With each successive chunk of heavy plastic Or metal or concrete that are dumped down there The harder it'll be to break free Mr Sonny starts hammering harder Six

Six is time to let me out friend If you ever want to know where you must let me out. I grunt with exertion and run my shoulders as he batters fruitlessly against the barrier. My sister is dead, Mr. Sunny. I mutter in response as the waterfalls pool beside me starts gushing and leaking out over the rocky walls. The dams are working quite nicely, it seems. Mr. Sonny slams against the barrier. He yells at me to let him free.

But I don't. I just watch as the water spills over the edge, it begins pouring its way down the steps and towards the debris, pouring right into the waiting area, in which Mr. Sunny finds himself trapped. I use the chancer again, where I am able to cut away sections of the fiberglass rock wall, the border to the waterfalls pool, now brimming and frothing and dangerously overflowing, more and more and more water begins pouring out, directly down the steps. It splashes against my clothes,

my shoes, drenching me as I work, but the water keeps flowing faster and faster and faster. Mr. Sonny stops hammering against the barrier I've created. I presume he has slithered away to test the doors at the tunnel's opposite end. A shiver of vengeful electricity passes through me. He will find them sealed. There is no way out. The waterfall surges.

It pours relentlessly down into the tunnel. More and more and more. Mr. Sonny begins to scream. I watch as he tries to slither a tentacle through a gap in the barrier. Before he can calcify it, I slice it messily off with a chainsaw. Booze and bile splashes up across the fiberglass, and he screeches in distress. A few minutes more And the rocky barrier

Has been entirely In just the right places And the waterfall The thunder More or less directly down Into the tunnel filling the waiting area As it did in my childish

nightmares Drowning all those Who wait within Mr Sunny screams at me He makes me promises And he hints At greater truths and secrets

And I let him. I let him say whatever he wants. Soon his voice is lost. I sit, but he rush of the water. I sit on a piece of fallen billboard. And I watch. I watch, and I wait until the entrance to the tunnel is entirely underwater. And then I wait a little longer. I wait until the rush of the water from the waterfall has filled the tunnel entirely, and that it starts to pour and leak downhill. as it rushes into the river of the rapids ride. And that's when I take my leave. I gather up my belongings. I hoist my backpack

up onto my shoulders and I make my way back through the park. I think about my sister as I leave this terrible place behind burning hell, Mr. Sunny. I mutter as one by one

the lights of the park blinked