by Kevin Guest
* *
At Reindeer Manor, Andy watched as the last prop of the show was removed from the house. All of the walls, scenery, and most of the special effects were moved to a rented storage container in the back yard. The house looked lifeless, just as he had seen it when he bought it. The areas that were prone to the most trouble were fully exposed. He thought, My God, what have I done?
He was the last person out. He closed the door, hoping that he had done the right thing. Though he owned the property, he never felt he had complete ownership of the Sharps’ house. As he walked past the snack bar, through the gate, across the hayride road, and into the midway, he saw the owner of the morgue, a young man dressed in a Scottish kilt, loading the final props into his hearse. The hearse was famous, almost as much as the thirty-year-old fire-truck that greeted people as they turned into the parking lot. Both were used in countless parades and civil activities.
The man closed the back door, waved goodbye, got into the hearse, and drove off. Andy got into his van, took one last look at the park, then drove to the entrance and waited for Dr. Anderson.
