Dark Ride: A Horror Story

By Carol McMahon

It’s the last night of the Harvest Fair Carnival. The air is cool and the sky is filled with stars as Charlotte and her boyfriend, Mitchell, walk through the cemetery to get to the fair before it’s gone for another year. The moonlight illuminates the headstones with an eerie glow as Mitchell talks about The Doll House—a dark ride that hasn’t been seen in almost forty years but is featured at the carnival this year. He also tells Charlotte about R. Wodehouse, the notorious magician who is thought to be responsible for hundreds of disappearances in their town.

Charlotte wants to have fun with Mitchell but has bad memories of the fair—things that happened when she was a little girl. She’s hoping this year will be different, that she and Mitchell will finally have a nice time together—something that hasn’t happened for a long time. Unfortunately, everything changes when Charlotte sees a giant doll head looming over the fairgrounds at the end of the midway. The Doll House. It’s the main event as far as Mitchell is concerned, and she knows she won’t be able to avoid riding through with him.

Charlotte is wary as she approaches the building with disturbing images painted on the side and the creepy magician standing at the entrance. She’s frightened of the way he stares at her with his hypnotic, black eyes—eyes that draw her in and make it impossible for her to turn back. But Charlotte should be wary, because once she enters the world inside The Doll House—through the pitch-black hole of the gaping mouth—she realizes she may never leave.

Dark Ride: A Horror Story is a novella of 22k words. If a trigger warning is something you need, you’ll probably want to skip this one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol McMahon
• Release date: Oct 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463238950

Carol McMahon

Carol McMahon has always been a bit of a scaredy cat. She’s spent her days trying to find the things that would scare her most, then her nights lying in bed in the dark being terrified. Now she writes about the things that have always scared her so she can share them with everyone. Let her know if her stories scare you too, by emailing her or leaving a review, so she doesn’t feel like such a weenie.

Book preview

1

C ome on, we're gonna miss the whole thing. This is the last night, for chrissake. 

I knew that tone, the one that implied that if we missed the carnival it would be my fault—that I had intentionally untied my shoelace and was stalling on purpose. Whenever my boyfriend talked to me that way, I felt compelled to make up for my apparent failings, even if I was sure they were all in his head.

But at this point in our relationship, I didn’t know what was in his head or in my head anymore, or what was maybe some unconscious form of manipulation on both of our parts.

I'm coming! I called after Mitchell. I finished tying my shoe, then jogged along the wet, tree-lined sidewalk to catch up with him. The crisp fall air felt incredible on my face. Fall had officially come weeks ago, but this was the first night I’d been out since the temperature dropped and the leaves started collecting on the ground.

I was glad to be out in the cool evening air, but I wasn’t all that thrilled to be headed to the carnival. I would never admit this to him, especially now that he was acting like I was the cause of us being late, but Mitchell would actually be right if he thought that I’d been dragging my feet on going to the Harvest Fair. Dreading it was more like it. But I’ve never told him how I felt.

Elmhurst’s Harvest Fair actually was one of the first things we talked about on the night we met. He went on and on about how much he loved it and—okay I’ll admit it—I was trying to impress him, so I didn’t say a word about how much I loathed the annual event. Then, after five or six drinks, it didn't seem like lying anymore when I smiled and nodded at everything he said.

I hadn't actually said out loud that I liked going on the rides or that I looked forward to playing those rip-off games of apparent skill every year. I didn’t say anything about a love of seeing grown men in clown suits, covered in makeup that plastered a sickening smile across the entire width of their face. I never said any of that, so I never lied to him … right?

That's the way I’ve always been, though. The agreeable girl. The fun one. The one who would never let a guy down. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I’m not even sure who I am. With each relationship I’ve gotten involved in, I’ve basically become a new person—one who has all the same interests as he does—but none of them who I really am.

It’s exhausting—being someone you’re not. And I’ve sworn that it wouldn’t last forever—that someday I would have the courage to tell him the truth, but that day never came.

The real problem started after we'd been dating for a year. When he came home one fall day, all excited about going to the Harvest Fair and thinking I’d be just as excited.

I couldn’t let him down. 

So I’ve gone with him every year, and every year it takes me longer and longer to psych myself up. I’ve been on some of those crappy rinky-dink rides that always give me a headache; I’ve been inside a bunch of those funhouse-style participation rides where you walk through and look at stuff, and I’ve been on every single dark ride that’s come to the Harvest Fair in the last four years.

And this is the last night of this year’s Harvest Fair. I wasn’t the only one who put it off, though. Mitchell had plenty of opportunity to come on his own if he really wanted to, but most of his nights are filled with drinking beer while he plays video games with his ‘friends.’ I don’t really care, I just go into the bedroom and read. I’m just saying I’m not the only one to blame.

So there I was, five years into the relationship—actually living with the guy—and I was somehow still not able to tell him how I felt. About the carnival … but about a lot of other things too.  

I kicked through the massive piles of leaves that lined the sidewalk. It had rained earlier in the day, but it was clear as we made our way through the quiet residential streets. The sky was full of stars and the moon looked like a giant yellow ball that was about to fall out of the sky and crush our small town.  

Let's go through the cemetery.  

I looked over at Mitchell, but didn’t say a word.  

It's a perfect night. The moon is full. It won’t be too dark in there, I promise, he said as he elbowed my arm. The headstones will look really cool in the moonlight.

I watched his hands spread out in front of him as he tried to emphasize how picturesque it would be. He didn’t have to sell me on it, though. I was going to say yes, and he knew it. There was even a part of me that hoped he would put him arm around me as an incentive, but that didn’t happen. I felt sick when I realized that sad little part of me actually hoped that’s what would happen once we were inside the cemetery. That he would touch me. Try to comfort me. Just be nice to me without expecting anything in return.

But isn't it out of the way? I asked. I glanced back at his face and it was ear to ear in that sly smile he used to get me to do just about anything—successfully, I might add—and I knew I had no choice. Not because of him, but because of me.

Nah, just a couple blocks. The cemetery backs up to the woods and the front entrance to the fairgrounds is just past that. Come on. 

I pulled my collar up to my neck so that it covered the gap between my coat and scarf. Okay. 

The streets we walked along were empty, as well as every cross street we came to. At this time of night, pretty much everyone was inside their warm house eating dinner or watching TV, and I envied them all.

I craned my neck to see into the windows of every house we passed. I knew I wouldn’t see much, but I always felt compelled to look. It really didn’t matter to me if it was a person washing dishes or sitting motionless in front of a huge, flat-screen, I wanted to see what they were doing.