The NoSleep Podcast - NoSleep Podcast S11E15

Episode Date: September 9, 2018

It's episode 15 of Season 11. On this week's show we have five tales about the insanity of insidious inhumans. "The Prom Baby"† written by Kelly A. Childress and performed by Addison Peacock & Jessica McEvoy. (Story starts around 00:02:30) "Welcome to Mister Smiley’s Happy World Theme Park and Fun Land"† written by Joe Prosit and performed by Mike DelGaudio & Corinne Sanders & David Ault. (Story starts around 00:27:00) "Emily's Alone"‡ written by David Hubbard and performed by Atticus Jackson & Nikolle Doolin & Mike DelGaudio. (Story starts around 01:00:40) "It Was Drawn In Banana Mania Crayola"† written by Patrick Zac and performed by Jessica McEvoy & Erika Sanderson. (Story starts around 01:26:00) "The Executrix"¤ written by Henry Galley and performed by Nichole Goodnight & Armen Taylor & Graham Rowat & Kyle Akers & Jesse Cornett. (Story starts around 02:07:15) Click here to learn more about the voice actors on The NoSleep Podcast   Click here to learn more about Kelly A. Childress   Click here to learn more about Joe Prosit   Click here to learn more about David Hubbard   Click here to learn more about Patrick Zac   Click here to learn more about Henry Galley   Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone Audio adaptations produced by: Phil Michalski† & Jeff Clement‡ & Jesse Cornett¤ "Emily’s Alone" illustration courtesy of Jen Tracy Audio program ©2018 - Creative Reason Media Inc. - All Rights Reserved - No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This audio program presents horror which is frightening and disturbing. You left us into your mind at your own. As the sunlight fades to darkness, the frightful tales creep into your mind. It's time to give you to your fear because tonight there will be... Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. It's the No Sleep Podcast. I'm David Cummings. Thanks for joining us. On the show this week, we have five tales about the insanity of insidious in humans.

Before we start the show this week, I have two reminders for you. First, our Senheiser Ambio Smart Headset contest is in its final days. The contest ends by the end of day on Tuesday, the 11th of September. We already have close to 200 entries, so don't wait to enter to win. Go to Contests.com to the no-sleeppodcast.com to hear how to enter. And the second reminder is about how we provide trigger warnings for our listeners on our website. Each episode has its own page on our site, with recent episodes linked right on the main page. If an episode has stories with certain themes which some might find upsetting,

we provide a bit of a warning so you can choose whether or not that story is one you want to hear. Just click the trigger warning. link to see the applicable details. We've found this to be the best and safest way for all our listeners to enjoy our frightening and disturbing tales. And speaking of frightening and disturbing tales, we have five of them for you now. The tape is in the machine. The stories are ready, so let's press play. In our first tale, we meet a woman who recounts how excited she was for her senior prom. But as we learn from author Kelly A. Childress, a disturbing turn of events leaves the woman in

physical and emotional distress with the festivities the last thing on her mind. Performing this tale are Addison Peacock and Jessica McAvoy. So your dress and corsage aren't important when you're dealing with the prom baby. Once a year, somebody disappears from all. Alkindale, Kansas. At least, everyone else thinks they disappear. I know where they go, and they're never coming back. I grew up in Ockendale, but I'll never go back there. And you shouldn't either. I think my son still lives there. It all started a week before prom, when my friend Maddie suggested we have a sleepover, sneak whiskey, and watch scary movies.

This was an annual tradition for us to celebrate our liberation from the bondage of school. Senior year, our last one, was extra special. Naturally, I said yes. Maddie and I had met freshman year and bonded immediately over our mutual love of monsters, the occult, anything dark and creepy. So I wasn't surprised when I showed up and saw that Maddie had filled her room with candles and set up a Ouija board. I was so stupid.

So fucking stupid. I miss you. The worst part is I don't even remember exactly what happened that night. We drank, laughed, discussed what we were going to wear and do on our prom night, shouted at the ghouls on TV, shouted at any ghouls we thought were in the room with us. I remember us both cackling at one point

because we'd started using the Ouija board to convene with ghosts over what horror villain was hottest. Pinhead was a fine chunk of manmate. Right, oh, heavenly spirits? I pushed the planchette toward yes. Maddie giggled and took the planchette from me. Hotter than Vincent Price from House of Wax? Way hotter.

I'm gonna have to disagree. I can't get enough of Vincent's goatey, pointy mustache combo thing. It's very vintage. Spanish explorer. Now, if I could just land a guy like that as a prom date. She paused and steadied herself. Then promptly fell backwards with a thud. The forgotten planchette went flying. Conquer me, conquistador. I'm yours.

Things went hazy near the end of the night. I remember feeling a chill. breeze and thinking it was strange since it had been oppressively muggy all week. I remember the chill was followed by a sharp burst of nausea punching its way out of my midsection, followed by the disjointed thought, oops, sick, drank too much, followed by a long and blissful sleep. The next morning, I woke up puking. That part wasn't a huge shocker, but I did get scared when I opened my eyes and saw it.

wings, insect wings, small, maybe an inch long, and translucent. They floated in the brownish-yellow sludge of my vomit, defiantly geometric. It was early enough and I felt shitty enough that I decided to ignore it. The nausea faded, but I still felt achy all day, and I threw up a couple more times that evening. No wings this time. I chalked it up to drinking too much on an empty stomach. I must have been so dehydrated I imagined it. Sunday morning, I was puking again.

