Night and Fog

By G Edgar Wade

Seventeen-year-old Susan Johansen is threatened by three deadly, supernatural forces as she struggles to find the answer to her best friend's disappearance. She is lured alone into the towering Uintah mountain range through a series of strange circumstances. When she reaches her final destination at ten thousand feet, she discovers an old abandoned amusement park where a beautiful lake should be. She is met by a friendly, but strange young woman named Rebecca who convinces her to enter the park, whereupon it renews itself and is filled with people. After a bizarre tour that includes eerie attractions and terrifying rides, Rebecca leads Susan into the mysterious, glassed-domed Victorian at the end of the park's midway. Susan senses that a subtle change has been taking place within her, but it is too late to turn back. She has crossed through a portal into a subterranean world where she learns that her life hangs in the balance, along with all of humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G Edgar Wade
• Release date: Mar 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466175747

G Edgar Wade

I grew up in the San Francisco bay area. My haunts included Sutro Baths before it burned down in 1966 and Playland at the Beach. I remember the feeling of obsolescence and decay in those places and an awareness that mortals were not the only inhabitants. Some other haunts were the boardwalk at Santa Cruz and the heavily forested coastal hills that included our family cabin at LaHonda. It was there that my family and I witnessed the UFO phenomenon of 1952. Years later I moved to the intermountain west and fell in love with the primeval wilderness of the Uintah mountains and the sphinx-like granite sentinels that stand guard over alpine lakes and forests. Add to this my intense interest in World War II (I was born during the war). This, and more, caused a stir in my soul that needed an outlet through the medium of the written word.After more than six decades of impressions, the urging of my grown children and the forbearance of my wife Lynette, I have decided to share my wild imagination with those who care to enter in to my inner sanctum.

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Night and Fog

By G. Edgar Wade

Copyright 2012 G. Edgar Wade

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter One

A gray mist hung over an abandoned amusement park, enshrouding large neglected trees, dilapidated buildings and scattered piles of oxidizing reddish-brown wheels, gears, cranks, and steel tracks. The rust had leached into the ground and left ugly stains in a broad, cracked midway that had once been a busy thoroughfare between noisy arcades and terrifying rides. It would have been pitch-black on this moonless evening if it were not for the fluted street lamps that lined both sides. For some reason they still worked, as if the electric company had forgotten they existed and neglected to cut off the power. The lamps also donated their share of rust, as evidenced by the sight of smeared reddish-brown streaks that had leached from their bases into the ground around them. Their glowing halos barely revealed an ugly, thin ribbon of frayed electrical wires that tethered all the lamps together in a row of tilted poles that leaned too far from side to side. Below this light a shuffling crowd of unkempt young people stepped carefully over the broken surface on their way to what appeared to be a giant greenhouse-like structure at the end of the midway. It had an imposing, almost forbidding appearance, evidenced by a massive triple-peaked glass roof made of thousands of panes framed in one-foot squares. An eerie green haze radiated down from the top, giving it a gloomy sepulchral look, as though it belonged in a dreary nineteenth century cemetery. This was hardly a place where anyone would like to be unless it was Halloween; but it was summer and a huge fog bank had just settled in onto the forested coastal hills that cloaked the park from the outside world. Now the fog cast a ghostly pall over the huge edifice, adding an even more dismal, murky image to the already fearful looking building.

Any normal crowd of kids would have turned back by now, except maybe the most daring or most foolhardy among them; yet this crowd advanced without hesitation as if driven by a force beyond them. No one talked; there was not so much as a whisper, until now.

We’ve got to get out of here, Jenny! a nervous Susan Johansen whispered into Jennifer Walker’s ear, knowing her best friend could feel her hot breath as she spoke. But there was no reaction from her, not a word or a single outward gesture like a raised eyebrow or a nodding of the head, just listlessness, like everyone else in the crowd. An overwhelming feeling of foreboding overcame Susan, and somehow she knew that if they did not turn around now they would never escape. We can’t go into that creepy place! We’ll never come out! What’s the matter with you? Wake up! She tugged on Jenny’s forearm with both hands, but Jenny managed to silently pull away and kept on walking, with no protest or indignation against Susan’s assault, just quiet stupor and thoughtless locomotion towards what Susan instinctively felt was their annihilation.

