My parents had just passed away about a year before all this. They officially committed suicide but I know my parents, they would never do that. I don’t know if they were murdered or it was an accident but I can’t believe that they did that. I had been staying at their place the last year after they died. Since coming here I’ve had these nightmares about the amusement park we will just call “The Amusement Park” for anonymity.
The amusement park lay in ruins, a forgotten relic of a bygone era. The rusted Ferris wheel towered over the decaying midway, its skeletal arms stretching out like accusing fingers. The merry-go-round’s painted horses were faded and peeling, their once-vibrant colors now muted by time and neglect. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, punctuated only by the distant groan of rusted metal and the rustling of leaves in the long-neglected gardens. It was a place of shadow and secrets, a place where nightmares came to life.
My name is Alex, and I’ve been experiencing these nightmares for as long as I can remember. They always start the same way: I’m lost in this abandoned amusement park, running from something unspeakable. I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing.
But the worst part is that I can’t remember ever visiting this place. I’ve tried to talk to my therapist about it, but she doesn’t seem to understand the depth of my fear.
As if the nightmares weren’t enough, lately I’ve been experiencing these strange flashes of memory whenever I’m near the park. Images of a terrified child being dragged through the darkened corridors, a sinister laugh echoing through the abandoned ticket booths. Each time, I swear I see a shadowy figure following me, watching my every move. It’s almost as if I’m being haunted.
Despite my growing unease, I can’t help but feel drawn to the park. It’s like some irresistible force is pulling me back. I’ve tried to stay away, to move on with my life, but the memories and the nightmares persist. Finally, I decide to confront my fears and return to the place that has haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember.
As I approach the park, the memories flood back in. Flashes of terror and pain consume my senses, making it difficult to focus on the present. I force myself to walk through the gates, my heart pounding in my chest. The familiar scent of popcorn and sweat hangs in the air, mingling with the musty odor of neglect. The rusty Ferris wheel creaks ominously overhead, as if warning me to turn back.
But I can’t turn back. I have to face my demons, whatever they may be. I begin to wander aimlessly through the park, feeling as if I’m in a dream. Everywhere I look, there are reminders of my past: the abandoned ticket booths with their faded posters, the overgrown gardens where I once played as a child. It’s as if the park itself is a living, breathing manifestation of my memories.
As I explore further, I come across an abandoned carnival game, its metal frame twisted and rusted. In the center of the game, a creepy clown’s painted smile seems to mock me. I shiver, unable to tear my eyes away from the ghastly visage. Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me. I whirl around, my heart pounding in my chest.
But it’s only a groundskeeper, an older man with a tired expression. He eyes me warily, as if unsure of why I’m here. I open my mouth to speak, to ask him about the history of the park, but the words catch in my throat. He must sense my fear, because he nods sympathetically.
“It’s a sad place, isn’t it?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “So much life and joy once, and now…” He trails off, shaking his head. “People say it’s cursed. I don’t know about that, but…” He gestures vaguely around us.
I nod, unable to speak. The weight of the park’s history presses down on me, making it difficult to breathe. “Do you know why it closed?” I manage to choke out. “Is there any reason… any explanation?”
The groundskeeper sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. “There were rumors, of course. People said it was because of the accident, that the owners couldn’t bear the guilt. Others said it was the economy, that they just couldn’t compete anymore. But…” He pauses, glancing around again, as if he’s afraid someone might be listening. “There were always whispers. Strange things happening here, things that shouldn’t.”
He shakes his head, as if clearing away the memories, and offers me a half-hearted smile. “But that’s just talk. Gossip.”
I nod, not sure what else to say. The weight of the park’s history feels like an anchor, dragging me down into the depths of my fears. Despite the groundskeeper’s words, I can’t help but feel as if there’s more to the story. As if the park is hiding something. As if it’s haunted.” He stared at me with no expression, “well, you should be getting out of here anyways. Private property and all.”
As I turn to leave, I notice a small, overgrown path leading deeper into the park. On impulse, I decide to follow it, driven by a strange mixture of curiosity and dread. The path winds its way through a dense grove of trees, their branches intertwined overhead like a canopy of bones. The air grows cool and damp, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the dense foliage.
As I walk, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not alone. The sense of being watched is almost palpable, as if the very trees themselves are alive and aware of my presence. The farther I venture into the grove, the stronger the feeling becomes. I fight down a rising sense of panic, telling myself it’s just my imagination, that there’s nothing here but nature.