And this time what came up terrified me. It wasn't just wings. There were small chunks of some dark-colored material. I remember how they scratched my throat raw coming up. When I realized what they were, I dry heaved. I recognized them immediately. They'd been all over the previous summer,

with their rainbow translucent wings and stocky little bodies. Their spawning season that always garnered fascination from entomologists and local news stations. They were cicada. Before you even ask, no, I did not tell anyone I was throwing up bugs. I was terrified I was going to die, or worse get in trouble.

I kept telling myself that it would stop soon. I had barely cleaned myself up when mom yelled it was time for church. I sat through the entire service with a dull, throbbing headache. The headache seemed to dissipate once I stepped out into the fresh air, but the all-over body aches and pains continued into the week. I started to worry that I'd be sick for prom. I couldn't miss it. It was the only one I'd ever have.

By Thursday, Maddie cornered me to ask what was wrong. I painted it like I'd just gotten too drunk and then gotten a stomach bug. Disappointed, she asked if I thought I'd miss Prong. Faining confidence, I assured her I wouldn't. We talked, and by the time we got to my house, I was feeling almost normal again. That feeling vanished as I passed our neighbor's cat. Squeaks on the sidewalk. Normally friendly and outgoing,

she recoiled and hissed when I tried to pet her. I'm sorry for what I did to her. Unnerved by Squeak's reaction, I told Maddie that I was going to go lie down and went inside. I ended up sleeping through to the morning. I woke with the cool early morning air on my skin, feeling better, although there was a coppery taste in my mouth.

and nausea still hung in my gut like an unwanted pregnancy. Contentment gave way to confusion as I realized my t-shirt, clean the previous night, was crusty, as if something sticky had dried on it. Confusion transformed into horror when I got up and felt something small and wet all out of my lap. Squinting, I knelt to see what it was. Once I was able to shake my sleepy haze and realize what I was looking at,

recognition bloomed like a horrific flower in my mind. Soft and furry, but with one end glistening in telling red, the cat's calico paw sat, motionless on the carpet. Its presence clanged through my room like a chorus of locusts. I told my mother I wasn't feeling well. and had to stay home from school. As soon as I heard her car cruised down the block, I got to work.

The year before, my mom had gotten the idea that we needed a home security system, which I think came from the tech nerd she was dating. She and Bryce had set up some motion sensor cameras, and, like a true millennial, I helped her set up the online account. The security system lasted longer than Bryce. As I logged in,

a disquieted Eddie Churbanial. churned in the pit of my stomach. I skipped forward until I got to the only one with today's date, time stamped around 1 a.m. At first, all the video contained were some swooping bats and the occasional possum. But soon, I saw a cat pass over the sidewalk. From the left of the frame, a figure, human-shaped, streaked over and seized it. The person held the cat tightly. You could see the cats squirming frantically in the unwelcome grasp. They fell to their knees and buried their face into the cat's back. Through the grainy image, I could see dark liquid showering the grass.

The cat's squirming became more forceful, more frantic. The figure lifted the limp little body like it was an ear of corn and continued to ravage it. A few seconds later, headlights glowed from the other end of the street, and they skittered away on all fours to a darker corner of our yard. I sat there, open-mouthed. There was one detail in that video that filled me with an icy, detached terror. At one point, the shadowy cat killer had wondered close enough to the porch light that their t-shirt was visible. It was an old nine-inch nail. It was my shirt.

So I found proof that I climbed out of my bedroom and ate a live cat in the middle of the night. What did I do about this revelation? I sat at home and mobilized and watched daytime TV. What else do you do in that situation? Despite the evidence, I couldn't wrap my head around it. I couldn't tell my mom I ate the neighbor's cat. She'd have me committed. I thought about calling Maddie, but I was afraid she'd be scared of me.

Denial seemed like the best option. Prom was the following day. I wanted to dance with my friends, dress up, and wear weird makeup. I didn't want to be sick or throwing up or involuntarily devouring other people's pets. Maybe that's why I deserved what happened. Prom night came, but I felt like I felt like I was. I was forcing a happy face while dying internally. Maddie came over and we blasted the Halloween medal Pandora Station while we got ready.

My stomach was alive with prickly pain all day. Like all the other weird shit, I ignored it. It was prom night. I was so close. I just had to put it aside long enough to enjoy myself. Maddie drove us to school and we'd barely go. gotten through two songs before a cramp shot through me like a lightning bolt. I straightened up and waved off Maddie's concerned expression,

until a few seconds later, when the cramp returned, this time retaining its vice-like grip for a few seconds before dissipating. Part pounding, I felt sweat, rise on my brow. I gave Maddie an apologetic look and mouth the word bathroom to her over the noise of the DJ. Clutching my abdomen, I staggered out of the gym and into the blissful quiet of the girls' room. Despite the pain, I made myself walk the extra distance to a bathroom further away for extra privacy. I was hoping I wouldn't throw up, but as soon as I closed the bathroom stall, I felt my gorge rise. Trying to breathe calmly, I fell onto the toilet seat.

