I stood outside the park gates, steeling my nerves for what I was about to face. I was on my own for the most part, the only agent dispatched here.
My mission was rather daunting, I had a whole park to inspect, all on my lonesome. Over a hundred acres to sift through. I couldn’t miss a single screw, even that could cause irreparable harm. I couldn’t let anyone down.
After ten minutes standing outside in the early morning chill, I heard the click of the a lock. A sleazy man with slickback, salt and pepper hair, mutton chops, and a velvet suit ushered me inside. The apprehensive mand shook my hands, oozing out some scummy greeting. I paid him little attention, instead reading him.
He reeked of greed, from his greasy face to his overly shined dress shoes to his large gut. He was a rich slimeball, I just prayed he didn’t get his money out of cutting corners.
“You’re here to inspect the grounds, right?” The human filth eyed me up and down, then shuffled around in his pocket. “I trust you’ll do a thorough inspection, and well, provide positive results, yes?” The man removed his hand from his pocket, producing a wad of cash.
I turned my head so he wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. No amount of mental fortitude would allow me to resist it. It was inevitable. One eye roll later, I politely and firmly said “I’ll be performing an inspection, yes,” I reached for the keys on his desk, ignoring the bribe entirely.
“You won’t make it far in this business if ya don’t take gracious hints,” the man growled, slapping his hand on my shoulder. Fortunately for me, I was considerably stronger than my appearance suggested. I stepped away from the repulsive gremlin, almost knocking him over when he refused to release my shoulder.
“I’ll be on my way now, thank you,” I pried his hand from my shoulder, heading for the entrance to the park, behind him. He made no move to stop me, though I swear I heard a hushed chuckle escape his lips as I shut the door behind me.
Upon entering the park, I surveyed my surroundings. Immediately, I gravitated towards a directory. The color coded bulletin had a rack of brochures beneath it, which I promptly took two. One to use, and another as a backup for when the first fell apart.
I pulled out my clipboard, comparing the outdated map I’d been provided, to the current layout. Just how long has it been since our files were updated? I considered where to start, ultimately opting to consult my clipboard.
First on my assignment was the entry station. Easy enough. All this entailed was revolving the turnstiles, checking for mold, mice and rodents, and the structural soundness of the booths. The paint was mostly just small blotches of pink, though they likely were once bright pink. Now, their exteriors were sad, dilapidated huts. I wrote in my notes that some maintenance was required, and a small breeze could likely level the ticket stands.
From there, I had approximately forty minutes before the park opened up their various rides and attractions. That meant I had an hour and forty minutes before people would start flooding in.
I made haste as I headed for the security office. I realized I two things while I was looking over the toll booths. First, I wouldn’t finish this park before the public came crashing in. Second, I needed whatever passed for a staff official ID, so I could get around without much hassle. Though I doubt I’ll avoid the hassle.
Opposite the owner’s office, the security office sat, though this building was far more authoritative in appearance. The cold gray exterior resembled the inside of a jail cell, the concrete meshing seemlessly into the walkways. It looked as though the ground had been raised into the idea of a building, granted it was how a four year old saw a building.
I knocked on the door, noting the lack of windows. Shouldn’t a security building have windows? Are they just watching cameras 24/7 in there?
A gangly, acne riddled boy cracked the door open, saying “ye-um-hi?” He was about five foot seven, and early in his years. I wouldn’t place him any older than 17, though I’d bet he was younger.
“Security?” I probed, too pressed for time to be delicate. “Safety inspection, can I come in?” I slid my fingers through the cracked door, pulling it, though the door wouldn’t budge. A chain rattled from inside.
“I can’t let you in-er I mean-um why?” The kid stuttered, shaking so hard the door began vibrating along with the chain lock.
“I need a pass to get around-huhhh,” I sighed, massaging my temple. “I’m not a cop, just open up.” I released my hold on the door, knowing the lock needed slack in order to open. After a seemingly long time, though in truth it was only a minute, the door opened.
“Take this. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t show anyone.” The kid hissed, forcing a bundle into my pocket. “I th-think you have a lanyard ri-right there?” He stuttered, sounding far more confident, despite his sickly green complexion, and chattering teeth.