But then, I see it. A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, something small and gray darting between the trees. My heart leaps into my throat, and I spin around, my hands trembling. It’s a cat, I realize, a stray cat. Its coat is matted and dirty, and it has the most haunted expression I’ve ever seen. It regards me warily, as if trying to decide whether or not I pose a threat.
I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath. “Hello,” I manage to choke out. “Are you lost?” The cat remains motionless, its gaze unwavering. “It’s okay,” I say softly. “You can come with me if you want.”
Slowly, cautiously, the cat edges closer. It’s like it’s testing my intentions, trying to decide whether or not I’m trustworthy. I hold out a trembling hand, palm up. After a moment’s hesitation, the cat carefully climbs into my hand. Its fur is soft and warm, and it purrs contentedly as I scratch behind its ear.
As I continue to walk through the grove, the cat seems to grow more comfortable with me, occasionally darting ahead to explore a new branch or bush before returning to my side. The weight of the park’s history still presses down on me, but somehow the presence of this small, lost creature makes it feel less oppressive.
Suddenly, a loud crash of metal falling is heard and the cat leaps out of my hand and runs off. I tried to chase him but I couldn’t find him anywhere until suddenly, I hear a loud scream from the cat, off to my right. It was like a scream, then yelp, then silence. I froze as I knew he was dead.
I turn around and see nothing but trees, no one was there. I feel a chill run down my spine and shiver. I can’t help but think that someone must have stabbed the cat, or maybe even killed him with a blunt object.
I hear another crash, this time closer. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize that whatever’s making these noises is getting closer. I try to calm myself down, but fear is rising up inside me, making it hard to breathe.
I start to back away slowly, trying to put some distance between myself and whatever’s causing the commotion. The path seems to narrow, the trees closing in around me like a tunnel. I feel trapped, panic rising with every step.
Another crash echoes through the grove, louder than before. It sounds like metal twisting and snapping, like a sculpture being warped out of shape. I peer through the trees, straining to see anything in the darkness. My heart is racing, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Suddenly, a figure steps into my line of sight. He’s tall impossibly tall and broad-shouldered, his features obscured by the shadows. As he began lurching toward me, I ran.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as I push myself to run faster, my lungs burning with the effort. The figure behind me seems to gain ground with each stride, closing in on me with an unnerving speed. I run for the exit and make my way out of the park. As I look back I can see that the figure has stopped right before the exit and it was watching me as I ran for my life.
Shaking uncontrollably, I manage to find my way to a nearby payphone and dial 911. My hands are trembling so badly that I can barely hold the receiver. The operator picks up, their voice calm and reassuring. I try to tell them what happened, but the words won’t come out right. My breath is ragged, my thoughts jumbled. They keep asking me questions, but all I can do is stare down the dark alley, waiting for the police to arrive.
When they finally get here, two officers step out of their squad car. They approach me cautiously, their hands on their holsters. They ask me what happened, and I try to explain, but it sounds even more unbelievable now that I’m saying it out loud. They ask me to show them where it happened, and reluctantly, I lead them back into the park.
The officers listen to my story, their eyes flicking back and forth between me and the trees. They ask me to point out where I last saw the figure, and we all start walking in that direction. The further we go, the tighter their grip on their guns seems to get.
We reach the spot where I last saw the figure, and the officers exchange glances. One of them steps forward, her voice low and commanding. “I’ve got a dead cat here. Jesus, whatever did this is fucking sadistic.” She slowly edges her way into the darkness, her gun drawn. “You stay here” she tells me. I stand on the fringe of the group, watching her silhouette disappear behind the trees.
Time seems to slow down as we wait for her to return. The other officer paces back and forth, his radio crackling incessantly. The air is thick with anticipation and fear. I can hear the rustling of leaves and branches as something moves deep within the grove, but I can’t quite tell if it’s the cop or the killer lurking in the shadows.
I can hear radio chatter from the cop that stayed with me but I can’t make out what it says. The cop listens intently before saying “10-4”.
The cop begins to walk over to me with an accusatory walk. “Are you sure you didn’t do this? Maybe you were just trying to scare your own cat?” I shake my head vigorously. “I didn’t touch the cat. I swear.” The officer eyes me suspiciously, but I can see the uncertainty in his expression. He turns back to the trees, shouting into the darkness, “Hey, you out there! Show yourself!” There’s no reply, only the eerie stillness of the night.
The other cop emerges from the darkness, his face pale and drawn. “I found her,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “She’s…she’s not moving.” He gestures for me to follow him, his gun still drawn. As we approach, I can see the cat lying on the ground, twisted and contorted, her fur matted with blood. The sight is too much for me and I start to retch. The officer catches me, steadying me as I heave.