It felt like broken glass was churning in my stomach. I slumped forward, burning with heat. Droplets of perspiration fell into the toilet, making small plinks. I tried to wipe the sweat away with some toilet paper, but dropped the damp wad when another cramp came. This one so strong I let out a cry. I pushed both my hands against my stomach, willing it to calm down.

It didn't. A cramp seared through me like a welding torch. I started to need at the cold, clammy flesh, half out of nerves and half out of the vague idea that it would calm my misbehaving body. The next few moments, I have played back in my head more than a thousand times. I was hunched over the toilet, clutching at my midsection and panting in pain. Three things happened next. Something inside me pushed back. I screamed. I barely had time to register the event when the bathroom doors swung open.

I clapped one hand over my mouth, not wanting any attention. It was too late anyway. It was Maddie. Tomorrow, will you please fucking tell me what's going on? I didn't know whether to be relieved or scared. It's fine, Matt's. I'll be out in a minute. The thudding base. of the music outside seemed to expose the fear in my voice rather than concealing it.

She wasn't buying it. I'd been acting weird all week after all. Bullshit! Look, if you're sick, it's not a big deal, okay? It doesn't matter if we miss prom. Fuck it, you need a doctor. Her words hung in the air. And above all the fear and anxiety and pain,

I felt only gratitude. I never got to thank her for it. Another cramp hit me, and this one felt like the final boss of cramps. I'd never felt anything like it. A huge, solid mass slowly descending through my body, stretching everything until it couldn't stretch any more, ripping me in two.

I screamed again and maintained the sound until it became a whale. Wetness started to spread beneath me. In horror, I lifted myself and saw blood soaking my dress and trickling down my thighs. Maddie must have seen the blood too because she started pounding on the stall door. Jesus, Tamara! You need a fucking ambulance! She never got a chance to make the call, because, At that moment, something fell out of me into the toilet. It, the pain started to subside, and I took my chance to get away from whatever the thing was.

Falling to all fours, I pushed open the door and crawled away, gasping. Maddie's face was concerned underneath all the makeup. She took me in her arms for a moment while I sobbed and heaved. There was a trail of scarlet leading from the stall to me. I could still feel my blood, slower now, but still flowing, pooling underneath me as I lay. After a moment, Maddie got up and went over to the stall. I didn't have time to cry out or warn her.

She thought I was just another scared, pregnant teenager. She didn't know about the cicada or squeaks or the pains. She thought she was going to check on a normal human, baby. Terrified and dazed from the blood loss, I lay weakly against the opposite wall. Maddie peered into the toilet. She managed to scream for half a second before tentacles, three or four of them shot out of the bowl and wrapped themselves around her face. They pulled Maddie, arms flailing into the bowl. I'll never forget how she writhed and fought. This is the part where things start to get fuzzy for me. The doctors and my court-appointed

psychiatrist later said it was from the blood loss. The tentacles squeezed, impervious to any of Maddie's blows. It simply waited until she went limp, collapsed against the porcelain, her knuckles dragging against the seafone tile. Then it raised her up by her ankles. I moaned and tried to stand up, but I was too exhausted. Like a fish, my mouth gaped, but no sound came out. Maddie, still inverted, started to spin. A thick gurgling came from her throat as she was pulled towards the beast in the toilet. Her hands and arms disappeared first, the red spray coating the cheap metal walls.

there was a crunching and her body jerked downwards one shoulder first than the other the crunching intensified as her rib cage was crushed the thing led out what i can only describe as the belch sending a geyser of water blood and pured tissue into the air soaking me in my best friend's remains for a moment the thing lifted mattie's corpse of in the air and I could see meat and entrails hanging like rotous ropes from her shredded waist. Tears streaming down my face, I covered my eyes. This can't be happening. It can't be happening. It can't, can't, can't. Silence overtook the room. I faded in and out. Shades of gauzy gray encroached on my vision.

I remember hearing the soft sound of something rubbery, hitting tile, and feeling the slight wind from the bathroom door opening and closing. In delirium, I thought, oh good, Maddie must have gone to get help. I lay there for who knows how long, until someone from my grade came in and found me. After that, it was a blur of ivy's, emergency lights, and scrubs. I woke up in the hospital, handcuffed to my bed. A stone-faced local deputy explained that I was a person of interest in my best friend's disappearance and under suspicion of murdering my newborn son. My shock was apparent because he raised his eyebrow and explained what they discovered that night.

I'd been found covered in blood and semi-conscious. In the toilet bowl was a baby boy, small and blue-faced. The coroner had determined the baby was born alive and then choked to death. Maddie was missing. I spent three days recovering in the hospital and taking a variety of medical and psychological tests. It was hell. If I hadn't been so heavily medicated, I don't know how I would have gotten through any of it. They didn't believe me when I said I was a virgin.

