by David Kempf
Every ride at this special place is menacing and potentially fatal. Most of society’s worse offenders receive their just punishment swiftly. There are, of course, great exceptions to the rule, which are rare and do not even remotely compare to my story. First of all, I have always loved even the most frightening amusement parks. This park was exceptionally wicked, perhaps the most sinister one that ever existed.
I’m ashamed to say that I have taken money (when I was younger) earmarked for survival and spent it on amusements. The first time I ever saw the park I was literally breathless. It sat up on a hill behind the Amityville New York Ocean. The rides are as diverse as they are sadistic. There’s a roller coaster, a log flume, a tilt a whirl, an arcade (which is particularly lethal) and the ultimate haunted house. For every thrill in life there is a price to be paid. That means for every enjoyment such as sex, drugs or even dangerous rides, the piper will be paid!
I must confess that the more unsettling the ride, the more enjoyment I have always received from it. That’s just my crazy personality, I guess. Some people like the danger of being close to death. I guarantee you everyone at this amusement park is closer to death than anyone except soldiers on the front line. The fact that I was let in was a success story within itself. The park’s manager, Mr. Graves, ran out of men on death row who would accept his terms. The terms were that you would stay at the park for ten years. If you went on three rides a day for that long and survived, you would be pardoned by the governor. I’m out of my mind. It’s true; I average five or six rides a day. That, incidentally, doesn’t include the arcade. When I was diagnosed, I was supposed to die about four years ago. The fact that I’ve beaten the odds is truly amazing. Sometimes some final thrills in life are needed to prolong one’s life. The arcade was every bit as dangerous as the roller coaster and log ride. I was almost forty when I entered the park but I had no family. I did once but they were taken from me, they died when we were in the city, five years before I was sick. We were mugged and she got stabbed to death during the incident. The authorities arrived in time to see a corpse. Police are useless and revenge is hollow. I had nothing to lose when I went looking for thrills.
What makes this park so different? For starters, every other time people reach the high point of the roller coaster….it’s fatal. This is not because of faulty craftsmanship. This is because the government wanted to perform a social experiment. Are people willing to gamble with death to avoid the death penalty? That’s why I was such an enigma to them. I actually volunteered to roll fate’s dice. I was just in it for the thrill of it. Some people like to see how far they can go. That’s me. I enjoy testing the limits to the ultimate extreme. That’s why I like going to the arcade so much. Men who have committed multiple homicides are terrified to go into that arcade! Not me. I want to show them how brave a man who has never taken a human life can be. I’m just a thrill seeker and not some sadistic sociopath! No one ever said life was fair. That’s why I shared the park with evildoers.
Did I mention that this park has a log flume or that (every other ride) shoots people directly in the ocean? It does. Once you reach the top, you either go down like any traditional ride or a special track comes out. It shoots its victims out into the ocean like a cannon ball. Could someone swim back to land? Well, yeah, I guess they could. It’s just that it shoots you miles out in the ocean. I would imagine that once you’re out of breath and have to swim to the surface, you’re already exhausted. Now imagine having to swim to shore with no help for a mile or two. Trust me; Mr. Graves has no interest in watching his customers survive that sadistic log ride. No interest whatsoever in that. There is a rhyme and reason to this park and death defying survival tactics do not fit in with the government agenda.
Ceija is a very famous gypsy name. That’s the name of the mechanical gypsy who stands at the beginning of this park. We sometimes wait in line and put a dollar into the machine to find out what our fate will be. A typical customer in the real world will hear very positive things. This isn’t the case with us who are the condemned. Our sweet Ceija tells us how it really is! Sometimes the fate is positive. I need to say that just for sake of all fairness, but that’s a rare occurrence. Sometimes even an animatronics theme park character can be world weary and cynical. That’s the case with our beautiful gypsy rose. Dead meat is what we all are. That doesn’t mean that we can’t try to have fun while we are still here. Since we are alive, we should try to make the most of it. In many ways that’s what our lovely lady tells us to do. When I first arrived, the message I received was ominous. It said, “Do what you can.” I have honestly tried just that. Please remember, I‘ve been here longer than anyone else in the park’s history! Others have received much harsher sentences from our dear lady. My one friend, who only lasted two weeks here, received a terrible notice. His note read “Soon.” That doesn’t leave much room for interpretation. This place doesn’t lend much to metaphors or symbolism.
I don’t mean to give the wrong impression. There are others who have survived here quite a long time. The last three years have seen me in a dark competition with Malcolm Shane. He was one of the worst serial killers in the history of the United States. The nature of his murders was unspeakable. Many people in the media didn’t believe what was reported back to them. He was a true psychopath in every sense of the word. The irony was that I thought he was my ticket to the afterlife. Quite the contrary, he was anything but. I’ve had a few close calls here at the park (everyone alive has); but was only clinically dead once. All the people he tortured and killed desperately wanted to live. The only man who asked to die was me. So naturally, the sadistic son of a bitch made sure I was alive for as long as possible. That’s the great irony of my life and the park. I’m always alive.