He looks at me with an expression of disbelief and pity. “You didn’t do this, did you?” I shake my head again, tears streaming down my face. “Then why are you here?” he asks, his voice now laced with anger. “Why did you run away from the scene?” I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. The officer places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “You need to tell us what happened, kid. We’re not going to arrest you, but we need to know.”
I take a deep breath and try to gather my thoughts. I tell them about the figure I saw in the alley, how it seemed to be following me, and how it disappeared into the trees. The other officer listens intently, her expression hardening. She asks if I’ve ever seen anything like this before, and I shake my head no. They exchange glances, their faces etched with concern and confusion. I can tell they think I’m crazy.
They question me further, trying to get more details about the figure, but all I can remember is its shadowy form and the way it moved. They ask for my name and address, and I give it to them, feeling a sense of relief that even if they don’t believe me, they won’t arrest me.
The officers thank me for my cooperation and tell me they’ll investigate further. I watch as they gather up the remains of the cat, putting it in a grocery bag that was flying around the park. The image is burned into my retina, a permanent reminder of the horror that unfolded in the park tonight. As they lead me back to my car, I can’t help but feel a sense of dread settling in my stomach.
The next few days are a blur of anxiety and fear. I can’t shake the feeling that the figure is still out there, waiting for me. Every shadow in the alley, every rustling in the bushes sends a shiver down my spine. I consider talking to someone else about what happened, but the memory is too harrowing to relive.
I would always go to my mom and when I couldn’t go to her, I would ask my dad for advice but now that they’re gone and me being an only child, I really don’t have any family I can go to.
I start to wonder if it’s just a coincidence that the cat died after I saw that figure in the park, but then again, it was right outside my room last night. Maybe it’s not a coincidence at all. Maybe it’s following me. The thought sends a chill down my spine.
I decide to take some precautions. I install extra locks on my door and windows, and I keep a knife under my pillow for protection. I also start carrying a pocket knife with me whenever I leave the house. I know it’s not much, but it makes me feel a little safer.
I tell my friends about what happened, but they don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation. They think I’m just overreacting and being paranoid. They offer to stay with me at night, but I don’t want to put them in danger. So, I sleep with the lights on and my phone charged, ready to call the police at a moment’s notice.
Days turn into weeks, and the figure still hasn’t made another appearance. I start to wonder if it was just a hallucination brought on by stress or exhaustion. Maybe I imagined it all. But then, one night as I’m walking home from the library, I see it again. It’s standing in the shadows, watching me from across the street. My heart pounds in my chest, and my hands tremble as I hurry home, trying to lose myself in the crowd.
I call the police as soon as I’m safe inside my apartment, but they tell me they can’t send someone out right now. They file a report, but say that without any concrete evidence, there’s not much they can do. I feel helpless and alone, with nowhere to turn.
Days turn into weeks, and the figure seems to appear more frequently. It follows me to work, to the grocery store, even to my favorite hangout spots. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s always just out of reach, watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
I start to notice strange things happening around me: items moving on their own, shadows dancing across my walls. I’m no longer sure what’s real and what isn’t. I begin to see the figure in my dreams, its features twisting and warping until it’s impossible to recognize as human.
I decide to hire a private investigator, hoping they can help me uncover the truth about what’s going on. They’re skeptical at first, but after hearing my story, they agree to look into it. They set up cameras around my apartment and follow me during my daily routine. Weeks pass, and still no concrete evidence of the figure appears on the recordings.
The investigator suggests that I seek help from a psychiatrist, to rule out the possibility that I’m suffering from a mental illness or some sort of delusion. Reluctantly, I agree to see one. She listens to my story with interest, and while she doesn’t dismiss my experiences outright, she suggests that I might be experiencing a form of paranoid delusion brought on by stress and trauma. She prescribes me medication to help with the symptoms, but I’m not sure if I want to take it.
Despite the investigator’s skepticism, they continue to work on my case. One night, they call me with an unexpected lead: they’ve found a camera in the park near the spot I saw the figure. The footage shows a man who matches the description of the figure I’ve seen, but it’s impossible to make out his face clearly. They believe that the camera may have been there for months, possibly even before I first saw the figure.
This news gives me a renewed sense of hope, but it also raises more questions. If this man has been following me for so long, why hasn’t he done anything? What does he want from me? I decide to continue with my life as normally as possible, but I keep a close eye on the investigator’s findings.
