Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 3 Amusement Park Horror Stories

Episode Date: July 7, 2025

Beneath the bright lights and laughter, amusement parks hide a darker truth—stories of vanished guests, fatal rides, and thrills that turned into terror. Author: Matt Doggett * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 17. Listener discretion is advised. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

to nice sleep. Story 1. The Reaper. It was 11 p.m. when we opened at the park gates to the private party of only 40 people. For a park that handled thousands on a daily basis, this was a change. As the park set of security, I was getting paid time and a half to work this lock-in, which wouldn't be over until 8 o'clock the next morning. I had a whole new set of worries, as I welcomed the group into the park, along with the manager and a handful of other employees,

including the events coordinator, who happened to be my girlfriend. The overnight celebration was for a young man's 21st birthday, and it was the first lock-in we'd ever done. Personally, I didn't like being in the park after 10 at night. I had heard the stories, and I had even witnessed a few strange things myself on nights when I stayed late to finish paperwork about the day's events. Nothing too wild, nothing that made me believe in ghosts, but strange things nonetheless,

like whispers from the shadows or phantom screams from the roller coasters, like the feeling of being watched, or the sound of a foot scraping the pavement right behind me. Little things, creepy things. But time and a half was good money. The kid's multi-millionaire dad had made it worth our while to have the party here. Plus, I got to spend much of the night with Riley, who, as the event coordinator, was at the group's beck and call. I would be close by as well to make sure they didn't do anything stupid. Which was why I was concerned about the alcohol they were allowed.

They were all 21 or older, but that didn't mean they were responsible. Far from it. It was my job to be the bad guy, to watch out for overt intoxication or dangerous behavior. to shut it down if I saw it. As we welcomed the rambunctious group of kids into the park, I thought it was going to be a long night. I had no idea what I was in for. Not every ride was open.

Most of the kiddie ones were shut down for the night, along with all but a handful of concession stands. The park was about a quarter-staffed, which made it seem lonely despite the lights on and the sound of screams as the kids rode the big rides. mostly sticking together in one large group. As midnight chimed, Riley and I were standing outside the exit for the Titan roller coaster, waiting for the birthday boy and his cohort to finish riding.

That's when things started going wrong. The lights illuminating the coaster went off for a good five seconds as it went around the nearby loop. Riley said next to me, That was weird? My brows came together. Yeah, that's never happened before. I think it was just this ride, too. Riley nodded, her pretty, earnest face more curious than worried.

But then something changed. It took me a moment to realize what it was. The pitch of the screams coming from those riding the coaster had taken on a manic tone. No longer were they the screams of people having fun. They were terrified screams. From where I stood, I could see the train as it slowed, coming back into the station to unload the riders. A young man sitting halfway down the train looked down at me, and I saw blood splattered across

his face. Help! I bounded up the exit stairs, Riley right behind me. We had to wait several long seconds for the train to come to a full stop, during which time I glanced at the ride operator, an 18-year-old named Shelley. She looked completely freaked out. I ran to where the young man was sitting and saw immediately what was wrong. The girl next to him was missing her face.

Where there had once been fresh, freckled skin still decades away from wrinkles, there was now nothing but a gory mess of facial muscles and exposed tendons. She clawed at the boy next to her, screaming in pain, seeking help or solace or to be put out of her misery. It was impossible to tell which. The boy was still screaming, trying to get away from the girl but held in place by the roller coaster safety harness. Others were screaming too. especially those nearest who had seen the blood or been able to turn enough to see the horrific disfigurement the girl had suffered. I stared in stomach-clenched horror at the deep gouges,

which started on her scalp just behind the hairline, as if a series of sharp objects had hit her while she rode the coaster. But how was that possible? We had checked every ride before they arrived. Then I remembered the stories that the old manager had told me, and my stomach became a depth pit. Thankfully, experience and training kicked in. I snagged my radio from my belt and called for the park's two paramedics. When I finished with the call, sure they were on their way, the operator had unfastened the safety harnesses. The kids poured off the ride and gathered around, screaming or crying, or just staring at the horrible scene. The young man had finally managed to extricate himself from the injured girl's grip, but I caught him as he tried to run.

What happened? I asked, holding him by one arm. Something did that to her. What was it? I asked, praying for him to say it was a dangling piece of equipment for something the girl was wearing, a necklace, maybe, that had somehow been ripped from her neck. The boy shook his head, eyes darting all around, face shiny with blood and sweat. It was a woman, he said. But not. It was impossible. She was just there, clawing at Micah's face with her claws. and she was smiling. Suddenly those gouges made sense.

It was as if two sets of claws had been dug into the girl's scalp, and, once the claws got under the skin, they ripped down, taking her face off. Party's over! I yelled at all the bystanders. Everyone out of the park, now! Elam, the manager, came rushing up while the paramedics were still working on the young woman. 911 was called, and an ambulance was on the way.

Some of the crowd, including the, the distraught birthday boy had gone down to wait beside the ride, still trying to process what had happened to their friend. Others stood around with their phones out, recording the scene. I wanted to slap the phones out of their hands and tell them to leave, but I resisted the urge, knowing it would only make things worse. So I pleaded with Elam after telling him what happened. We have to get everyone out of here now, or something else is going to happen. Elam, who had only been running the park for a little over a year, shook his head, his jelled hair not moving one iota, and his clean, shaven jaw sparkling with fresh perspiration.

We'll need to file a report about this. I'm sure the police will want to talk to those who were on the ride. Fine, so let them talk in the parking lot. What are you talking about, Jesse? Elam asked in exasperation. I know Gregory told you not to keep anyone in the park past midnight. I was there, remember? You think he was joking about that?