They didn't believe me when I said I didn't know I was pregnant. They didn't believe me when I said I didn't know where Maddie was. I remember one session, trying not to give anything away and asking about Maddie's whereabouts, about where they thought she might be, and if she might still be alive. They told me that they found a trail of blood leading from the bathroom to an exit down the hall. They lost the trail after that, but they suspected it was Maddie, disoriented, and injured. I know, I know. I wanted to tell the truth. I especially wanted to tell Maddie's parents the truth,

but I was caught in such a nauseating whirlwind of suspicion, drugs, and disbelief that I just shut down. I barely even spoke in the months that followed. They never ended up arresting me, although I knew most of them thought I did it. I was told no fingerprints could be found

anywhere on the body, and there wasn't any other evidence that technically connected me to either crime. Moreover, one of the cops let it slip while I was in the room, that not only were there no fingerprints on the baby,

the little quills. corpse had no fingerprints of his own. The police operated as if Maddie was still alive for a few months. Flyers were put up, searches conducted. Then, abruptly, they stopped. They did the same with me. When the search for Maddie yielded nothing, they turned to finding the father of that baby.

They sent DNA off for testing and nothing. I asked about it once, during one of the many times they questioned me. The detective looked uncomfortable and mumbled something about inconclusive results. Mom and I moved away from Ackendale around five months after that night, after the police cleared us any wrongdoing. I got a part-time job, saved my money, and enrolled in community college in Topeka. I kept an eye on the news in Ackendale, though. Like a benign tumor, I wanted to check in on it.

It was my way of making myself tough, of desensitizing myself to the pain that came with even thinking about that place. Our local police department never unraveled what happened. Maddie was never found. Her parents started a charity in her honor, but once her younger brother went off to college, they moved away too. Now, at least once a year in Ackendale, someone disappears, and no one is ever arrested for it. It tends to happen in early spring. The victims are usually young people, or at least young women. I'll never go back to Ackendale, and you shouldn't either.

None still lives there. And he's always hungry. When an old amusement park falls into disrepair, a police officer is called out to investigate the latest goings-on. And as shared by author Joe Prossett, the call is complicated by the fact that the cop has his teenage daughter with him. Lucky for her, the park celebrates one of her favorite childhood TV shows. Lucky for both of them, right? Performing this tale are Mike Delgado, Corinne Sanders, and David Alton. So don't fear.

Have fun and welcome to Mr. Smiley's Happy World Theme Park and Funland. If robots were humans, this would be a war crime. Murder, atrocities, genocide. Something worthy of Nobel Prize winning photography, international peacekeepers, or at least a mass grave. Instead, they got me. Chief called me up on my day off, no less, and sent me out here to the Happy Fun World theme park and Funland.

I looked down at the bright oval eyes and wide, toothy grin of the lone dictator and inhabitant of Happy World, the infamous Mr. Smiley. His eyes looked blank, lidless, and unblinking. A smile never faded. It was embossed in the steelhead for all time and never needed to rest or take a breath of oxygen. Its steel skin was painted the color of sunshine. The big round head was two times too big for its body, and crowned with a cute quaff of hair swooping to the right.

It sat in a puddle of rust-orange water, looking up at me with that big, stupid smirk. Mr. Smiley was dead, but I was so happy to be here anyway. He wasn't alone. Dozens of identical metal corpses were scattered throughout the park. Dead Mr. Smiley's as far as the eye could see. Real cool, Dad. My daughter, Sophie, 13 going on 23.

She strolled through the concrete path littered with dozens of Mr. Smiley robots. Her eyes hid behind her dark hair. Her hands burrowed into her pockets. The laces of her shoes dragged through the water, flopped with. each step and frayed a little more each time they were stepped on. I thought I told you to stay in the car. She was supposed to be in school. Well, was supposed to be home sick and bed.

Was supposed to at least be in my police cruiser, where I told her to stay put once I got the call to come out and investigate this mess. You know, you did promise you'd bring me to Happy World back when I was five and into this kind of shit. Hey, language. Yeah, but she had a point. I did make a promise What felt like a century ago When she was less a moody preteen

And more a bouncing Pig-tailed ball of preschool energy Well, here she was Walking through a field of her old dead heroes The idea that all this might have actually upset her Took way too long to sink in Ah shit I'm sorry honey

She stepped over the lifeless robot mascots Really dad I don't know if you've noticed, but it's been a while since I watched the Mr. Smiley show. Yeah, I noticed. She wanted to play the Too Cool for School Act. Fine. That worked for me. I turned and walked deeper into the park and came to what had brought us here.

The free fall drop tower, the pinnacle of Happy World, complete with Mr. Smiley's face and bright multicolored pendants. It had toppled, just like a redwood under a lumberjack's axe. But it was no lumberjack that felled this smiling fallace. Just disrepair, the salty ocean air, and massive structural failure. Dead Mr. Smiley robots were scattered along the length of the tower, and at least one other ride had been crushed by the fall. Its base was at the center of the park,

and its felled corpse stretched from the center all the way out to here, just inside the front gates of Happy World. The bigger they are. When they canceled the Mr. Smiley show, whole Smiley Empire went south, quick, fast, and in a hurry. The show went off the air, then all the toys and all the stores hit the discount shelf. Then Mr. Smiley's happy world and fun land closed its gates. The stock went tits up, and the investors dropped Mr. Smiley like a bad habit. But the money had already been spent on the latest endeavor in high-tech kids' entertainment.

