The Return: Disney Lands

by Ridley Pearson

  Finn kept his head down, trying to hide his wonder. To hear Philby—of all people, Philby!—defend him! He marveled at the turnaround. For years the two had been rivals, both eager to lead the Kingdom Keepers. Now, they were speaking, thinking, as one.

  “That sounds so strange coming from you,” Willa said, verbalizing what Finn was thinking.

  “So where are you going with this?” Maybeck asked.

  “More tests are needed.” From attorney to doctor in less than a minute. Classic Professor Philby. “More help.”

  “Oh, man. Here we go,” Maybeck moaned.

  “What kind of tests?” Willa asked.

  “There’s an easy way, and a hard way,” Philby said.

  “There’s a surprise,” Maybeck said. “For once, just once, can we try the easy way?”

  “Not without Joe’s help,” Philby said, checking his watch. He tapped his phone and initiated a video call. The name Joe Garlington appeared across his screen.

  As the phone started to ring, Philby said, “Let me do the talking.”

  THE MISSION: SPACE PAVILION was virtually empty. With nearly the entire guest population distracted by the greatest nighttime outdoor entertainment show in the United States, the four Keepers entered and were met by a Cast Member, who’d been sent by Joe.

  “Sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger,” the young woman said, addressing Philby. “But as Joe may have explained, given the rushed nature of your request, this was the only location in which we could show you the video in complete privacy.”

  “We understand.”

  She led the way down the ride’s empty exit line.

  “As it happens, our simulators accommodate four. They have video and sound. The video you requested will be uploaded directly from Disney Studios. Only you four will see it. Once we close you in, you’ll have complete privacy.”

  “So we don’t actually have to take the ride?” Maybeck asked hopefully.

  “I’m afraid you do. The videos run when the attraction is moving. There just isn’t time to change that synchronization. You will be the only ones riding the attraction. The other simulators will all be empty. The line is light at the moment. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  They reached a large, circular room rimmed with a dozen simulators. At the sight, Maybeck went green, and instinctively put a hand to his stomach.

  “I get sick on this ride,” he muttered.

  “Yes, well, you’re not alone there,” the young woman said, smiling.

  “Philby?”

  “Get in.”

  The attraction was designed to simulate blasting off in a rocket, slingshotting around the moon, and encountering a meteor field. Because of this, the sound track included messages from Ground Control to the spacecraft, and the simulator pod moved in a high-speed circular motion while also banking left and right. Normally, the screen would have shown flight images, including deep space, the moon, and Mars. The jerking, rocking movement of the pod typically coordinated with the story in the video.

  But for the Keepers, the view was of Finn, alone, in night vision green and black, traveling around in circles on King Arthur Carrousel. It was the security video Philby had requested from Joe. The Keepers watched as Finn moved from horse to horse. The attraction came to a stop. Finn got off. The tape jumped ahead; Finn climbed onto Jingles.

  The video was shot at a distance by a stationary camera well hidden from park guests. The carousel looked tiny; Finn was a little over an inch tall.

  Over the sound track that accompanied the roller-coaster movements of the simulator pod—all four kids were glad they’d eaten dinner several hours earlier—Finn shouted, “This…is…so…weird!”

  “Think how we feel!” Maybeck called back.

  With Finn’s hologram on Jingles, there was a brief technical problem with the tape. It looked as if a hair or piece of lint had attached itself right to Finn’s horse.

  And then…

  Finn disappeared.

  Philby noted the passage of time and did some math—counting fifteen minutes and thirty-four seconds—edited from the tape. For a second time, a hair caught on the camera, and then Finn reappeared, in stark black and green instead of green and black. A fraction of a second later, he flipped back.

  Maybeck nearly puked, but burped instead. By this point, he was as green as night vision Finn.

  When the ride finally stopped and the door opened, a man stood just off to the side.

  “Brad?” Finn said, his face lighting up. This was the Imagineer who had first modeled the young Finn, Willa, Charlene, Maybeck, and Philby, using a green screen sound studio to create their DHIs.