Elam studied me with narrowed eyes. The old manager? Listen, I know you two were friends, but he was losing him when I took over from him. Talking about ghosts and curses, you can't believe. The lights in the park suddenly turned off, plunging us into darkness.

Before I could get my mini flashlight off my belt, a savage scream pierced the night air. I whipped my head towards the exit stairs, knowing it had come from down the, there, from where the small crowd of kids waited next to the ride. I ran over to the railing, clicking my flashlight on. When I shined the light down onto the wide concrete walkway, I saw frightened kids scattering in all directions. Two figures disappeared under the awning of the bumper car's attraction directly across from the roller coaster. I recognized one as a

girl from the group. The other one was a hunched, horribly disfigured woman with stringy dark hair hanging in her face. Her tattered clothes, jeans and a large t-shirt were stained with dark fluids that looked like dried blood. She dragged the girl into the bumper car's entrance by her hair. The girl looked to be unconscious and badly bleeding from a head wound. I bolted down the stairs, yelling over my shoulder at Riley to get the kids out of the park. When I reached the covered bumper car ride, I saw no sign of either the disfigured woman or the girl, but I did see a trail of blood on the smooth floor, leading across to the back of the ride. I leaped over the wall and onto the floor of the ride, determined to save the girl from what I now knew was the same spirit

Gregory had told me about the night he was fired as manager of the park. I'll admit, at the time I thought the old man had lost it. We had also been drinking, having gone out to a bar after his last shift. He was many beers in, slurring his words as he told me the story. Even though I had experienced strange things in the park after dark, I didn't believe the man's words. I thought he was just having a laugh, or he really was messed up in the head because of his old age. He was 79 when he was fired, after all, and he'd been working at the park in some capacity for most of his life. But now, after what I'd seen with my own eyes, I couldn't ignore the disturbing story he told me. Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling.

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Go to Shopify.com slash DNS. That's Shopify.com slash DNS. As I raced across the bumper car ride, the lights suddenly came on. I stopped, looking around at all the empty bumper cars that had been left haphazardly sprawled all around, searching for some sign of the girl. A humming sound came from behind me. I just turned in time to see one of the cars racing toward me. I jumped, but just a second too late.

The front of the car hit my calves, causing me to fall, my back, smashing painfully into the steering wheel before I toppled off to the floor. Now it seemed all the cars were moving, and they were all heading toward me. I lurched up from the floor and jumped just before two bumper cars collided right where I'd been. They were moving much faster than was possible. Despite the rubber bumpers, it was likely they would break some bones if two of them hit me at once. I ran awkwardly over a couple of cars and then got back to the floor, racing for the back of the ride. Another car came zipping at me from the side, just as I reached the back wall. As I leaped over the barrier, the car crashed into it, punching a hole in the wood the size of the front of the car.

I landed in a narrow alley between the back of the bumper cars and a burger place on the other side. Not knowing where the woman and the girl were, I was unsure where to go. Following my gut, I used my skeleton key to go through the back door of the closed burger place. I moved through the small eatery and out to the front, which was open onto the walkway with no doors or windows. I looked left, nothing. But when I looked right, I spotted them. The woman dragged the unconscious girl down the concrete walkway. All the lights were off in this area of the park, except for those on the ride known as the Reaper.

Racing toward them, somehow with my flashlight. still in my hand. I had no idea what I was going to do. How do you fight a ghost? If I had a gun on me, I might have tried to shoot her, but I doubted it would work. Then a part of Gregory's story came back to me. The end. He had told me what to do to stop the vengeful spirit, or at least to placate her for some time. But it was a ridiculous idea then, and he was even more ridiculous now. There was no way I could do it. No way. As I neared them, I yelled at her to stop. It was all I could think of.

She turned, glaring at me with distorted eyes out of a face that looked as if it had been crushed in the gears of a roller coaster. And if Gregory's story was to be believed, that was exactly what had happened. Snarling, she dropped the girl's legs and turned to face me, so yelling didn't work as I'd intended. From a pouch on my belt, I pulled out a collapsible baton and extended it to its full length.

If she could rip one girl's face off and carry another one, she had to be real, physical. I could damage her. I moved in, baton in one hand and flashlight in the other. She came at me, sharp claws, still glistening with blood from Micah's face. My first swing missed badly, and she dragged her claws down my forearm, opening gashes in my skin. But I managed to hang on to the baton, and I punched her in the side of the head with my left fist. The small flashlight held like a bludgeon. She was real all right, and she could be hurt.

I hit her next with my baton. She went down to her knees and I hit her again. The circular tip of the baton sunk deep into her already mangled skull. I pulled it out as she swiped at me, this time, cutting through my black pants and into my thigh. The pain enraged me, and I went into a frenzy, hitting and hitting. She went down, and I kept swinging, smashing her head to bits.

Pretty soon, the only thing left was her twisted, broken-toothed smile. The rest of her head was a mess of black blood, shattered skull, and rotten brains. But I kept hitting her, vaguely aware that all the park lights had come back on. I kept hitting until a familiar voice brought me out of my rage. Jesse? What are you doing? I stopped, turning to see Riley standing a few feet behind me. Did she not see the mangled woman on the ground? I turned and found that she had disappeared.

There was nothing there. Nothing but a patch of dented concrete where the steel tip of my baton had done some small amount of damage. But the girl was still nearby, still unconscious. We've gathered everyone at the front gates, Riley said, still studying me closely. Help me get the girl so we can get out of here. I put my baton away and threw the girl over my shoulder in a fireman's carry.