There was no rational reason why she felt this way; the fear was just there, a permanent fixture in this dreadful place, a fear that had no beginning or end. She tugged again, slipped on some loose concrete but managed to grab Jenny’s left arm and almost pulled them both down in the process. She righted herself and was about to let go when her clenched fingers felt the skin on Jenny’s arm begin to shrivel and turn cold. Instinctively, Susan let go, as though she had accidentally touched some filthy object. She stepped back to see what had happened and gasped. Jenny’s arms had withered and turned chalky white, her face was ashen, her eyes glassy, and her pupils dilated. Susan recoiled in revulsion. Jenny was dead--a soulless empty shell full of death and in the beginning stages of decomposition. Susan stared at the others and to her horror realized that they were all lifeless as well--walking corpses, which resembled melting wax figures that had been placed too close to a hot furnace. She wanted to flee, but where to? She had no frame of reference, no point of entry, no place of origin.

Susan could not remember how or why she ended up in this place or what had compelled her to go--she was just there. For all she knew she could have stepped right into the middle of a movie having missed the plot, the suspense and the sequences that would have added continuity and meaning to the story. The only thing she did know was that fear permeated her entire being, along with a feeling of vulnerability and a sure knowledge that she must get out. She seemed to be in a sort of hermetically sealed bubble, secreted from the outside world and known only to those destined for eternity. The terrible glass building in front of her radiated with an aura of danger, and Susan had the eerie feeling that it was watching her--waiting until she stepped over the threshold where she would be in its power. It was time to abandon her friend and save her own life.

She did an abrupt one-eighty, sprinting in the opposite direction past splintered trellises, overgrown hedges, benches, and pavilions. She realized that the entire midway was narrowing, consuming the scenery with it. The whole run-down park was collapsing in on itself, and Susan was caught in the middle. Fear turned to terror and adrenaline rushed through every muscle in her body as she slipped into survival mode. She catapulted herself forward and stumbled, but was able to pick herself up quickly and charge blindly through the fog. Then she saw something that caused her to come to a dead stop. What in the . . .? she cried out to anyone who cared to listen.

In front of her was a broken down carousel with dangling, swaying brass poles where wooden horses should have been. It looked like they had just bolted, if that were possible, and had sent the poles into a crazy, jerking motion by the instant separation. She barely had time to wonder what had happened to the horses when she heard snorting and whinnying coming from the carousel, accompanied by the trotting of horses’ hooves echoing off the pavement. Suddenly, several riderless horses appeared through the fog. Susan’s jaw dropped; the horses were real, large, beautiful animals adorned by glittering jewels, highly polished saddles, and stirrups strapped over regal saddle blankets. Veins bulged on the horses' heads and necks while sinuous muscles contracted on their powerful bodies. They’re alive! The carousel horses are alive!

They began lining up in battle formation with their manes bristling and their nostrils snorting, blowing out hot vapor as they positioned themselves for the attack. Susan paled and the blood drained from her face as the thought hit her that she was the target. She desperately looked to her right for an escape route, saw light at the end of a path and darted for it, sprinting as fast as she could. As she ran closer to the light she realized that it was not originating from a gloomy street lamp from within the park, but from somewhere outside. Daylight? How? How can it be daylight there, but not here? She had to reach the light before the horses trampled and crushed her to death!

Now, even the ground beneath her began to move and shift violently, and Susan realized it was collapsing underneath her. An earthquake! Trees and shrubs began to topple, forcing her to duck around them. She sprinted faster and faster from one fallen obstacle to the next trying to out-run the horses, which were now in a full gallop and quickly closing in on her. The daylight from the outside was intensifying as she raced closer to freedom, but the path remained as dark as the rest of the park with no rays filtering in. It was as though there was an invisible barrier sucking up any illumination before it had a chance to enter into this black hole. Susan was a mere twenty-five feet away from breaking through when the street lamps began a topsy-turvy dance crashing to the ground, throwing up sparks, and snapping live wires--pulling electrical transformers with them. They hit the ground with a powerful explosion, tossing up wires in a rhythmic movement as though a snake charmer had summoned hundreds of crackling, spitting serpents to a dance. The charging horses halted, reared up, neighed loudly and bolted in terror as wires vaulted to the ground in several places, quivering and popping as they went.

Ten feet, that was all Susan had to go, and then one of the dancing wires struck her, belching fire and sparks. It knocked her down to her knees, while another one burrowed into the tortured earth and broke through the surface just inches away from her. Let me out; let me out! she screamed. She could hear a continuous deep rolling sound low in the earth as the wire snaked around, searching instinctively for its prey.

It found Susan’s legs and began coiling around them, constricting them, until she could feel numbness as her blood supply was being cut off, paralyzing her muscles. She could not move. All she could do was focus despairingly on the light, begging it to somehow rescue her from certain destruction; and then there was a sudden movement in the light. A tree swished by followed by an outcropping of rock and then more trees, all moving as though on a rotating backdrop, a barbed wire fence was next followed by bulldozers, road graders, and people! Susan gawked for a second, but then her attention was immediately drawn away by the rolling below her that now changed to a distracting rhythmic rumble becoming louder by the second. In the meantime, several wires that had crashed into the ground earlier were now burrowing under her, displacing the soil and rocks. It would only be a few seconds more before the ground might drop out from under her and she would be swallowed up in the rumbling abyss. Then her ears picked up a new sound, a human voice, at first muffled, unintelligible and far away--then the words began to come together in a familiar roar. Blasted detour! We’re too close to the edge, a man bellowed, we’re going to hit something. Those darn rumble strips; they’re chewing up my tires!