You see, sometimes Ceija sends a shocking message to people curious about the future. Every third inquiry about things to come leads to death by electrocution. Mr. Graves made damn sure that the touch of her buttons would send out a shock three times more powerful than the electric chair. Mission accomplished! Her electric ways brought death to hundreds of people who thought it would be fun to consult an electronic gypsy at the world’s most dangerous theme park. This is just one of many, many fatal errors made by new customers to our little park. I’m the only fool who would constantly use her in order to terminate my own life. Every time I fainted from the effects of her power, he was there. I came so damn close to death once. I even had what was considered to be a near death experience. It was actually a great feeling of relief. There was no fear and no pain, only sweet relief from the suffering of my disease.
“There will be no relief for you, my friend,” said Shane. Apparently this master of death had learned a thing or two about reviving people like me who were on the verge of being on their way out. I was at death’s door and a mass murdering fiend brought me back to life.
“I hope you fucking die!” I said.
“I hope you fucking live to suffer unbearably,” said the killer.
“Let’s go for a ride.”
“Sounds fun, Ron,” he said. Then we went on the roller coaster, the fun house and the dreaded long flume. Nothing eventful happened. We survived completely intact. One thing I hated about this park was that I was stuck with this monster. Everyone else who had come to the park during my long, painful stay here had died. In the beginning I made friends because I was naïve and I thought it would be good for me. When I was little I made friends because my life was just getting started. How important was it to make friends at the end of your life? I would think it was very special to be surrounded by people who love you. I still kind of do. The people who would have surrounded me would have been convicted criminals, but no one is perfect. I was getting really sick of living here.
“You want to take a chance?” asked Shane.
“Yeah, I do, prick.”
“Let’s go the arcade. A shoot out at the old OK corral sounds like it would be okay with you.”
“It’s fine with me, sociopath.�
��
“Good.”
“Do you know what would make me even happier than dropping dead?” I asked him.
“What?”
“Watching you die.”
“Hey, try to kill me. I think it would be a riot to see if an excuse for a man like you can try to fight.”
“I see. Real men like you rape and murder children.”
“Ron, let me be honest. I’ve raped and killed almost every type of living thing on the planet. That’s what I am. That doesn’t mean I can’t fight other men my own size. I killed so many other men in prison; they put me here with you.”
“Must have been my lucky day,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed.
So the man I hated the most in my entire life and I went to the arcade. This was no typical arcade because this was no ordinary theme park. You could shoot the cowboys and other targets. That was the ordinary part of the target experience. What made this experience different was that these eclectic cowboys shot back. Well, Mr. Graves made sure they shot back every third time. I wonder what this man’s obsession with the number three is.
“Let me at them!” I said.
“Glad to see you have a good attitude. Maybe you’re a cowboy?”
“True,” I said. “Maybe you’re a sociopath and a waste of oxygen!”
“You’re a sanctimonious hypocrite! I’m so glad you love your precious insults. Did you ever consider that if you were a normal man, you wouldn’t be here? You would be surrounded by your loved ones. Your wife or your son would smother you with a pillow or feed you sleeping pills.”
“Don’t go there, freak,” I said.
“Oh, that’s right. Your wife and son are dead!”
I was filled with rage. I shot at every single cowboy. I shot and shot. Sometimes missing and sometimes hitting them bull’s eye. Then all of a sudden it happened. One or two of the true grit puppets shot back. It hit him right in the leg. A normal man would scream out in pain. The fiend chose to laugh his head off.
“Is this the best you can do?” he taunted me.
“No!” I shot every single figure I could.
“You can’t beat me normally. So you use this stupid cowboy game,” Shane said.
Then another shot came out. It hit me in the head. Everything went black.
When I was out I was dreaming. Deep and dark dreams haunted my subconscious mind. My beautiful wife and my beloved son haunt me everyday. I don’t sleep much but when I dream of them, dreams aren’t pleasant. The worst night terrors of my life came to me after the death of my family. I wish I could say they died in a plane crash or a car accident. Even a terrorist attack would be preferable to the way they died. I came home from work and found them mutilated beyond all recognition. This was around the same time that Shane was leaving messages to the media about his handiwork. Was this man – with whom I am spending the last days of my life – my family’s killer? I don’t know and I suspect I never will really know for sure. He is a liar of the worst sort. Any man who could commit the kinds of unspeakable acts he does can lie constantly. Shane torments me and enjoys it. There are times when he says that he is the man who murdered my family and other times he tells me that he is just trying to rattle me. That’s when he says that he was already in jail when the crime occurred.
“Hey, wake up, sunshine! You get to spend another day with your favorite person! I’m your number one dude. We are brothers in death! Sorry. I guess you’re kind of pissed at me for constantly bringing you back to life.”
“God, I hate you.”
“I know but it keeps things interesting.”
“What?”
“To tell you the truth, I never really liked amusement parks to begin with. Still, I got to admit that this Graves asshole has come up with something unique.”