I followed Riley back to the front gates, ignoring the pain in my leg and arm. When we got there, two police officers were stepping inside, led in by Elam. Outside! I called. Let's do this outside the gates! But as soon as I finished saying the words, I knew it was too late. Every light in the park shut off once again. Every light, but those of one ride, the Reaper. It was a completely black roller coaster with several pitch-black tunnel.

along its length. And, according to Gregory, it was the same ride on which a woman died a horrific and slow death nearly 30 years ago. The woman, the park owner's wife, had somehow fallen into the gears of the ride in one of these tunnels where the train slowed down quickly and then went up an unexpected steep incline before plunging back down again at a sharp angle. All of this happened in the pitch dark. It was ruled an accident, but it had happened just after midnight. The only people in the park were the owner, his wife, and a couple of employees to man the rides. As the lights shut off, I looked over toward the ride, which was illuminated by black lights about 50 yards away. When I looked back, I saw that two Buddy the Bear Park mascots had appeared, standing directly behind the two police officers, blocking the gate.

None of the mascot employees were working tonight. The costumes should have been hanging in the locker room. Before I could open my mouth to warn them, both mascots attacked the officers. One yanked a blonde-haired cop off his feet with incredible force and jammed his head between two wrought iron vertical bars of the gate. But the cop's head was too big to fit. As the mascot jammed it through, the man's skull collapsed with a grisly crunch. The other mascot went for the dark-haired cop, grabbing him by the neck from behind.

Although the mascots didn't have claws normally. This one did now, and they sank deep into the flesh on either side of the cop's windpipe before they were yanked back, opening the man's throat. Blood splattered Elam, who stood nearby with the keys still in hand. The group of kids screamed and scattered, running away from the horrific scene, which had taken all of five seconds from beginning to end. The mascots, now done with the cops, started toward the rest of us. I thought of how many other mascot costumes we had.

There were a dozen. Were they all alive? I knew exactly what I had to do. I didn't like it, but I figured it was the only way to get most of us out of the park alive. With the girl still on my shoulder, I grabbed Riley by the hand and pulled her with me, heading toward the Reaper ride. This way! I shouted.

Come with me! Ten of the terrified, half-drunk kids heated my advice and followed us, along with a half-dozen park employees who knew and trusted me. We rushed up to the Reaper and told every person. one to get into the ride's black train. Jesse, what the hell are you doing? Riley asked. How is this? Just trust me!

I shouted. Trust me, this will work. It has to work. One of the kids screamed, pointing at two new mascots. Timmyed the Turtle and Rascal the Raccoon, coming toward the ride. About half of us jumped on board. They were mostly park employees. I made sure the front two seats stayed empty.

I grabbed one boy I knew well and told him to start the ride and then run for it. He agreed readily enough. It was a small mercy. I got the unconscious girl loaded into a seat and then took the one next to her. Okay, start it up! I shouted, hoping no one would notice that I hadn't fastened the girl's harness properly. The kid did as I asked, starting to ride and then running for his life down the express lane entrance and away from the approaching mascots.

The train pulled from the loading bay. It was a surreal experience, riding a roller coaster with a bunch of other people, but not hearing a single happy exclamation from any of them. Instead, over the sound of the ride, I heard occasional whimpers or sobs. When we reached the longest dark tunnel of the ride and started up the incline, pulled by a chain that hooked to the underside of the train, I did what I had to do. The sound was horrific as the gears mutilated the young woman's body, the crunching of bones and squelching of organs rupturing. They were sounds I will never forget. When the ride ended, we pulled into the station to see that the rest of the lights in the park had come back on.

But, more importantly, the two mascot costumes were lying lifeless and empty on the station floor. Riley, who had been sitting a few rows behind me on the ride, came up and reached for my hands. When she saw that the girl was gone from the front seat of the ride, she stopped short. She looked into my eyes, and I met her gaze. I had done what I had to do. I'd saved her life, among dozens of others. This was clear as we moved through the park, gathering everyone up again. There were no more attacks, no more strange happenings.

But Riley could never look at me the same again. Two weeks later, she ended things between us. I can't say I was happy about that, but it was a small price to pay. If I had to do it over again, I would. But the threat isn't over. I only appeased the spirit with the sacrifice. She'll be back if we ever open the park at night again. As long as Elam and I are here, it won't happen.

But what about 20 years from now, when new people come to take over? Will they believe what I tell them, but will they just think I'm some crazy old man? As much as I don't want to admit it, I think I know the answer. Story 2. I bought a haunted theme park. I can't believe you bought this place without telling me. Rachel says as we pull up outside the abandoned. theme park. You were supposed to keep the blindfold on, I say, not really surprised that she took it

off. After 12 years, I know her well enough to predict such things. As I guessed she would, she ignores my comment and stares out the windshield as I cut off the engine. The headlights shut off, no longer obstructing our night vision. The park, which has only been closed for a few months, looms in the night like a graveyard. Beyond the locked chain link gate, the roller coaster tracks look like massive spines. The buildings and other structures look like carcasses and grave markers. How much did it cost? It's a good investment, I tell her, keeping my voice neutral. I can tell she's angry. How much? Remember how I've been saving money for an investment of my choosing? We discussed this before. I don't see the problem.

You need more money or something? Rachel scoffs. I just wish you had told me, that's all. Then it wouldn't have been a surprise. I thought you would be pleased. I bought us a haunted theme park. Rachel rolls her eyes. Come on, you don't believe that stuff.