Mr. Smiley himself was already rolling off the assembly line. hundreds of robotic mascots, due to hit malls and playgrounds and five-year-old birthday parties, were suddenly as homeless as heroin junkies. So they sent him out here to wander through the park for the rest of their days, slowly rusting apart and shorting out and tirelessly encouraging each other to smile and make today a happy day, until they went the way of the drop tower and collapsed. Somewhere millions of freshman college philosophy students were, hammering out think pieces with Mr. Smiley as the ironic main star.

For everyone else, he died a long time ago. Life, stardom, and the hearts of millions of TV watching kids across the globe are fickle things. Sophie spoke up again as she followed me weaving through the bodies. Why are they all broken? I thought robots were supposed to last forever. Nothing lasts forever, kiddo. Cheap production quality. No scheduled maintenance, left out in the rain, crash a drop tower into the middle of their concentration camp,

and I figured that took out any that managed to make it this long. What about that one? I turned back to the entrance of the park where we'd come in. There was a gate in the 10-foot tall fence that surrounded the park and the turnstiles and ticket stands inside of that. I had to take a bolt cutter to the chain locking the front gate, and now it hung open just enough for me and Sophie to slip inside. Of course, the fence was made up of circular images of Smiley's smiling head, but that's not the one Sophie was talking about.

A lone Mr. Smiley robot limped across the wet concrete, dragging one metal foot and hopping with the other as it cut across our path leading back through the gate to my cruiser. It stopped in the middle of the turnstiles and rotated its giant head toward us. It looked at us. All eyes, bulbous nose, and crescent moon mouth. Then it spoke. Its voice, a distorted and crackling version of the high-pitched siren voice of so many Saturday mornings long forgotten.

Hi, everybody. Welcome to Happy World. I want to make you smile. I went about fishing a cigarette from a pack. What a fucking disaster. Language, Dad. Besides, he's kind of cute in a lost wet puppy dog sort of way. Can we keep him?

Har-har. I lit my smoke and looked up to the gray sky as I inhaled. Solid gray cloud cover. The only variation in it were the clouds darker and heavier with rain than the rest. Never mind that thing. I'd like to get out of here before we get rained on. All I need to do is check out this wreck's tower and confirm there's no human injuries. I can file the report from home.

What's he doing? I said. Never mind that thing. But I did mind it. The surviving Mr. Smiley was headed to the front gate of the park, but got caught by one of the turnstiles trying to go out through the entrance. When it pushed and the turnstile refused to rotate, the thing sort of bounced off and tried again. On attempt number three, things got violent.

The robot's arms didn't have any elbows, and its fingers were molded into an immobile, four-fingered white glove. So when it started smashing the turnstile to pieces, it did so with a series of surprisingly fast and heavy karate jargonauty. chops. Before the turnstile had smashed to pieces, Sophie had to let out yell, and I was at her side, my hand on the butt of my holster gun. Dad? It's malfunctioned. Stay clear and it won't give us... I wanted to finish my sentence and reassure my daughter with the simple notion that if we left Mr. Smiley alone, he'd leave us alone. The thing was, Mr. Smiley had moved through the turnstile

gate to the 10-foot-tall fence and was bending the metal bars together like they were bits of shoelace. Hey, what's the big idea? Did it hear? Could it comprehend human speech? Did it care what I had to say even if it could? Smiley finished tying the metal bars into a pretzel, effectively sealing us inside the park, and only then turned to address us. You can never leave. I want to make you smile. Then he started limping back toward us. Both of those white-gloved hands outstretched towards us.

Oh, ho. I gently moved Sophie aside and drew my 45. Oh, you have no idea how long I'm waiting for this. Dad, no. But it was too late. How many episodes of that god-awful show had I endured? How many recitations of stupid catchphrases and saccharine sweet songs had bored their way into my skull.

How many times did I have to look into those vapid eyes and tolerate that psycho-richtus smile did I spend on toys, posters, pajamas, and books? However much and how many, Mr. Smiley was due for some payback. Three shots. That was it. Each one a blast of thunder in the quiet, damp morning. Each hollow point punched through Mr. Smiley's metal face. I had no idea what was inside that spherical head, where its central processor was,

or where I should aim to actually kill the robot. But the three holes between those big oval eyes seemed to do the trick. It took one more hop forward, then lost balance and toppled back. The fuck, Dad! What the hell did you do that for? I took a nice long drag off my cigarette, and flicked ashes from the butt. Language. Besides, you heard it.

He threatened us. With what? Making us happy? God forbid. She walked away from me, deeper into the park along the fell to drop tower. Jesus, I'm going to be deaf for the rest of my life now. Oh, I'm sorry.

A minute ago you were telling me how you weren't into this shit anymore, how you were too cool and grown up for Mr. Smiley. Now you're upset I didn't let him bash your brains in? Doesn't mean I wanted to watch you murder him. Can we please just get this over with so we can go home? Yeah, fine. And if it makes any difference, I'll promise not to kill any more of them. Just like you promised to bring me here when I was little?