Susan twisted slightly, no longer kneeling on cold ground, but lounging in a comfortable reclining seat, her legs twisted in an uncomfortable position. She sat up, staring out the windows of the SUV at a string of orange barrels flying by, some of them scraped and smashed in by vehicles that had come too close. She soon realized that it was she who was moving, not what was in the light, and the voice she had heard belonged to her father. It was that same nightmare she thought, brooding within herself, for two weeks---every day! When is it going to end? And why are they coming now, two years later?

Chapter Two

Five minutes had passed since Susan awakened to the real world around her. She had spent that time reorienting herself, becoming familiar with her surroundings and totally wiping out the effects of the dream. She struggled for the first few wakeful minutes trying to separate the nightmare from reality. The fallout from the dream had lingered a while casting a gloomy pall over everything Susan saw and heard in the SUV, the passing scenery, even the passengers, her own parents and brother. They seemed to have been part of the backdrop even though she had not seen them in the dream. Minutes began to chisel away at the gloominess lifting the heavy pall and chucking it into thin air. No, what Susan was now seeing was not part of the backdrop after all. It was alive, full of light, free from terror, and delightfully mundane. Mumbled, unrecognizable conversations of five minutes ago now became distinct and characteristically familial.

Do you want to stop at the overlook? Mike Johansen asked his wife Nannette.

We’ve seen it a thousand times, she replied in a tired voice. Why bother? Reaching into the glove box she found a pair of sunglasses and put them on. The dam will always be there, she continued. Besides it’s so bright and hot outside I’d just as soon stay in here.

Mike knew his wife was tired and anxious to get to the cabin, but he could not resist the temptation to stop and admire something so powerful and dynamic, something that was a part of him. The Jordanelle Dam was a spectacular result of engineering prowess that was now providing water to the thirsty valleys below and he had been part of its construction. It was his baby, his child. He was a quality control engineer and had been meticulous in assuring that no flaw would ever cause the dam to fail. He winked at Nannette knowing perfectly well that she would interpret that as half an apology and half supplication to let the little boy out of him. A sheepish smile began creasing his lips. Have you ever heard of smelling the roses along the way?

Yeah, but not the same old roses, she thought. She knew he was proud of his creation but she really was tired and it had taken the last two days to get ready for this trip. Family vacations were hard to prepare for even if it was just a trip to the family cabin above Kamas in the Uinta Mountains. She looked wearily at Mike. You have no idea, she said. Real roses would be fine but Mike, despite being an attentive husband and father, was a left brain engineer who sometimes viewed beauty through a microscope or a mathematical equation.

Well, so much for the dam, Mike said as he guided the SUV to the summit on State Highway 248. The dam disappeared from view.

Nannette glanced in the side view mirror, and seeing that the overlook was safely out of sight, she now felt a little guilty. We could turn around, Mike. I really wouldn’t mind, she said, knowing darn well that he would not turn around in a construction zone.

Susan snickered inside. Even at seventeen she could recognize the marital dynamics at play.

Dad wants the family to feed his ego; Mom doesn’t want to.

Dad responds with a guilt trip; Mom coyly gives in after the fact.

Both get what they want. Dad is given validation and Mom doesn’t have to stop at the overlook.

Make up your minds! Susan blurted out.

Her sudden outburst stung both parents. They knew their daughter had just brought them up short, and they knew that she knew they were playing a silly game. Mike gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white as he tried to suppress a laugh. With all her temporary faults as a growing teenager, Susan was no fool and both her parents knew it. Nannette smiled sheepishly and then flushed as she fumbled in her purse for her makeup case, then began fussing with her hair in an attempt to hide her own embarrassment. Mike was looking at his wife out of the corner of his eye enjoying her distress, pursing his lips tightly and holding his breath in a desperate effort to keep from cracking up. His whole body was wound up tight as a clock spring. This is ridiculous! He turned his head slightly toward Nannette and she to him. It was too much. They both chuckled at the same time, but it was Nannette who belched out the first laugh. That was enough to break Mike’s spring and he released a boisterous guffaw. Nannette sputtered through her giggles, Look at us! We’re like a couple of kids caught with our hands in the cookie jar.