I don't, but you do. That's part of why I got it. I figure we can play to that strength. With all your expertise in the world of ghosts and goblins, we can make this the premier haunted park in the country. after we fix those issues that caused all those horrible deaths, of course. You know, I don't believe like that, she says. It's just kind of fun, you know, and it makes me feel better about death, knowing there's an afterlife.

I know, babe. Rachel reaches over and takes my hand, looking intently at me through the gloomy interior of the truck. You're serious? You want to do this together? I nod. Headlights appear behind us, eliminating the cab. But I have another surprise for you. Right on time. Come on.

As I get out of the vehicle, I see Rachel look at the approaching SUV. I see the moment she recognizes the Ford. Her beautiful face changes from a look of heartfelt appreciation to one of barely contained fear. Then the headlights shift away, and her face is plunged into darkness. When I get a good look at her again, she's outside the truck, standing beside Mark's SUV, and her face is back under control. She smiles kindly at Mark as she gets out of the vehicle.

Holy shit. You really did it, didn't you? Mark says, rushing around to pull me into a hug. I hug him back. I sure did. You crazy bastard. When we separate, my stepbrother and my wife share an awkward, one-armed hug and a few muttered words of greeting. Well, I say, pulling out the keys to the locked key. Shall we? As far as theme parks go, this one is on the smaller side.

If it was any bigger, I wouldn't have been able to afford it. Built on a lakeside lot in the downtown of a struggling Appalachian community, Mystic Bay Park, has a lot of history behind it. Not all of it good. Then again, if it hadn't been closed recently after a horrific fire, I never would have been able to afford it. So I count myself lucky as I walk past the box office and start down to the house. start down the central aisle of the park.

Rachel walks a few steps behind me and to my right, while Mark does the same on my left. Rachel asks, a little fear in her voice. It's so dark. I have an appointment to get the power turned back on Monday, but you're welcome to use the flashlight on your phone. Two pools of weak light come on, one after the other,

as both my guests heed my suggestion. Concession stands, souvenir shops, and face painting stations, the thoroughfare before it opens wider to reveal a big roller coaster on the right and a ferris wheel on the left. I remember spending my summer days here as a kid. It only took four or five hours to ride all the big rides, but there were other smaller attractions to check out. I got to know the place really well, way back when. That was before my parents divorced, before my mom remarried Mark's dad, giving me the brother I always wanted. We soon moved 50 miles away to live with a

Mark and his dad, so my summers were no longer spent at Mystic Bay Park. I had Mark to play with after that, but the park always had a special place in my heart. Now, all the little nooks and crannies come back to me. I spot a narrow alley that runs between a restroom and a cafe. Oh, let's go this way, I say, angling toward the dark alley without waiting for an answer. Can't we do this during the day? Rachel asks. I turn around. Come on. Let's just explore. it a little bit. If I remember correctly, this comes out right next to the fright house. If there are ghosts hanging around here, I bet we'll find them there. Besides, there's going to be a bunch of construction and repairs going on during the day. Now's our chance.

Rachel looks to Mark for support, but he smiles and shrugs. My wife rolls her eyes. Fine. Just half an hour, but please tell me we're not going to wear that awful fire happened. All those poor people. No. That's on the other side of the park. Besides, they got that all cleaned up. Nothing there but an empty dirt field now. No evidence there was a fire. Still, it gives me the creeps.

I resume walking, slipping into the narrow alley. I promise we won't go near it. They both come forward and squeeze one by one into the alley. I rush ahead, excited, only stopping when I hear Rachel cry out behind me. What? Did you hear that? I didn't hear anything. I did, Mark says.

It sounded like something was scratching on the other side of this wall. Mark pats the restroom wall to his left. That's right, Rachel says. Something big and frantic. I shake my head. Probably just some rodents or a cat or something. Come on. After passing through the long alley, we come out on another thoroughfare.

Just as I remember, the freight house is down the way and to my right, sandwiched between the bumper cars and the Tilta World. I had immediately up the ramp and past the podium where the park employee would keep people from walking through too soon so that the animatronics and noises and other effects would have a chance to reset for the next group. The entrance is shrouded by hanging strips of cloudy plastic, stained with fake blood, just like I remember. Standing here, I feel a tickle of anticipatory fear for the first time in a very long time. This fright house used to scare the hell out of me every time. even when I knew exactly what was coming after walking through it dozens of times.

I wanted to be scared. It was fun, being scared and knowing that nothing was going to happen, but I couldn't be hurt by any of the pranks inside. Ben, what's the point of doing this now? Mark says as he and Rachel trudge up the ramp. With no power, nothing will work. I just want to see if everything's the same. Come on, guys.

Please, it won't take long. Rachel is busy looking over her shoulder, arms wrapped protectively around her. What's wrong? I ask. I think there are some kids in here. I swear I just saw someone running across up there. Did you see them too, Mark? My stepbrother shakes his head. No, sorry. I sigh. There's barbed wire around this whole park, and I locked the gate after we came in, remember?

Then I smile and nudge her. Maybe it's a ghost. She gives me a look that makes me. makes me raise my hands and step back. Okay, sorry, not a ghost. But I'm sure we're the only ones here. If it makes you feel better, we'll just walk the Fright House, and then we'll get out of here, okay?