Oh, now we're bringing up old shit. Fantastic. I let her have the last punch and followed her as she scuffled along the side of the tower. skeleton towards the center of the park. She had a point. She should be home sick, not wandering through this damp, tetanus-infested camp for the robotically and chronically insane. But when the boss called and told me I was the only available detective around, either I go or it's my badge, well, there we were in what used to be the happiest place on earth, checking for casualties in the only place in the whole city not occupied by anything close.

to resembling a human being. But I'll admit it. I came out of morbid curiosity. The place was a local legend amongst oddities. Ever since it closed down and they quarantied their robots inside. For a while, we'd catch

neighborhood kids sneaking up the fences to taunt and throw things at the robots when they were still on their feet. More recently, if you drove by, you would occasionally see a lone straggler, lost and confused by its vacant surroundings and insufficient programming. Now they all see.

more piles of rust than wandering balls of existential crises. We passed a tilt-a-world that have been repainted in the style of smiley and happy world. Lots of white teeth and eyes. Sunshine yellow faces on the domes of the cars. The ride had been half-crushed when the drop tower came down. Under the wreckage, bare wires and severed hydraulic lines leaked out electrons and viscous red petroleum syrup. A speaker mounted to an upright mist by the tower, sparked to light. and played the Mr. Smiley theme song.

The tempo played faster and higher pitch than intended, and then slowed to a crawl like a demon singing a Led Zeppelin song backwards. In happy world, this smile is here for you. He'll make you smile alone. Another shower of sparks ended the tune. Thank God. The hyperjoyed show tune was bad enough coming through the TV. during a Saturday morning hangover.

Here, in this museum of lost innocence, it stabbed me like an audible spinal tap. I didn't realize it until it was gone. The song was hiding other ambient noises. Noises of crippled metal feet scraping against wet concrete. Plotting flat footsteps followed us along the path. Ungreased metal shoulder joints swung four-fingered gloves. I pivoted and saw four more Mr. Smiley's on their feet trailing behind us.

It was habit, me reaching for my 45. Sophie's quick move to put her palm on my forearm seemed just as practiced and wrote. Dad, you promised. They're coming for us, Sophie. Then from the direction we'd been walking, I heard more scuffling metal feet. I spun. Three more approached from the opposite direction. Stiff metal arms swung in.

ungreased, screeching unison. Those yellowed but once white hands reached out for us. Their eyes were fixed. Their teeth bared. We were surrounded. Come smile with us. Come play. It's Harry Time.

My hand's still on the butt of my gun. I pulled at it, but Sophie's hand pressed down on my forearm, keeping the barrel from clearing the holster. No, Dad! The smileys came nearer, closing. their perimeter around us. Run! She took off in the opposite direction of the crushed tilterworld,

slipping between two of the automatons. I rushed after my daughter and shouldered through one of those little bastards along the way. It pawed at me with round, useless fingers but caught nothing. Ahead of me, Sophie came to a short chain-link fence that corralled in the bumper cars. She vaulted over the fence onto the rubberized floor. I followed, climbing over the fence with a little more effort and ached my bones. The Smiley's collapsed to their perimeter and followed after us like water flowing from a punctured bladder. As Sophie weaved between the bumper cars, all of them painted with the same stupid grinning face.

I glanced over my shoulder. The robots were against the short fence, and instead of jumping or climbing over it, you were smashing it apart with those stiff, elbowless arms acting like metal clubs. It didn't take long for them to reduce the fence to a wreckage. We were trapped again. Now between the flat black wall of the backside of the corral and the smileys who are making quick work of the fence. As it was pummeled to the ground, the smileys breached at the barrier and stepped onto the rubber floor. We love your smile.

They emphasized the word, you're, by pointing at me and my daughter with those white hands, some of which were busted apart from clubbing the fence. Instead of articulated pointing fingers, they aimed dangling live. wires and shards of white gloves at us. I took one more step back and bumped against the wall. Shit. Dad. The lead smiley kicked into the first bumper car and tilted over sideways.

More followed. They didn't trip. God damn it. Dad. They were fanning out, covering our escape routes to the left or right. Fuck. Dad! Sophie backhanded my shoulder.

I turned and saw she'd found a soft. service door leading out of the back of the bumper carol. She had cracked it open and was already halfway through when we met eyes. Language. She slipped through. Smart ass. Worse than our old man. On the other side of the door was some neglected landscaping, dead bushes and soggy wood chips. We stumbled our way through and I slammed the door behind us. Good luck with doorknobs, you albino, sausage-fingered bastards. There's more. Pass the shrubbery was another concrete path winding through the park.

And sure enough, more of the perpetually manic mascots approached from either direction. I took a quick survey of our new surroundings. Smiley's to the right, Smiley's to the left, in front of us. In front of us was the haunted house, stylized in the happy world theme. But instead of displaying Mr. Smiley, it featured his black mirror twin, Mr. Spooky. While Smiley's coiffed went right, Spookies went left. Smiley was a ball of sunshine. Spooky was dull purple, the color of a bruise.

