So, hypothetically, you’re a spoiled 18 year old who inherited a large sum of money from your great uncle when he died. And suddenly your minimum wage movie theater employed self is swimming in cash. What do you do with it? Invest? Save for retirement? Yes, that’s smart. But it’s bullshit. Not when you’re a high school senior who has something to prove to the world. Not when you’re me.
So you decide to go to a real estate auction. And you thought maybe you would walk away with a small bungalow, or apartment, or something to call your own because living with your family has been fun, but you’re ready to be alone. In an unexpected twist of events, said events being stupidity, you end up walking away with 240 acres of abandoned zoo. After the auction, you get in your car, which you also bought with your uncle’s death money, and look yourself in the eyes, and say “Holy shit. I just bought an abandoned zoo. 240 acres of zoo.” And you feel both prideful and disgusted with yourself.
You walk around a school known as the kid who owns an entire zoo because someone’s dad was at the auction and recognized you from your days as the little league water boy. You already knew kids were ruthless, but you never understood the extent until you were at the receiving end. Eventually, though, you get used to hearing “Issac Stolt bought a zoo, Ei-ei-o” and you hope to God that no one ever finds out your mother’s maiden name is actually McDonald.
Soon enough, you get the keys to the place, and start to drive there through wooded forests and a community of doomsday preppers with the stand your ground laws well practiced and encoded in their memories. You drive by an abandoned, giant, hotel, and a house with at least 80 newspapers frozen to the doorstep. Eventually, you arrive at your new property, stop at the entry turnstile and think to yourself “I am… the biggest idiot in the world.
But, at this point it’s too late.
Also at this point I’m sure that you can deduce that this is not a hypothetical situation for me, but a series of bad decisions that lead to me sitting down to tell you this story. It’s easier to just seperate myself from it entirely, but of course, it’s an important piece of the mystery on why I am the way I am today. I’m not sure if I like who I am today, but I might as well make peace with it. Right?
Anyways, I decided to spend that night in this little room for the old groundskeeper that would stay before it got auctioned off by the very company that shuttered it, so I mean, at least it wasn’t in shambles like the rest of the place. Then again, it must have been a medic’s office before, which would explain the red pleather beds and gauze still wrapped up in the shelves. I think the groundskeeper would have to explain the old Chinese food tupperware left open on the desk though. The door was a lousy wooden one, thin and splinter-inducing. Clearly disadvantaged from the start, but still brave enough to combat the countless storms that had rolled through the area since its installation.
The windows were made of mosquito net with big wooden shutters, balanced on a plank, suspended over them. They were torn in some places, and lodged with dirt and dead insects. I have never been the squeamish type, but seeing several curled up exoskeletons with now-powdered soft tissue underneath is not a pretty sight. I envy myself that night, where my biggest concern was cleaning up the place. It’s not the same anymore.
I took a Benadryl that night both to fight off the pollen that was drifting through the window and to help me get some sleep. The morning came on gently, and with the newfound sunlight I decided to explore the grounds. All 240 acres.
The medic tent was by some of the calmer exhibitions, like the African Penguins and Giraffe. The animals had been transferred to other zoos when this one became defunct, but there were still telltale signs of life once lived. Fishbones lined the bottom of the dried up penguin pool, and the giraffe’s feeding station stood tall, like an abandoned watchtower, rusty and cold.
Walking a little further down the overgrown path, I found the tracks for the monorail. After following them for some time, I found the halfway suspended carriages stopped and waiting at the loading station. Some were scratched up by what looked to be massive claws. It was hard to tell if it was an intentional design choice, or if there was a black bear or wolf who decided to make some green metal contraption their prey. And as I was focusing, I swear I saw some creature out of the corner of my eye, staring at me and then rapidly crawling away.
“Hello?” I called out. Nothing. “Hello?” I called out once more. Again, nothing. It was just me, and the noise of the nature surrounding. I figured that whatever I saw was just a lesser-known mental side effect from the Benadryl I had taken the night before. That there really was nothing for me to worry myself about. It’s easier to lie to yourself than to face what you genuinely know is true.
Even with the attempts to convince myself that everything was fine, something in my body told me that I shouldn’t hang around there anymore. I decided to listen. With a rigid spine and loose knees, I walked back to the medics’ office. I decided that I wasn’t going to look back, and keep my eyes fastened forward. I figured that I needed to walk at a steady pace, not too quickly, despite everything in my bones telling me to run, because if I tripped then I would be forced into vulnerability. A dinner plate for whatever I feared was trying to hunt me down. My thoughts were racing, my adrenaline was rushing through my veins, my ears were ringing, and I was holding down more and more bile by the second. When I heard a twig snap behind me, you can bet your ass that I ran. I ran as fast as I could.