Okay, Rachel says absently, peering over her shoulder again. Great. I pull out my phone and turn on its flashlight, so I can see where I'm walking in the Fright House. After pushing through the strips of plastic, I find myself in a room with a bunch of dolls everywhere. all of them staring at me. There's a doorway on the other side,

but to get to it, I'll have to go around a rather large and creepy-looking doll sitting in a rocking chair in the middle of the room. I remember that whenever you walk around the chair, it suddenly starts moving and a scream sounds from speakers overhead. That's bad enough,

but when you get to the doorway on the other side, all the dollheads suddenly whip toward you. I smile at the memory, very creepy, But, of course, nothing happens this time as we make our way through. The next room is clown-themed, and the one after that is littered with a maze of coffins on the floor that you have to walk past. God, I'm so glad the power is off right now, Rachel says, as she makes her way through the coffins. A loud thud sounds from behind us, maybe coming from the clown room.

We all turn that way, holding our breath. A coffin lid near Rachel twitches, jumping up a few inches and falling back down. Rachel shrieks and rushes away from it, wrapping her arms around Mark for protection. After a moment, she seems to realize what she's done, and she extricates herself for Mark, moving over to me and taking my hand. See? She says. There's kids in here.

They're messing with us. With my heart thudding in my chest, I say. Who's in there? There's no answer from the coffin. Let's just go. Rachel says, trying to pull me deeper into the fright house. Yeah, but back the way we came is quicker. We both look to Mark, who stands near the coffin.

My stepbrother seems like he's trying to keep a brave face, but I can tell he's scared. You mind opening it, Mark? I ask. I think they open up onto hydraulics underneath, so there's probably a way to get under there from outside. Mark swallows hard in the dark. His flashlight beam fixed on the coffin. Yeah, sure. probably just kids. He eases over to the coffin and then looks back at us.

Rachel's hand tightens on mine. Mark slowly extends his free hand forward and bangs hard on the top of the coffin, maybe trying to scare the kid he thinks is down there. Then he uses the same hand to yank the coffin lid open, jumping back a little as he does. When nothing comes rushing out at him, he eases back over and looks into the casket.

He shines his light on a simple hydraulic column draped in black fabric. Then he leans farther down, looking to the right of the column. Yeah, there is a hole through the floor here, he says. It's... A severely burned arm shoots up through the hole and grabs Mark by the shirt, yanking him off balance and into the hole. He drops his phone and manages to get his hands onto the edge of the coffin, preventing himself from being pulled entirely into the hole. His muffled shouts fill my ears as he convulses, clearly trying to pull himself back up. Help him!

Rachel shouts, shoving me toward him. I rush over and drop my phone onto the floor. I grab Mark by his belt and the back of his shirt and pull him out. He sits back on his knees on the floor, and I move around to get a better look at him. As soon as I see his face, I gasp and step back, my phone crunching underfoot. His face is a bloody mess of ripped flesh and gouged eyeballs. A gash on the side of his neck spits blood in time with his heartbeat. Behind me, Rachel screams.

Mark opens his mouth to say something. The wrecked remains of one eye finding my face, but nothing comes out, nothing but blood. He topples over and goes still. The wound that was spitting blood slows to a trickle as his heart fails. Another thud comes from the clown room. I step back once and then twice. Rachel screams at me to run.

So that's what I do. I turn around and run deeper into the fright house with Rachel at my side. After the coffin room is a witch-themed room. We get through it without incident, but the thudding sound follows us, getting closer and more frequent. After the witch room, we pass through a butcher-themed room, but as we step foot into the next area, we freeze. The only light we have is from Rachel's phone. Mine is back on the floor next to Mark's body. Her flashlight illuminates a modest swath of the wide room, which is populated entirely by human-shaped figures shrouded in white or black sheets. probably 30 or more figures with no clear path through them.

This wasn't here when I was a kid. This room was a zombie graveyard with animatronic hands that would shoot out of graves as you passed. My heart goes wild in my chest, and all I can think about is the blood spitting out of Mark's wound before fading to a trickle. Another thud sounds behind us. Whatever it is is getting closer. Rachel directs the flashlight down, illuminating two boot-clad feet at the base of the nearest, shrouded figure. Then she shifts it again, seeing more feet and similar boots. Not every figure has boots visible. Some of the shrouds are long enough that we can't see anything. Rachel's hand

tenses on my arm, and I suddenly become aware of heavy breathing behind us, on the other side of the strips of black cloth that serve as the door. Rachel pulls me forward, no doubt, driven by sheer terror, thinking of nothing but running away from whoever or whatever is behind us. But as soon as we're 10 yards into the forest of shrouded figures, half a dozen of them move. Some of them simply twitch violently while others dashed toward us. Rachel screams and tries to whip her flashlight beam in every direction at once. Her nails dig into my forearm as she pulls me along. Two black shrouded figures angle toward us, knocking over other figures as they come, cutting off our escape path. We whip around and move back the other way, but the flashlight beam

illuminates a badly burned man who lurches toward us, scorched skin. swinging from where it hangs off him in strips. Rachel claws her way around so she's behind me, trying to put my body between our approaching attackers and her. But they've got every angle covered. Stop them! She screams in my ear. I crouch, raising my fists, ready to attack.

Three figures come up to us, knocking mannequins out of the way to clear an area on the floor. They stop out of striking distance surrounding us. Now, I can see that the two shrouded figures are wearing what are closer to robes than sheets. complete with baggy sleeves and black gloves. Rachel whimperes behind me, but I straighten up and drop my fists,

and she lets me pull away from her as I turn around. In the light from her phone, I can see the confusion on her face. Then I take a step back, toward the burned man. The confusion deepens. I take another step and another. The confusion starts to shift, a hint of betrayal coming into her expression.