The crescent moon mouth was identical to Smiley's, but turned upside down into a sneer. Spooky wore sharp eyebrows, aiming hateful eyes downward. I remembered Smiley's warning from those long ago TV episodes. Only one thing can ruin a smile. Fear. There, into the haunted house. For once, Sophie didn't argue. We charged across the path and through the rows of metal barred waiting lines.

The ride was one of those with cars, not that dissimilar to the Tiltorold cars. The one set on tracks that snaked through the haunted house. Their half-globed backs were painted with spooky's face instead of smileys. We decided to skip the unpowered cars and pushed through the big wooden double doors leading into the funhouse on foot. It was quiet inside. dark. The decorations and automatones along the tracks were dead and motionless. The jump scares lacked any jump. We could tell the paint of the walls was black light reactive, but only the dim of an overcast sky seeped in through the drafts. It was all as unsettling as a painting with eyes that

follow you across the room. Things were leering, wading. A lot of cartoonish thunder clouds, hordes of yellow eyes on black background. Mingy. cats caught with their backs arched mid-hiss, and of course, Mr. Spooky himself. He peered over a wooden fence and out of oversized sewer pipes that dripped green slime. We crept through the maze on careful and quiet feet. All this potential motion paralyzed for God knows how long was somehow creepier than the actual ride could have ever been. I think we lost them. Maybe Mr. Spooky is keeping them a bay. Maybe it was you shooting him in the face.

Could be. God, Dad, you're such an ass. You can't solve every problem with violence, you know. Well, when all you got is a hammer, every problem tends to look like a round-headed, smiling hellspawn that I thought died a half decade ago. Listen, let's just get back to the squad car, get you out of here, and I'll call for backup.

You always hated him. Huh? You always hated him. Even when I was a little kid and loved Mr. Smiley, you hated him. Wouldn't be around when the show was on. Complained every time Mom would buy me a smiley toy. Made excuses when I asked to come here to Happy World. You thought I never noticed?

Well, congratulations. You raised me from a baby into a bitch. Hey, keep the volume down. Well, what do you want me to be, Dad? A brooding, angry asshole like you? Or a little girl who still watches Mr. Smiley? I, really? Right now? We have to have this conversation right now? I saw Sophie take a deep breath in preparation for her next verbal salvo, but her words got caught in the breach. Instead of opening her mouth, her eyes grew wide and alert. With the break in noise, it didn't take me long to realize why. Those big double doors that led into the haunted house just creaked open. And now, metal feet plotted and... scraped against the floor.

It still didn't stop Sophie from saying her peace. Her whispered words somehow related more fury than any shouts ever could. You always hated Mr. Smiley. I drew my 45. You're goddamn right I did. Dad, you promised! I leaned close to her. Our words furious but quiet.

And what should I do? Smile at them to death? I'm going to get us out of here. That's the only promise I'm going to make and the only promise I'm going to keep. I love you, and I'm going to keep you safe. Get it. Dad! The Smilies were getting closer, working their way through the maze. I could hear their squeaking limbs echo down the trail.

God damn it, Dad, listen to me. There's not enough bullets in your gun to shoot them all. You saw how many there are? We'll see about that. It wasn't until they came around the turn that I realized just how many there were. were and how right Sophie was. They shuffled around the bend like cattle, so crammed together their heads balked into each other as they waddled. Each face identical, huge half-circle smiles and desperate eyes, some with orange tears where rainwater had left lines of rust trailing down from

their eyes. Their insane expression of joy all the more senseless when surrounded by the creep show decor of Mr. Spooky's hell ride. They stopped in unison, as if led by one mind. Come play with us, smile with us. We want to make you happy forever. I re-gripped the gun. Sophie's whispers were laced with terror. There's too many.

For once, just trust me. I grimaced and lowered the barrel of the gun just a few inches. The herd of happy robots lifted up their white gloves and restarted their shuffled towards us, ready to inflict their will upon us. I raised the gun back up, ready to fire at the lead Smiley. Sophie stepped around me and threw her arm over mine, forcing the barrel down and away.

She spoke with the syrupy sweetness that I hadn't heard from her since... How long had she been all teenage angst? Well, since long before then. Hi, Mr. Smiley! I'm so happy to be here. The Smiley stopped. obsolete processors spun inside those stupid metal domes. The lead smiley seemed to come to a conclusion first.

It spun its outstretched arms sideways into a perverse cruciform, backhanding the nearest two other smilies. A split second later, like a flock of starlings devoid of grace and beauty, the other smilies mimicked the gesture. All those white-gloved hands spread from that zombie Frankenstein pose to arms wide open. At the back of the pack, a smiley caught a backhand and toppled over on its ass. We love it when you're happy. We love it when you're happy.

We love it when you're happy. They waved at us with their stiff arms and stupid balloon hands. Have a great happy day. Have a great happy day. You've got to be kidding me. Just smile, Dad. Her words sounded happy, but laced with fear a millimeter below the surface. She slid her hand down to my 45 and tried slipping it from my grip.