“K-kid? Should I call somebody?” I reflexively took a step back, the young teen setting off red flags in my head.
“No!” he spat, then hushed down considerably, catching control of his trembling. “I am alright, ma’am. Please leave me to my work, and I will leave you to yours.” He stated, then whispered one more thing, “avoid Slim. Do whatever you’ve got to do. Get. Out.” He slammed the door, followed swiftly by sliding the chain back to being locked, and loudly sighing. I wasn’t sure, but he might have begun sobbing.
Unsure of whether to call the police, or if that might worsen the situation, whatever that was, I opted to make haste around the park. It was awful. Just awful.
Nearly every ride looked on the verge of collapse. The young employees wore the gaunt, empty eyed expression of a veteran, all barely more than moving skeletons. They were painfully malnourished, barely batting an eye as I passed. Some didn’t even respond to my presence, seeming to be near comatose.
I scribbled down the hundreds, perhaps thousands of violations, my wrists protesting as carpal tunnel crept up like a predator. I ignored the pain, enduring this trial, before racing out of the park.
Several days passed, and I never stopped feeling ill. Sure, those kids looked like the walking dead. In no way do I mean to make light of those kids’ condition, but those rides were at the forefront of my thoughts.
They were all textbook cases of criminal negligence. Frayed cables, rusted support beams, missing hardware, cracked rollercoaster rails. Everything was barely functioning, let alone safe for use.
About four days after I visited Slim’s Escape, my phone buzzed. Mary. She’d messaged me, asking ‘how did it go, we haven’t heard from you in a while?’ I sent back ‘that park needs to be shut down. It’s a huge risk!’
Mary sent back ‘lol, why would you say that?’
Mary was my superior. To hear her take my report so lightly… Well, it was infuriating. I exploded.
I sent dozens of messages, covering each and every violation, followed by describing the state of each individual employee, in their deathly appearances and incredibly poor health. The ticket booths might fall from a small breeze, but the people might keel over dead at any moment.
‘Satisfied? Slim is a very generous man, which I am sure you are aware of ;)’
She used a damn winky face?! She knew… they all knew… and they were letting this go on? The sick feeling I had multiplied exponentially at that moment. I still hadn’t checked what that security kid had hid in my pocket.
Maybe I could bring forth the evidence? Maybe I could get them shut down? These thoughts raced through my head, ultimately, I chose to consult the item I had been given.
The jeans I had worn that day were in the hamper, buried under the last four days worth of clothing. I found them though, and felt around for the object. It was a flash drive. Of course it was a flash drive.
I opened up my pc, inserted the drive, and opened the device. It was, for a lack of better words, a dossier on Slim’s Escape. There was a folder named ‘INCIDENTS’ ‘EMPLOYEES’ ‘FINANCES’ and ‘PAYROLL’ listed.
I double clicked on the first folder, morbid curiosity overtaking me. I wish I hadn’t.
From the opening of Slim’s Escape, back in 1984, up until September of 2019, the park had dozens of fatal and serious accidents due to rides falling apart. A series of grainy photographs with sometimes painfully vivid scenes of carnage were accompanied by .txt files. The files spoke of many things, from the structural failure, the repair cost, and the media cost.
As I scrolled through the folders, I surmised what exactly ‘FINANCES’ stood for. Slim had passed me that wad of cash. Slim had passed around a lot of cash. Slim knew he was safe.
‘PAYROLL’ only confirmed my suspicions. I found my superior, alongside the names of both the local police chief and some deputies, among hundreds, maybe thousands of bribes paid over the time of the park. Something of note was no teens were listed under payroll, nor were any employees.
‘EMPLOYEES’ did list the many, many teens I saw around the park, though there were far more names listed than I estimated worked there. Hundreds of times over, in fact. There must have been nearly half a million employees that have seemingly disappeared, along with millions of people who have visited that park.
I have tried to reach out to the fbi, I know the police are a fruitless endeavor. I don’t think I can save any of them, but maybe I can save you. If you ever hear about Slim’s Escape, save yourself. Never pay them a visit. Please, I beg of you. Run.
Criminal negligence is cruel, but Slim from Slim’s escape has more than just a loose screw.