  “In the flesh,” he said. “This way, please.”

  Brad led them upstairs to an oddly shaped VIP lounge. The space held four lounge chairs and a pair of large beanbags, as well as a bizarre electric-aquamarine coffee table that looked more like a miniature trampoline. A flat-panel television was mounted high on the wall, opposite the large floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “What’s up?” Finn said, once Brad had asked them to sit down. The door was securely shut, making the whole meeting all the more mysterious.

  “You should have told us.” Though Finn had spoken, Brad directed his words at Philby.

  “I know.”

  “We made those edits tonight. That’s why they were rough.”

  “I thought that was the case,” Philby said.

  “What’s the deal?” Maybeck asked.

  “Do you want to tell them?” Brad asked Philby, catching him off guard.

  “Um.”

  Brad asked Finn what he remembered about the carousel ride. Finn checked quickly with Philby, who dipped his chin in the barest possible nod.

  “Nothing. Not a thing. Zero. Zilch.”

  Brad’s expression froze. He grunted. “Okay, then. I guess we’re done here. Thanks. And sorry for the bother.”

  “I don’t think so,” Philby said, winning Brad’s full attention.

  “I gave you your chance,” Brad said.

  “The lint on the lens.” Philby met him glare for glare.

  “What about it?”

  Maybeck had risen to his feet; Philby waved him back down onto his beanbag. Slouching and extending his long legs, Maybeck said, “Just in case anyone cares, there’s no way that was edited tonight.”

  “Exactly!” Philby said.

  “Exactly what?” Brad asked.

  Willa sat up taller. “Can someone speak English here?”

  It was Philby who answered her. “I’m guessing the Imagineers, or maybe the Cryptos, have seen this ‘lint’ before.” He drew air quotes. “It wasn’t something on the lens.”

  Maybeck jumped in. “Which would explain why the dead time was edited out of the video. Why it’s only the important moments.”

  Philby: “How many times?”

  Brad: “Seven.”

  Philby: “Which attractions? No, no! Don’t tell me! Storybook Land, Snow White, Peter Pan’s Flight, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, Mad Tea Party—”

  Willa: “—Jungle Cruise and King Arthur Carrousel.”

  Brad nodded slowly. “Well, well. Impressive, you two.”

  Maybeck shook his head. “What about Finn and me? Spread the praise around!”

  Finn barely seemed to hear. He was bent forward in his chair, fingers steepled together in front of his face. “No Autopia?

  Philby beamed at him. “Very good!”

  “No,” Brad said. “That attraction has no connection to a former work.”

  Frustration overwhelmed Maybeck. “Hello!? What’s going on?”

  Finn turned to him, his back straightening, excitement dawning on his face. “Willa and Philby listed the attractions on opening day in Disneyland that are told as stories.”

  Philby said, “The Imagineers, maybe the guests, have seen these anomalies, these odd shimmers—this lint—on the security cameras, before. Am I right?”

  “You are,” said Brad. “We’ve shut down attractions,
sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for weeks, trying to analyze what’s taking place.”

  “And you came to a conclusion, didn’t you?” Philby said. He sounded impossibly certain. “Or in Imagineer-speak, a theory.”

  Brad pursed his lips. “I think we’re done here.”

  “No, we are not,” Finn said. “You are not going anywhere until you tell us what the heck is going on.”

  “It’s about time,” Philby said. “That is, time is what it’s about. Time is the subject. Time is what Wayne wanted us to focus on, to understand. To explore.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourselves,” Brad said, frowning.

  “Hard to get ahead when we’re so far behind,” Maybeck said. “What is this lint?”

  “Cracks. Seams,” Philby said, staring straight at Brad. The Imagineer looked terrified by the direction the conversation had taken. “And what did your team find? Data surges, occurring just prior to each appearance of the lint. And they found that Wayne Kresky was never seen in public during those same periods.”

  Brad’s face was ashen. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “We shouldn’t be having this discussion.”

