AMUSED?

Thump-thump, thump-thump. The car rumbling over the old tracks sounds like my heart, I can feel both. These tracks must be ancient; I could see the rust even before driving over them. Crap, my breaks are squeaking again.

Putting the car in park, I reached over to grab my warm, thick, faded hoody. Oh, it’s in the back seat. I started walking across the lot to the snow-tipped-pine needle-green grass, measuring my steps with stiff-from-driving legs. The group congratulated me with smirks of sarcasm for finally arriving.

Emphasis on the finally.

The line is long, winding, seems to be shivering all together. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Was that another car or my bloody heart again, calm down. It’s cold, even with my hoody and a beanie on, not to mention the worn-out, somewhat holey gloves on my hands.

Goose bumps are rubbing against the inside of my clothes. Why I even bother shaving on cold days beats me. The line starts to creep eerily forward—my legs don’t want to. Come on, I’ll give you a massage later, promise.

They move.

Is that a dead baby bride skeleton hanging on the fence? Why would a baby be getting married, at least make this realistic. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

It was my feet making the noise this time, I climbed clumsily up the steps. The railing was cold against the patches of skin revealed through my old gloves; more goose bumps. Fake spider webs clung desperately to the ceiling and walls, draping too, forcing me to duck. We found four empty bench seats; the leather was cracked. Did I mention the rotting holes in the floor?

The train must be old.

People surround us on their seats, some dressed up. The train inched forward, lights went out, a voice came on the intercom, slow and deep.

It told stories. A lady who killed her sister on these tracks, a witch who turned rotten kids into cats on the other side of the creek, a girl who was trapped in a well we had passed. The train inched to a stop. The characters from the stories boarded. They began to stalk the train cars one by one, people screaming, clinging to each other.

They are too fake for my liking, though I am still rather amused. Halloween is my favorite holiday, after all, no one can have Halloween without bad make up jobs.

Or bad stories.

Thump, thump, thump, thump. We scrambled off the haunted train. I felt my eyebrows scrunching, it was cold. My nerves had been prepared to see things and hear stories that would keep me up all night—fail. Cheesy as it was though, I was highly amused. Thump-thump, thump-thump. That was definitely my car going over those haunted tracks that time.