A dad's experience at the carnival is anything but fun.
|“I’m scared,” Bobby whispered.
Richard took his son’s hand and eased his way through the dank passageway. “Feel better now?”
“It’s dark in here.”
“That’s the point. Funhouses are supposed to be dark.”
“But it’s not fun. It’s scary.”
Richard stopped and squinted into the blackness ahead. “You’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ll be right here with you.”
“I prom--” Richard’s words were cut off by a chilling screech. He jumped, and Bobby’s hand slipped from his. He groped for his son, but felt nothing. “Bobby?” There was no response. “Bobby. Where are you?”
Suddenly, Richard felt several fingers wrapping around his hand and squeezing. He looked down to see a small, hideous creature staring up at him in the dim light. Richard gasped and pulled back, but the creature tightened its grip.
“What have you done with my son?” Richard tried to maintain a firm voice, but the trembling was obvious.
“I am your son,” came the response. The voice sounded remotely like Bobby’s, but with a deep gurgle.
Richard tried again to free himself from the creature’s grip. “You’re not my Bobby,” he gasped.
“What’s the matter, dad?” The creature let out a sinister laugh. “Are you afraid? This is a funhouse. Aren’t you having fun?”
Richard tried one more time to free himself. This time the creature relaxed its grip and offered no resistance. Richard stepped back, but bumped into a musty wall. He froze, waiting in silence for whatever might happen next.
“I like this place.” It was the voice of his son as he knew it. “This really is a funhouse. I can’t wait to come back.”
Confused and frightened, Richard reached for his son’s hand. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We’ll come back some other time.”