  “Data surges. Holograms,” Willa said. “Oh my God. Was Wayne self-projecting his DHI? That is seriously risky.”

  “What he was attempting was far more risky than self-projection,” Philby said.

  Maybeck spoke quickly. “Name one thing more dangerous than not having someone to help you if the Return fails. That’s Sleeping Beauty Syndrome, but with no one knowing you need help. It’s suicide.”

  “Why would he risk that?” Finn said, shaking his head. “Why take that kind of chance?”

  Willa’s voice was so soft that everyone in the room had to strain forward to hear. “Because that’s the risk every pioneer takes.” She was looking at Philby the way Philby was looking at Brad. It seemed as if no one in the room was breathing.

  Outside, the fireworks from IllumiNations exploded loudly and rapidly in the grand finale. Bright light and shadows mixed in the VIP lounge, filling the room until the space seemed to have no floor, no ceiling. Finn felt as if he were falling.

  “Pioneer?” Maybeck choked out. “Like what kind of pioneer?”

  Brad wouldn’t answer, so Philby did.

  “The time travel kind.”

  The danger of falling could destroy you,

  But the price of safety might not be worth it.3

  “IF YOU STAND ON YOUR TIPTOES, your hair’s going to hit the lights,” Amanda said, looking up at the elevator car’s ceiling.

  “You’re obsessed with my height. I’m tall. Great. There’s not that much I can do about it.”

  “Believe me, I’m not obsessed with anything about you. Don’t fool yourself.”

  The elevator’s doors closed, but the car did not move.

  “You need to answer something for me,” Tim said, leaning back against the wall and casually crossing his arms. “Why the interest in early television in the park? You don’t strike me as a radio technology freak.”

  “What’s it to you?” Amanda said, exasperated. “Why are you doing this, anyway? Helping me?”

  “Helping you and Jessica,” he corrected.

  “That’s hardly an answer. You’ve been here over a year now. You could have done this research anytime. Why now?”

  “Stand back, and hold on tight,” Tim instructed, leaning forward and giving her a sly grin.

  “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

  He pushed and held three buttons on the panel. The elevator car did not move up or down. Instead, with a heaving jerk, it jumped violently to the right. Amanda fell to the floor. Tim did not.

  Groaning, Amanda pulled herself to her knees.

  “I’d stay down there, if I were you,” Tim said.

  The elevator lurched backward. It jerked to a second stop. The car fell away, dropping as if its cable had been cut.

  Amanda bit her lips to keep from screaming.

  The car bounced. The doors opened, revealing a dark basement.

  “To be continued…” Tim whispered, dragging her by the hand out of the car and across a dark, open space into a tangle of wide pipes. Before she could speak, he pressed his hand over her mouth. “I probably should have mentioned that Dirk the Jerk lives down here. The janitor. Don’t worry he’s ancient.”

  As if in response, there came the sound of shoes scraping the floor. A human shadow approached, stretched thin and ghostly on the floor’s surface. It had a pinched head, sloping shoulders, a long narrow body, and pencil legs fifteen feet long. The shadow soon joined at the feet with a pair of paint-splattered brown leather boots. The work pants that fell over the boots were faded gray from years of laundering.

  Dirk, the man wearing the pants, was unshaven, greasy-haired, and bony. His forehead jutted out like the bill of a hat, all but hiding a pair of small eyes, a beak of a nose. He walked stiffly, like his joints had frozen, swinging his arms like canoe paddles.

  Tim tugged Amanda down behind the three-foot-diameter pipe. She couldn’t see, only imagine, the maintenance man inspecting the elevator. He moved closer to Tim and Amanda and stopped, sniffing the air. Amanda had shampooed that morning. Strawberry peach.

  Beads of sweat left silver lines down Tim’s face. His full lips had gone pale. Amanda gave him a thumbs-up. Tim didn’t look convinced.

  Then the scratching of the boots against the concrete retreated. Several minutes passed.