As the days go by, the figure seems to be fading from my reality. I catch glimpses of it less and less, and when I do, it’s harder to recognize the features I had become so fixated on. Could it be that my mind was playing tricks on me all along? Perhaps the stress of my life had manifested itself in this way, a twisted sort of coping mechanism.
I continue to take the medication the psychiatrist prescribed, but I find myself feeling distant from my own experiences. Everything feels muted, as if I’m watching a movie rather than living my life. I decide to taper off the medication, hoping to regain a sense of normalcy.
I decide to no longer employ the investigator. I needed the extra money at the time.
I slowly start to put my life back together. I find a new job, one that’s closer to home and less stressful. I start to make new friends, going out more and trying to reconnect with the world around me. That was until a few months go by and had another experience with this thing.
I’m walking home from work late one night, feeling good about the day, when I turn the corner and see it standing there. The same figure, the one I thought I had left behind. It’s watching me intently, and for a split second, our eyes meet. A chill runs down my spine, but I force myself to keep walking, to act as if nothing is wrong. I know I can’t go back to being afraid, to letting this thing control my life but as I look back at it, I can see that its moving fast toward me like a fast walk but the way it moved was grotesque. It was making these sounds like it was gargling but a deep guttural gargle. The closer it got, the grosser it looked until I turned a corner and it was gone. I kept running for a few more minutes but it was no longer behind me.
I can’t shake the image of that figure from my mind, and the memory of the sounds it made echoes in my ears. I decide that I need to talk to someone about this, to try and figure out what’s going on. I make an appointment with the psychiatrist, hoping that they can help me make sense of these experiences but they just prescribe me more medication that’ll turn me into a zombie.
I consider telling the investigator about what happened, but I’m hesitant to involve them again. Instead, I decide to do some research on my own. I spend hours poring over books and articles about paranormal activity, urban legends, and folklore. I stumble upon a theory that the figure might be a revenant, a restless spirit that has been trapped between worlds, drawn to me for some inexplicable reason.
As I start to get into the meat of the subject, a memory of the amusement park floods my mind. I’m at the amusement park but I’m a child. I lose my parents and as I’m frantically looking for them, I keep seeing the figure in the crowd that I’m wading through. He starts appearing more and more in the crowd until he yanks my arm.
Suddenly I’m back in the library being shushed. The librarian glares at me and I quickly gather my things, hurrying out the door. The air is crisp and cold, and I feel a sense of urgency to find a quiet place where I can think. I end up at a nearby park, sitting on a bench under a weeping willow tree.
As I try to piece together what I’ve learned about revenants and my own experiences, I can’t help but wonder if there’s some sort of connection to the amusement park.
I could remember the day we went there so vividly now; the laughter of children, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy filling the air. It was a bright, sunny day, but something felt off from the moment we arrived. My parents kept arguing about something, their voices rising above the background noise. I tried to ignore them, focusing instead on the rides and games we wanted to play.
As we made our way through the crowds, the figure kept appearing more and more often. Each time I saw it, my heart skipped a beat and I felt a cold chill run down my spine. It was almost as if it were following me, drawing me closer. And then, when I lost my parents in the crowd, it seemed to be everywhere. It was almost as if it had been waiting for that moment, for an opportunity to take advantage of my vulnerability.
I wandered aimlessly through the park, searching for a familiar face, but the figure seemed to keep me trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear and confusion. The world around me began to blur, as if the figure were somehow warping reality itself. And then, suddenly, I found myself at the haunted house ride. Something about it called to me, drew me in despite my fear.
I’m following the figure, thinking- no hoping it was taking me to security. It’s pulling me faster and harder and making these disgusting gargling noice as if he was having an asthma attack and drowning at the same time. He opens a door that leads down into what looks like a makeshift basement. I looked down and saw a mattress on the floor. Suddenly, I don’t remember what happened next.
When I wake up, I’m in a cold sweat, gasping for air. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I’m lying on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. The room is small and windowless, with bare cinderblock walls. There’s a single dim light bulb dangling from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows everywhere. I try to stand up, but my body feels weak and heavy. I make my way over to the door, only to find it locked from the outside.
Panic starts to set in as I realize I’m trapped. I frantically search the room for anything that might help me escape, but there’s nothing. I collapse back onto the mattress, tears streaming down my face.
While I’m remembering this, I’m suddenly brought back to reality, under the willow tree when I hear the gurgling.