Then, as the three figures start toward her, completely ignoring man, Grim understanding comes to her. She knows, but that knowledge won't save her. The three figures produce knives as they close in. At the very last moment, rage enters Rachel's face. She takes a swing at one of the figures, but the man parries it easily and jams his knife up

into the underside of her bicep. This time, she doesn't scream, not right away. As the first man rips his knife out of her arm, severing muscles and tendons and veins, the other two plunged their knives into her. Now she screams, as she goes to the floor, these three men stabbered to death, just like I hired them to do. Then she dies, and her noises die with her.

When it's done, the four of us stand around her dead body, which is only illuminated by the flashlight beam coming from Rachel's phone, still clutched in one lifeless hand. The two shrouded men pull their black hoods off, which features see-through mesh at the eyes. I don't know these men's names, and that's fine. The man in the prosthetics speaks first. So what? They were sleeping together? That's what I figured, too. Another one says, looking at me.

Is that right? Your wife was cheating on you? Sighing, I turned to leave. Clean it up before morning. Sure thing, boss. The man in prosthetics, says in a mocking tone. When I get to the doorway to the butcher room, I step behind a shrouded mannequin and reach into my back waistband, where I have a compact handgun and a concealed carry holster. I pulled the handgun out. Take two steps back toward the three men, aim, and fire. I empty the magazine, which holds 13 rounds,

with one in the chamber that makes 14. Once I put them all down, which only takes six rounds, I fire wildly to make it look like I was scared for my life when I gunned my attackers down. I walk over to them, grab one of their knives, and stab myself in the abdomen, right where I researched so I wouldn't hit anything major. Then I sliced into the underside of my forearm five times.

Defensive wounds, they call them. That should do it. Next, I grab Rachel's phone and psyched myself up to call 911. If I play this right, I'll get away Scott Free. If I don't, I'll go to prison for a long time. Either way, it will have been worth it to kill those two backstabbing assholes. Story 3. The Murder Maskat

As I lowered the lumberjack head into place over my own, I had a moment of claustrophobic panic that made a cold sweat break out all over my body. It was uncharacteristic for me. I never had a problem with enclosed spaces, and I'd spent many days playing a mascot at a different amusement park. I'd been recruited for this job, which paid well above average rates. So I had packed my dog up and my meager belongings and moved out here to the Pacific Northwest. But in those first moments in the new costume,

an implacable dread settled on me, and I felt an urge to rip the mascot head off and throw it in the trash. I focused on my breathing and looked through the curved mesh smile of the lumberjack's mouth, which served as my viewport from the costume. Mack the lumberjack was the park's main mascot.

His cartoonish face, smiling and bearded, was on all the marketing materials and billboards. The park was even lumberjack themed, with log rides, wooden roller coasters, Axe throwing attractions, and furry forest creature plushies to be won at the various games, I knew I was in the big leagues. I couldn't mess this up, not on my first day as Mac. The park was about to open, and my job was to make people laugh and smile,

to take pictures and wield my cartoon-like axe in anything but a threatening manner. There were several fake tree stations around the park where I would set up when I wasn't wandering around silently greeting people. At these stations, I would hand my face. fake axe off to kids and urged them to cut down these fake trees. With a remote I carried in a pouch in the costume, I could cause these foam trees to fall after a few chops from the kids. They loved it, and it made their parents smile without fail.

It's just nerves, I told myself. A flash of horrific images rushed through my head like a whirlwind, causing me to stumble and sit down hard on the locker room bench. They were anything but clear images, so fast they all blurred together in my mind. eye. There was blood, lots of blood, and body parts? Then the flash was gone, fading already like a barely remembered dream upon waking. You okay? I turned to look in their direction, but I wasn't quite used to the costume yet, so I couldn't see them. I had to turn my shoulders to turn my lumberjack head, which I did after a moment. It was Bobby, the kid working as

Bucky the Beaver, Mack, the lumberjack's nemesis. He was new to the malice. He was new to the mascot world, so I'd been giving him pointers while we did a little training together. I'm good. I said loudly, so my voice carried outside the costume. No problem. Bobby was dressed in the beaver costume, minus the head. He'd apparently been in here for a while, getting dressed, and I hadn't even noticed him. He came over and reached one plush handout. I took it, and he helped me off the bench. Good luck out there, he said. You too. Remember to take break. and drink lots of water. It's supposed to be hot out there today. Bobby smiled. Thanks. I will.

The locker room clock said it was almost opening time. I headed outside, vague memories of blood and severed body parts, clouding the back of my mind. I stepped into the dark bedroom and stared at my sleeping wife lying on her side in the bed. The smooth finish of the axe handle felt cool in my hands as I moved toward her. Her auburn hair had fallen over half her plump face. She breathed steadily through her nose. It was a noise I had once cherished, but now it only made me grip the axe tighter in anger. No, it wasn't me who had cherished that noise.

It was this body. Sometimes the two were difficult to keep separate. I turned my head, still staring at the woman. Why should she be allowed to breathe, to live so happily, so carefree? I didn't say she could. I gave no permission for this person to exist. And if I had no say in the birth of billions of putrid people into the world, I certainly

had a say in how long they stayed. As I raised the axe over my head and aimed at the curve of the woman's neck, I smiled. A wave of anticipatory ecstasy rolled through me, causing me to shiver with pleasure. I swung the axe down. Blood splattered my face. The woman's eyes shot open and she turned onto her back as I raised the tool for another swing. She opened her mouth to scream. the gash in her neck like a matching bloody mouth.

Before she could make a sound, I smashed her face in with the axe. A violent shiver rocked me. I momentarily left this body, my thoughts, my control, shrouded by a cloud of euphoria. When I came back to myself, I had stumbled against the bedroom wall. Only moments had passed in that euphoric state, and it wasn't long enough. I needed more. A small sound from down the hall reminded me that this body had made little copies of itself with the dead woman in the bed.