And I know that sounds crazy. But when it’s just you and only you within a 2 mile radius, it’s easy to lose your mind.
When I finally got to my “room”, because I guess that’s what it’s going to have to be now, I laid down on the bed, stomach side up. It wasn’t that I was tired, I couldn’t possibly be with all of the hormones polluting my system, but I felt better knowing that my back was at least covered, that no one would sneak up behind me.
After a few minutes of laying and collecting myself, using the techniques my school guidance counselor taught me for my test-induced panic attacks, I got myself down to a point of feeling somewhat functional. I felt a rumbling in my stomach and realized I had gone through all of the food that I had packed for the day.
I started looking through the drawers of the desk, and all of the nooks and crannies of the cabinets for those never-expiring protein bars, or trail mix, or anything to hold me over. I even considered eating the leftover Chinese food that had been sitting there for I don’t want to even think about how long. In a moment of weakness, I picked it up and pondered if hunger or a bout of crippling diarrhea would be more painful. Before I could commit to a decision, I saw a note plastered under the tupperware.
“They’ll eat you alive. Run.”
I saw a few possibilities in that. Either the guard was a complete dick and wanted to freak me out, hated his job, or was genuinely giving me a warning. I wanted to believe the first two, I wanted to believe that he’s probably laughing thinking about the poor kid who just picked up that note, but I understood that I had to behave and prepare like the third one was true. I put the note in my pocket, and kept looking around. Eventually I found a packet of instant noodles that had expired a year prior, but they were sealed in plastic, and I was hungry, so I ate them dry and tried not to look in the mirror while I was doing it.
That night, I laid and looked at the rafters above. I listened to the white noise of the bugs and critters around me, and the gentle breeze blowing through the vegetation.
I got up about halfway through the night to go to the restroom, which was an outhouse about ten meters from my room. As I was using it, I heard the noises from every bug, every bird, every mammal, stop. The wind stilled. All was quiet. I zipped up my pants and considered my next move. I knew something was out there. Something that can unite every living creature under one understanding, an understanding that they cannot make noise. Why not? I didn’t know. But I knew it was bad news. After contemplating for what felt like ages, I arrived at the conclusion that I needed to get out of there. My car was still in the lot, and my keys were right by my bed. I just needed to grab my keys, and get into the car. I just needed to grab my keys, and get into the car. Grab keys, go in car. Keys car, keys car. I stuck one foot out of the door, crossed my fingers, and I bolted.
I got to the door of the room and attempted to push it open. Its flimsy wood now seemed to be of steel, the splinters of needles. Every window was shuttered, unyielding to any human force. I ran back to the outhouse, but that door would not budge either, feeling like something else, something stronger, was holding it in place.
After a few more hopeless attempts, and nearly knocking myself out from ramming my body against the door so hard, I did the only thing I thought I could do at that point.. I gave up. I sat down on the ground, brought my knees to my chest, my hands over the back of my head, and I gave up. I know it’s far from honorable, but I was at a loss. I was scared, I was tired, and I was ashamed.
Upon looking up from my knees, I saw the peril that made all the animals go silent. The best I could describe it to be was a giant humanoid spider. A human torso suspended by eight long arms. Translucent pale flesh lined its veins and bones, its gnarled hands displayed sharp, dirty, claws. Its greasy, grey, hair reached its wrists, and its face sagged over its skull. It had no jaw, nor did it have a mouth, but its face had lips and an opening, swaying limply from the cheek bones.
I figured I was as good as dead, so I sat there, like the pathetic man I was. It crept closer, and closer, until I felt my breath ricocheting off of it. It became clear that the face too loose for its skull was not its face at all. It looked stolen. Clawed off of another, and attached like a mask. I hoped, and hell, still do, whoever’s face that was was not alive when it happened. I also hoped that mine wouldn’t be the next.
I was about to scream, but I stopped myself right as the air was about to reach my vocal cords. The animals went silent for a reason. It would be wise for me to follow in their footsteps.
So I sat there, staring. Not making a sound. It spent a few more moments staring at me, until erratically scurrying off into the vastness of the woods, with no elegance between any of its eight limbs. I sat there silently until the critters started chirping again, and I began to cry. When I saw the daybreak, I got up, carefully. The door to my room opened easily. I grabbed my keys, my jacket, and left everything else behind.
I got in my car, after checking under the tires, the trunk, and the back seat, and I drove as fast as my tires would take me. I didn’t even buckle up until I reached the highway.
Since then, I have graduated high school, college, got married, moved out of state, and have had children of my own. I have never gone back to the place, though it is still under my name. I know that I should sell it at this point, but I can’t. I fear that it will fall into the hands of a dumb, spoiled, kid like me, who will not be so wise to listen to the animals. I can’t and will not allow that to happen. Not for as long as I live.