“There were more of us before,” I said.
“True. I just didn’t want to keep them alive.”
“What the fuck is so special about me?”
“Special?” He laughed hard. Then he gave me the most sinister look. “There is nothing special about you.” He looked at me and laughed once again. “You’re alive and you want to be dead. That’s what’s so special about you!”
“How can I be alive? The bullet went through my head.”
“No.”
“No?” I asked, incredulous.
“Sorry, it just ain’t so, Ron. The bullet skimmed your head. It knocked you unconscious. You definitely had some irregular breathing. Lucky I was there to save you.”
“Bastard!”
“Talk about luck. The chances of that thing not sinking into your skull with a direct hit like that. It’s like somebody up there wants to keep you with me.”
“Don’t you mean somebody down there?” I asked, pointing to the floor.
“You’re damn lucky to be alive, Ron!” he said.
“Go to hell,” I said.
“This isn’t hell?” he asked with a smile.
“Get the fuck away from me. I need to be alone for a little while.”
“Sure thing. See you around, buddy.”
I walked all over the park alone. There are many parts of the park that don’t require you to risk your life. It’s the thrill and addiction of tempting fate that keeps so many customers coming back for more. Well, the armed guards that used to be here were definitely an important part of this social experiment. I saw one of the many observational cameras and began to speak to the big man.
“So your experiment comes down to a terminally ill man in pain and a psychopath. I hope we’ve been entertaining you.”
I walked away and then suddenly heard an unexpected voice.
“You have both proven not to be the least bit disappointing,” said the voice.
“Mr. Graves, I presume,” I said.
“Yes,” he answered.
“What do you want from us?” I asked.
“I want you to die,” he said simply.
“Is that really true?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“You will eventually. The odds are in your favor,” said Graves.
“What’s the fucking hold up?” I asked.
The voice coming from the speaker was not sinister or ominous. It was the voice of a normal man. He didn’t sound particularly sadistic or especially kind. He sounded like anyone with whom you’ve ever engaged in a conversation.
“You’re not going to figure me out by my voice. Mr. Burton, do you understand me?”
“I don’t want to figure you out. I want to die.”
“You will. In good time, it will happen. I promise.”
“Again…what’s the holdup?”
“Please stop thinking about yourself. We have the experiments of the park to contend with. There is so much to be learned about people who have little time left to be alive. Much to be learned from the likes of you two.”
“Indeed,” I said.
“You jest but there is nothing here that’s amusing.”
“Go fuck yourself, Graves. I thought it was an amusement park.”
“It is an amusement park of sorts,” he said.
“Who does it amuse?” I asked.
“The only people that matter.”
“You’re amused, Mr. Graves?”
“No. My investors are the ones who are amused. We’ve found a way to tap into man’s fear of mortality.”
“That’s not very original.”
“It wouldn’t be if there wasn’t more to it. Fear of death combined with childhood amusements is somewhat original.”
“You study the psychological effects of all this,” I said.
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” he asked.
“Why don’t you just kill me?” I asked wearily.
“Your friend should have already told you that. The desire for death in you is the fear of pain. The prisoners had no pain. Justice was why they needed to die,” he explained.
“Why do you keep that monster alive?�
�� I asked.
“I have my reasons for that, Mr. Burton.”
“What are they?” I persisted.
“In time you will know. There will be a reason for you to know at the end. It was nice to speak to you in person,” he said.
That was something else, I thought. He said it was nice to speak to me in person but yet it didn’t feel very personal. Even when you don’t like someone, it’s typically considered polite to speak face to face. That’s something our sadistic theme park host didn’t seem to grasp very well. A sense of humor wouldn’t hurt, either. There should be some humor in this twisted world even with matters of murder and tragedy. Moments of humor can be found, I’m sure, at a theme park where no one gets out alive.
Now, I didn’t know it at the time but the psychopath Malcolm was making other plans for me. I thought I was just killing time making small talk with the fascist who runs this establishment. I was wrong. Malcolm had ideas of his own. He was walking around the park and looking for loopholes. Anything he could find to make this damned park a little safer. It was hard work but he had the time and the fiendish motivation for this kind of thing. If I couldn’t kill myself when the park was set up to kill, how could I do it when he was trying to make it safe? I couldn’t do it. That was how simple it was. It should have been easy to guess what was going on. It wasn’t. The one thing I wanted to do was die and that’s just what the monster and the fascist wanted to prevent me from doing. There were so many men who came here and didn’t even last a single damn day! The deadly nature of this experiment proved too much for them in a matter of hours. Maybe I’m the one who needs a better sense of humor. I snuck up behind that son of a whore and pushed him to the floor. We were in the arcade.
“Hey, did I startle you?” I asked.
“Not going to work, Ron,” he said.
“No?” I asked.
“You’re a faggot and your mother was a whore,” I stated.
“Sorry. I don’t rattle like that,” he replied.
“You’ve killed people for far less,” I persisted.