Axe held in both hands, I headed out of the bedroom, seeing two boys of about six and seven, standing sleepy-eyed in the hallway. Blood dripped from the axe with a soft clock-like ticking. Both boys looked at me in confusion, but only one spoke. Daddy? I started forward, raising the axe. The stupid kids didn't move, didn't run. I chose the larger of the two and swung the axe down.

The blade bounced off his head, doing no damage at all because it was made of foam. I was no longer in that hallway, and that house I'd never been in, with kids I'd never seen before. I didn't have a wife. I didn't have any kids. What the fuck, asshole?

Man shouted. As I came back to myself, I realized I was still in the park, still working, wearing the lumberjack costume. A pair of children, a boy and a girl, stood in front of me. The boy, who I had just hit in the head

with my foam axe, was starting to cry. His father raced forward, fury turning his face lobster red. He shoved me, and I fell to the ground. You fucking hit my kid! The man shouted, standing over me. Behind him, his wife raced forward and gathered the two children protectively to her bosom. I had nothing to say.

My mind was still reeling from the hallucination, the vision, whatever it was. I recalled the very real feeling of swinging the axe down into the woman's neck and then her face, and the amazingly intense feeling that came after. My stomach revolted at the memory. I turned my head and vomited a mixture of Gatorade and tuna sandwich into the mascot head. I want to talk to your manager. The man was shouting, still standing over me. I was sitting in the locker room,

the vomit-spelling mascot head drying on the bench next to me. When Bobby came in and took off his beaver head. Dude, what happened? Did you get fired? I shook my head. No. Tony and Mr. Olson managed to calm them down by refunding the cost of their passes and offering them a bunch of free food and drinks. But I got a good reaming. And I deserved it, too.

I heard you hit a kid with your axe. Is that true? I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and dropped my head. I don't even know what I was thinking. It was like I was somewhere else. I think I need to see a doctor. I think something's really wrong with my head. I saw. What did you see?

Something in Bobby's voice prompted me to raise my head and look at him. He'd taken a seat next to me on the bench, on the other side of Mack's head. I don't know. Something crazy. Bobby's sweat-streaked face had paled as he studied me. What? I asked. What's wrong? The kid swallowed. His prominent Adam's apple bobbing. Do you know what happened to the last guy who wore that costume? I shook my head.

No. I moved here from California, remember? Ever wonder why the job pays so well, or why they couldn't get one of the park employees to do it? I shrugged. I just thought someone had seen my act at Magic Mountain and liked what they saw. Bobby shook his head. No one wants to wear that costume, not after what happened to the last guy. What happened? I asked, stomach clenching. Bobby paused, licking his lips.

He killed his whole family with an axe. He'd only been working here for like. two weeks when it happened. The world seemed to shimmer sickeningly around me. Was it possible? No, no fucking way. Bullshit, I said, but I hadn't told anyone what I'd seen in my hallucination. So how could he know? I swear, and the guy before that? What? Did he kill his whole family too? No, Bobby said. He... Tony burst into the locker room and marched up to us. Bobby, Get your ass back out there. And you, he pointed one thick finger at me.

You're coming with me to apologize to those people. Get out of the costume. Bobby scurried out of the room, taking his beaverhead with him. I did as I was asked, and followed Tony to make my heartfelt apology. The sight of Zinia when I got home after dark was one I sorely needed. She barked excitedly and jumped up as I walked in the door, her tail wagging madly. I dropped my bag and knelt to greet her, giving her a home.

hug and gladly accepting her slobary kisses. She's a kelpie, about 40 pounds, and coffee brown all over except for a tan-colored patch along her belly, and she was the best thing to happen in my life. Since I worked long hours, I had a doggie door installed so she could get to the small backyard, and I also hired someone to come walk her once a day. As was our routine, I grabbed the leash from its hook after we'd finished our greeting. She spun around three times and then raced to the door, standing still while I put the leash on and then opened the door. And we were off. As we walked, Zinia stopping to smell things often, I pulled my phone out, still curious about what Bobby had been about to tell me before we'd been interrupted. I searched for amusement park worker

murder and found a hit immediately. I clicked on the first story, and when the headline picture came up, I stopped walking. It caused Zinia to yank on her leash. There, on my phone screen, were the three people from my vision, the Auburn-haired woman with the plump face and two kids of about six and seven. It was a family photo, and a smiling, dark-haired man stood next to the woman with his arm around her. Zinia whined, but I ignored her, reading the article fervently. The man's name was Dale Young, and he killed himself shortly after taking the lives of his wife and two sons. I kept reading. At the sixth paragraph, My bones turned to ice.

This comes just months after Martin Zimmerman was found dead of an apparent suicide on park property. An anonymous leak from the police department claimed that the suicide looked ritualistic, and that the Mack the Lumberjack costume, which Zimmerman had worn as part of his employment for years, had been hanging on the wall above where Zimmerman took his own life. The police have dismissed, the ritual suicide claims as bogus, but they are still digging into Zimmerman's life after finding a note at the scene, in which Zimmerman took credit for dozens of murders and taunted the police for not catching him. Right now, they are confident in saying that Zimmerman was responsible for a string of unsolved murders

in the Pacific Northwest, going back over a decade. Just how many murders he committed remains to be seen as the posthumous investigation continues. The autopsy revealed that Zimmerman had terminal cancer, which could account for his decision to take his own life. What is not clear is why he decided to do it on park property after hours, and what, if anything, this had to do with the senseless murders committed by Dale Young, followed by his own suicide. I stood for a moment and stared ahead blankly, Zinia pulling on her leash. Then I navigated to Tony's number and called him.