I resisted. Of course I'd resist. Trust me! And smooth like water, I let her take my gun and holster it in her own hip pocket. She was right. If I kept it, it wouldn't be long before I broke my smile and the ceasefire all at once. I forced to grin at the smileys. I doubted whatever AI resided.

the machines was smart enough to discern an insanity-inspired spark and true contentment. I bared my teeth, leered at them, and that was enough. The smiley's in the back of the pack turned as if suddenly bored and waddled back down the tunnel towards the entrance. A few others muddled about. The lead smiley continued to lock eyes and engage us. What makes you happy? Not Mr. Spooky?

No. Oh. Its laugh was an inhuman robotic insult to humor. I know what makes you happy. Mr. Smiley makes you happy. Just keep smiling and back away. We moved deeper into the ride, both of us grinning like a pair of straight jacket mental patience.

It was maniacal, but effective. The Smilies who stayed in the tunnel lost their sense of purpose and just milled about, being aggressively joyous towards, us and each other. We painted happiness on our own stupid faces and snuck away. Along the path to the haunted house exit, we came across more smiling. And as long as we mimicked their rictus, they let us pass by, inches from them. When we came to the exit double doors, the dim sunlight that made its way through the overcast clouds strained our eyes. It was bright

out here compared to the dank tomb that was Mr. Spooky's haunted house. Still, it was nothing less spooky about our surroundings outside the ride. We hid in the darkness because of what the overcast sunlight had to offer. Flocks of purposeless Mr. Smilies meandering through their dead comrades. They stayed that way, impotent and aimless, just so long as we kept our grins pulled back to our ears. We shuffled through the park back towards the entrance, through the ambling robots, warding them off with plastered on grins like they were vampires and our teeth were crosses. If one didn't notice our grin. It turned toward us to investigate. One drew near, so we turned to it and smiled as big as we could. Then it wandered off, satisfied. Are you happy? We spun and showed our

teeth. I'm so happy that you're happy. Then it continued on its indiscernible way. They milled about, dense enough to never give us a break. When I chanced a glance away from them to my daughter, I saw She had tears running out of the corners of her eyes. Dad, my cheeks hurt. Mine too. We're almost there, sweetie. We'll jump through the turnstiles and climb over the fence, jump into my cruiser, and leave this place and never come back.

For now, just stay happy. She laughed, but not in a funny way, in a tormented sort of way. The front gate was just ahead. We saw the turnstiles. the mangled outer gate, and my car just beyond that. But there was one more robot in front of the exit. The others seemed to have drifted away, preferring the deeper recesses of Happy World.

This one was different. His metal skin was painted purple, where Mr. Smiley's hair quaffed right, this one went left. Thick black eyebrows angled down, connecting with its bulbous nose. Its crescent moon mouth was turned down. Mr. Spooky, he stood defiantly between us and the exit.

Look at you, happy little kids. I don't like it when kids are happy. I like it when you're afraid. Are you afraid now? Lie to him, just like in your shows. I can feel that you're afraid. I like when you're afraid, when you're afraid. Actiness chases the fear away, right?

Just like when you were a little girl. Then I saw the fake smile drop from her face. Under it was her unmasked true emotions. Not fear, but pent up rage. Newsflash, Dad, I'm not a little girl anymore. She drew my 45 from her hip pocket and leveled the sun. at Mr. Spooky. She'd paid attention when I'd brought her to the range. I admit her stance and posture weren't textbook, but her aim was dead eye. Mr. Spooky took three rounds to his globe head,

fell over backwards, and bounced off the dead Mr. Smiley I'd knocked out earlier. They all go down the same. Three shots echoed like thunderclaps through the amusement park. Like a dinner bell for the starving masses, dozens of Mr. Smiley's all turned towards us. locked onto us, like heat-seeking missiles. How they selected a leader was a mystery to me, but immediately one of them stepped forward and spoke for the horde. Those kiddos aren't happy. Hey, everyone.

Can we make them smile? I think we figured out why the Smiley Empire crumbled, why these automatons never saw mass distribution to all those fast food restaurants, strip malls, and birthday parties. They had a unique sense of child. entertainment. Sophie and I, we had a different sense.

Run! Sophie took off. I followed. Sophie stuck the 45 over her shoulder and fired blindly at the encroaching, stumbling herd. She was right, though. There weren't enough bullets in the gun to put them all down. When it went dry, she dropped it on the ground and vaulted over the turnstiles.

I slipped through them right alongside her. We hit the border fence at a sprint and started scaling up the Mr. Smiley designed metalwork. The nearest smiley smashed through a turnstile just as we reached the top of the fence. Those permanently outstretched arms were reaching for us when we went over the top. Their smooth hands grabbed at us through the fence when we landed on the other side. They couldn't flex to rake us in. We backed away from them and knew we were out of their reach for now.

Come play with us. We want to make you happy. Smiles chase away your fears. No one can make you afraid while. I'm around. Sophie regarded them once more as we stepped back to the cruiser. Fuck you, Mr. Smiley. I never liked you anyway.

We climbed inside and shut the doors behind us, muffling out their desperate pleas. They're going to smash through the fence. They'll escape into the city. Call it in, Dad. There's other cops who can take care of them. Today's our sick day. Run out of tape.

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