  Tim exhaled audibly. “That was close.”

  “I could tell you about close,” Amanda said softly, “but I’ll save that for another time. Wherever we’re going, let’s make it fast. I’m beginning to think Jess was the smart one.”

  “I have a theory, based on the hotel electric schematics.”

  “Wait.” Amanda paused, looked at him incredulously. “You don’t know where we’re going?”

  “Has to be in the far corner of the basement,” Tim said doggedly. “There’s a separate air-conditioning system and dehumidifier. It was all retrofitted. That’s where we start.”

  “When you say far, how far is the ‘far corner’?”

  “Well, Amanda, it’s a big hotel.”

  “Hardly reassuring. What’s between here and there?”

  “Probably nothing.”

  “Probably?” She sat back, wiped cobwebs from her face.

  “I’m not a regular visitor! Some storage, maybe. The hotel had a full kitchen and laundry back in the day. If they’re still here, they’d be centrally located.”

  “I need to know: why do you care about the Imagineering archives so much?”

  “We can talk about this later,” Tim said, and turned away, crouching to avoid banging his head as he ducked and maneuvered through the pipes. Amanda had no choice but to follow.

  “I think we should talk about this now,” she said, slightly louder.

  Tim shushed her. For a tall kid, he was incredibly limber and agile. She worked to keep up.

  An aisle appeared to the right. A bare concrete floor; high metal shelving on both sides, all of it crowded with open plastic crates and boxes. A thick black stripe ran straight down the aisle’s center.

  Tim pointed out a concrete block structure, eight feet square, and spoke in a whisper. “Far side of the lobby. That’s the support for the fireplace.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes, but kept quiet. They were finding a rhythm, moving like police sneaking up on a suspect.

  “Interesting,” Tim said, looking up overhead. “I think there might have been dumbwaiters here. What’s now the cafeteria used to be the hotel dining room, so that would make sense.”

  They reached a door. Tim tried it. Locked. Soon, another door. The handle turned. The door opened, and they stepped inside. Amanda eased the door shut, and Tim activated his phone’s flashlight function, shining a wide swath of light into a huge room filled with cobwebs, old machinery, dangling wires, long tables, an
d carts with rotting scabbed canvas. Part horror movie, part History Channel, the hotel’s former laundry room was a museum of antique washing machines, industrial mangles, rods, and racks. Regularly spaced wooden tables for folding and sorting the laundry turned it into an obstacle course. It looked as if people had abandoned it quickly. A long time ago.

  Shuddering, Amanda unwound a wire hanger and used it to dislodge the spiderwebs clotting their path.

  “Do you see all the rat droppings?” she asked.

  “Noted.”

  Together, but with Amanda leading, they crept through the cavernous room. The only sound was their footsteps, and a quiet rustle of the hanger in the webs.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Tim asked.

  “Is that a trick question?” Amanda said. “I happen to love the Haunted Mansion. I still get shivers when I’m in there.”

  “That’s different.” Tim cast his eyes left and right, then shuddered. “This looks like everyone just walked away from what they were doing and never came back. I find that disturbing.”

  “You’re not alone in that,” Amanda said wryly. “But what would cause something like this? An earthquake? A fire?”

  Tim stopped abruptly. “Wait a second! The story behind the Tower of Terror: five people disappear from an elevator during a horrific lightning strike. Think about it. Lightning. Electricity.”

  “Is that what you’re after? The truth about what happened to this hotel?”

  “Come on, Amanda. Do you understand the significance to Disney history? If the inspiration for the ride is this hotel and not the Hollywood Tower hotel, then this building may well be haunted!” Tim’s eyes were wide and frantic in the pale light of his cell phone.

  “If everybody in the hotel had been wiped out in a lightning strike, don’t you think we’d know about it?” Amanda swatted at more cobwebs, resumed her forward movement.

  “Not if it was part of a bigger disaster. I’m sorry to say the people in this hotel would have been just a statistic. And if there were stories written about it, where would those newspaper articles reside?”