Is the Mac the Lumberjack costume I was wearing today, the same one that Martin Zimmerman and Dale Young wore? There was a long moment of silence. What does it matter, Vince? Don't tell me you're going to try to blame your behavior today on some dead guys. It's a costume, Vince. Just a fucking... I hung up and put my phone away.

Then I looked down at Zinia. She had stopped trying to pull away and now stared at me with those big brown eyes. Want to go for a ride? She opened her mouth and wagged her tail. It was as close to a yes as I was going to get. When I got to the locker room, the park was dark and silent. It had taken some talking to get past security, even though I'd showed him my employee badge and said I just forgot something and needed to grab it.

If the dog takes a shit in there, you better clean it up. The bald guard said as I walked into the park. I half turned and padded my backpack, which contained lighter fluid and a lighter to burn the goddamn costume. I will. Got doggy bags and stuff in here. At least it's not a fucking duffel bag, the guard murmured. I didn't know what that meant, and we were. wasn't about to wait around to find out. I had hurried in, with Zinia trotting beside me on her leash. Now, we were moving into the locker room and to the large locker where I had left the costume.

I opened the door and found the locker empty. No Mac. Bunched in the bottom of the locker was a black duffel bag I'd never seen before. I recalled the guards murmured words. Before I could make any sense of the bag, Zinia barked once, and I turned to see Mack the Lumberjack standing about 10 feet away at the end of the row of lockers. The mascot had an axe in hand, but it wasn't the big foam one that went with the costume. It was a real one. Mac lurched toward me, whipping the axe up. Zinia snarled and barked, but I pulled her away as I backpedaled, afraid she'd get hurt. The blade swished through the air in front of my face. The mascot kept coming, moving faster than should have been possible. I turned and ran with Zinia at my side.

I pulled open the door and ran out, shouting as I headed toward the employee's only gate had come through. As we neared the gate, I looked over my shoulder, seeing no evidence of Mack. Ahead, the guard emerged from his hut, looking perplexed. He walked toward me as I slowed to catch my breath. What's all the screaming about? A large figure came out from the shadows between two nearby buildings and rushed up behind the guard. Behind you! Mack swung the axe and cleaved the security guards' head down the middle with one swipe.

The guy convulsed, standing with the blade still in his skull. Then Mack pulled it out with the wet squelch, and the man fell to the ground. Zinia snarled and raced forward, yanking the leash from my hand. No! I screamed, racing after her. Mack swung the axe at her, but I threw myself forward, grabbing the handle as I crashed into him, keeping him from killing my dog. She bit his leg, but all she got was material, and the mascot didn't seem to care.

He didn't go down like I hoped, and I bounced off, losing my grip on the axe and then falling onto my back. The mascot pivoted and raised the axe, aiming for my head. Before he could swing it down, Zinia was there, leaping up and sinking her teeth into one burly arm. A pained shout came from inside the head, and I realized there was a man in there. It wasn't just some crazy serial killer spirit puppeting the mascot. Someone was in there, and he could be hurt. With his free hand, he finished the swing, but it had been interrupted by Zinari.

giving me just enough time to move. The axe blade struck me in the side of my arm, slicing into my flesh. The pain was intense, but I still managed to grab the axe and yanked out of the mascot's oversized hands. Biting back the pain, I got to my feet, reversed the axe, and swung it as hard as I could into Mack the lumberjack's head, knowing the foam would cushion some of the impact. The mascot went down, and the head toppled off, revealing my boss, Tony. I suddenly remembered someone mentioning that because everyone else refused.

He had donned the costume for a couple of weeks until I moved into town to take over. He was unconscious, and I moved quickly to get him out of the costume. I grabbed a pair of flex cuffs from the dead security guard's belt and secured Tony's hands behind his back. Then I pulled out the lighter fluid and doused the costume right where it lay on the concrete. Using a match from the box I had brought, I lit the costume on fire. The flames were eager, eating at the flannel shirt and the overalls and the fake leather boots that were all just one thing, one costume, that had been worn by a serial killer. Zinia and I stood and watched as the costume burned.

A crazed cry issued from behind me. I turned to see Tony on his feet, rushing toward me. No! He screamed madly. No! Zinia barked, and I started to run. But it soon became clear that he wasn't running at me. He threw himself onto the burning costume, his hands still bound behind his back.

Screaming, he rolled on it, trying to put the flames out with his body. It didn't work. Instead, he caught fire. As his skin blackened and his screams faded to wet gurgles, he continued to try to put the flames out, but it was no use. I stood, mesmerized for a long time, before snapping out of it and running into the locker room to where I'd seen a fire extinguisher. I came back out and sprayed the yellow-white powder all over the man and the mascot, putting the fire out. Still, there was no doubt in my mind that it was too late for Tony. It had probably been too late even before he had jumped onto the fire. The important part was that the costume would never be worn again.

I set the extinguisher aside, pulled out my phone, and called 911. Then I sat next to my dog and waited for the authorities to arrive. As I put a hand on Zinia to pet her, a flash of horrific images. images rushed through my head like a hurricane. My head swam with disgust, but a certain part of me reveled in them, recalling the intoxicating ecstasy I'd felt during the all-too-real hallucination. Then the feeling was gone, along with the images. I sat with my hand on my dog, staring at her.

She turned and looked at me, and I swear she winked.