I jump up, heart pounding, and look around frantically. The park is empty now, except for a lone figure standing near the entrance. As I stare at it, my breath catches in my throat. It’s the figure from the amusement park, the one that had been haunting my memories. It’s as if it’s taunting me, daring me to confront it.
I had other plans as I bolted away from the figure, not looking back to see if it followed. Before I knew it, I ran into the entrance of the amusement park.
The familiar sounds of people laughing and screaming on the rides filled me with fear as I tried to catch my breath. The park was empty and abandoned but I could hear people enjoying themselves. I made my way to the haunted house ride from my memory, feeling a sense of urgency to put some distance between me and the figure. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was still there, somewhere in the shadows, watching me. Suddenly when I entered the ride, the sounds stopped. Now it was too quiet.
I Decide to slowly find my way to find the makeshift basement that I recently recalled. I can hear it moving closer toward me with each step sounding like cinder blocks being thrown directly on the metal floor.
I find it but it’s locked so I locate a crowbar nearby and break the lock and throw the door open. It’s just like my memory but now it’s even dirtier. As I stepped in, it was clear that someone just dug a deep and wide hole, laid some cinder blocks and buried it. The room is actually quite small but it would still be a labor to install this thing. And to do it under an amusement ride, they must’ve done it before or as it was being built.
I spot some old dusty pictures duct taped to the wall haphazardly. I find a light switch and turn it on to reveal all four walls are covered in these pictures. Inspecting further, the pictures were candid, voyeur almost, like paparazzi but most of them looked like a regular family at a picnic at the park, family vacations, birthday parties in the backyard. I start to recognize these people and places. It’s my family. Some sicko was stalking us!
But I noticed that all of them were focused on me. Every single picture had me in it as if I was the subject. I start to feel sick to my stomach as a keel over and barf. Looking at my pile of puke, I notice some newer pictures on the floor. They are also me but from only a few years ago, hell even a few weeks ago.
I started to feel dizzy so I sat on the ground before passing out. I dreamt of that day at the amusement park again but it picked up where I left off, with the man dragging me to this room.
As eight year old me looks down at the mattress, I’m shoved in the back suddenly and fly down the stairs. Next thing I remember I was waking up in the room. No lights just pure darkness. As I sat there for hours but realistically but probably 45 minutes crying and yelling but realizing no one could hear me.
Suddenly I hear the door clanking open. A man stands there staring at me for a few minutes. I could finally see my surrounding but it didn’t relieve me any. I saw a broken light bulb on the floor next to me so I grabbed it as a weapon. The man didn’t speak as he walked slowly down the stairs. Only grunting and wheezing. Thinking now, he didn’t have the gargle voice I heard. He walks about 10 feet away from me, hunched over and wheezing, just staring down at me. As my eyes adjusted, I could see his face. He appeared to be a homeless man with a hunchback and what sounded like a failing respiratory system. He had a huge grin that was surrounded by drool.
Suddenly he reaches his face down slowly so he’s only about an inch from my face. I’m frozen with the light bulb in my hand, my eight year old hand clenching it.
“Welcome” he coughs out and wheezes
Suddenly I find myself jamming the broken lightbulb into his Adams apple. He gurgled on his blood. The gurgle I heard in my memories that leaked into reality.
I ran up the stairs closing the door behind me. And that’s where that memory ends.
When I wake up, I’m greeted by the familiar face of my memories only this time, much older and his neck scared up. He tried to say something but with his neck injury from decades before, he was unintelligible. Just sounding like a grotesque amalgamation of what a human should sound like.
Immediately I feel a sharp pain in my side as the area gets warm and wet. He stabbed me. I try to retaliate but I’m tied up so I try to wiggle my hands out of the rope.
Another sharp pain. Another stab wound above the previous.
I’m finally able to get my hands free as I punch him in the temple and he drops immediately. I start to cry as I pound his face into nothing. Again, I can hear him gargling but this would be his last.
I spent another few hours just processing and figuring out what to do next.
I got up after tending to my wounds as best as I could and walked out of the basement and shutting it for good.
I had killed a man. A man who wronged me as a child and into adulthood but the authorities would not care. I had to cover this up somehow. I was able to hire a few questionable people to “accidentally” tear it down and leaving the rubble to sit on top of the monsters last resting place.
It’s been oh probably thirty years since then. I haven’t heard of any commotion from authorities about it or anything related and I highly doubt I will in my lifetime. I sold my parents place after that and moved states. Got married had three kids and I’m about to retire next year.
Sometimes as I’m laying in bed and I can’t sleep, I’ll hear the gargling coming from another room. I refuse to give it any attention.