Touché, Suze, Mike said through his laughter, secretly admiring his precocious little girl. I pity the poor guy you marry when he tries to put one over on you.

Yes, Nannette added, a chip off the old block, my block I might add.

Mike raised an eyebrow. Don’t be too sure about that, dear.

Round two coming up, Susan declared.

Her parents both laughed again.

What’s so funny, David asked. Susan’s thirteen-year-old brother was steaming because they hadn’t stopped. He wanted to get out---and not just get out, he wanted to be IN the water swimming and boating. All this talk! Talk, talk, and more talk! It’s stupid! Why can’t we go back to the dam? That’s where all the fun is, Dave protested.

Nannette turned slightly in her seat. You’ll have more fun up at the cabin, honey. There are lots of things you can do.

Like what? Why can’t we stop at the dam? he demanded.

Chill out Dave, Susan said. Mom and Dad are tired. Besides, there’s nothing to see but a lot of water.

There was a slight disdain in Susan’s last sentence and Mike detected it immediately. You forget Suze, I was part of the construction of that dam.

I know Dad, but there used to be hiking trails and a lot of wildlife there.

Mike grew thoughtful. I understand how you feel, but the dam was necessary. Look at the habitat that lives there now.

Intellectually his words made sense, but emotionally they did not assuage her feelings. Progress is so phony, like an illusion, she said. People are so pleased with their huge creations, but they don’t care at all about nature.

I think you’re dreaming, Suze. There doesn’t always have to be a battle going on between nature and progress. You need to realize that it wasn’t. . . .

His words began trailing off into the quicksand of Susan’s troubled mind. Dreams and illusions. Those words burrowed in to her consciousness and brought her back to her own dreams and illusions. Or, were they dreams?

She withdrew back inside herself and cast a blank stare out the side window. She could not get the residual effects of the nightmare completely out of her mind. It always remained in the top layer of her subconscious, ready for recall anytime by a spoken word, a visual effect or music. It had been two years since Jenny’s disappearance and somehow Susan felt responsible. If only I hadn’t invited Jenny to spend that week at grandma’s with me. If only we hadn’t gone to that weird concert in the Santa Cruz mountains.

It had been advertised for only one day. Pamphleteers just suddenly appeared from nowhere and inundated the California coastal town of Santa Cruz with the announcements, which were promptly gobbled up by droves of wandering, aimless drifters, some of them old hippie throwbacks to the sixties and seventies, but most were young, mixed up kids. The area around the town crawled with them, many forgotten by the world. Herds of them filtered down from their haunts in the mountains on sunny days to panhandle, sell, or just hang out waiting for something exciting to happen to brighten their otherwise dull existence. If some events were free, as the concert was advertised, they would usually attend. Susan and Jenny were on the boardwalk when they picked their flier up from an unkempt, nondescript girl in a green jumper and purple shawl. The clothing struck Susan as old-fashioned, something straight out of an old nineteenth century photograph taken on the sun-scorched plains of the Midwest. Susan remembered how empty the girl looked with her hollow cheeks, deep sockets and expressionless eyes. She seemed more like a mannequin than human, and that was not all, they all looked like that. Every pamphleteer Susan and Jenny passed, whether boy or girl, had that empty look, showing no emotion, but were expressionless and indifferent. Nevertheless, Susan felt drawn to them either out of curiosity or because she felt sorry for them. Perhaps that is why she attended that strange concert that evening---the last time she would ever see Jenny. She really did not know why she went, and as she tried to recall the concert itself she found her memory slipping fast until her recollection was nothing more than a jumbled, disjointed mess of thoughts and images, images that only became more defined in her dreams. She could only remember distorted sounds and visual effects and Jenny disappearing into a building and never returning.

The official investigation by the FBI and the subsequent snooping by the media had been a grueling experience for a fifteen-year-old, the sole witness in the disappearance. It had taken her months to get back to a normal functioning life, but it was only functional. She went through the motions of attending school, burying herself in her studies and finally reached that state where she was coming out of mourning. But, why am I having all these dreams now? Why? She was beginning to suspect there might be a missing piece to the puzzle that she needed to discover if she were ever to find peace.

Chapter Three

Susan felt herself bending forward slightly in her seat and she readjusted her sitting position. The SUV had reached the summit of Highway 248 and was now making a straight descent to the valley below, which would end at Kamas four miles away. Susan brushed back her blonde hair with her hands, inserted her ear buds, turned on her iPod, and began listening to one song before they would reach town, that same quaint town which sat at the gateway to the Uintas. It was going to be the same old-same old vacation to the family cabin as last year---fir trees, chipmunks and endless trips to the only grocery store in town where she would have to endure the torture of listening to her parents banal conversations with the local folk. She was disconnected and annoyed. There was certainly