Chapter 4

The Lost Fun Park

Chapter 4: The Lost Fun Park

July 1993

“Okay, boys, big smiles!” Scoutmaster Scott enthused, imitating a huge grin.

Junior Assistant Scoutmaster DJ Solis zipped around, wielding his camera. He wore big headphones like always, and his Walkman was sticking out of the back pocket of his cargo shorts. His real name was Diego, but everyone called him DJ because he loved music so much. He was still in high school and way cooler than Scoutmaster Scott and the other Junior Assistant Scoutmaster, K.C. Leach. Not that Wendell would ever admit that. He was raised better than that.

“Our smiles would be bigger if it wasn’t the fourth time we took a whole troop photo,” Brad said bossily. He crossed his arms and stomped a foot on the dirt.

“The best pictures make for the best memories!” Scoutmaster Scott retorted.

He spent years in politics and always acted like he was being filmed for TV.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around,” Rodger turned to Wendell and frowned. “Right?”

“Let’s try something else!” Scoutmaster Scott clapped his hands to get all the boys’ attention. “We want the mountains behind us like that,” he held his hands up like a frame.

These mountains were famous. They weren’t called Wonder Hills for nothing. This camporee was the camping trip Wendell’s troop was looking forward to since they were Cub Scouts in Kindergarten. Now they were freshly graduated from 6th grade and going into 7th.

“It’s something about the way you’re all standing, boys, it’s not working,” Scoutmaster Scott shook his head like he was trying to get water out of his ears, “We’re going to rearrange you!”

He crisply snapped his fingers, and as always, K.C. raced over to do his bidding. He ran so enthusiastically his glasses slid down, and he pushed them up the bridge of his nose with a skinny pointer finger. He was pale and pasty, and with his orange hair and cow-like facial features, he looked like a bottle of Elmer’s glue that was transformed into a human.

He stuck to Scoutmaster Scott like glue, too. All the boys in the troop secretly called him Kiss Up K.C.

Scoutmaster Scott boomed a boy’s name and pointed where he wanted them to go, and K.C. dragged the boys around.

“I’m not your doll, cheese breath,” Brad snapped when his name was called, and K.C. rushed up to him. “I can move myself without your manhandling.”

K.C.’s more unfortunate and not-so-secret nickname was Cheese Breath K.C.. Wendell preferred Kiss Up K.C.. It wasn’t as mean.

Either Scoutmaster Scott was totally unaware that the boys called K.C. that, or he wanted K.C. to toughen up and deal with it on his own. From his lack of reaction to Brad, it looked like the latter was true.

“Wendell, I want you and Rodger there!” Scoutmaster Scott pointed to the opposite side of Brad.

“That’s my best angle,” Brad grumbled with a sour face.

“You mean your badge sash’s best angle,” Rodger said back.

Brad always wore his whole merit badge sash for troop photos, and he always tried to stand front and center to show them off.

DJ snapped a few more pictures until Scoutmaster Scott called an end to it.

“Okay, photo time’s over. It’s time to pitch our tents, boys!” Scoutmaster Scott clapped his hands together. “Three Scouts to each tent!”

“Rodger, do you want to share a tent?” Wendell asked. He tried not to look too excited about it. He liked Rodger, as in liked him. The past two trips, he didn’t let himself share a tent with the boy because he wasn’t ready for Rodger to know he liked him like that.

Something felt different this time, though.

“Yeah, sure!” Rodger grinned.

In sync, the two gathered their tent materials.

“I’m with you two,” Brad declared, jumping in to assemble the tent with Wendell and Rodger.

Brad was bossy and pushy, but he was one of the fastest and smartest Scouts in the troop. And even though he bragged about all his merit badges, he earned them. He knew his stuff. He was good to have around and on your side.

“You’re not morons, unlike some of these dingbats,” Brad said, hooking his thumb at a few of the Scouts who were struggling to pitch their tents. “And neither of you snore.”

“If we have time to write letters tomorrow, I want to send your parents a thank-you one,” Rodger said.

Because it was such a special occasion, Brad’s parents paid a bus company to drive the whole troop to the campsite in a fancy coach bus. Normally, the Scouts would have to split up in three different minivans to go on big trips like this.

“They only did it because they don’t want me to be upset about them getting divorced,” Brad said bluntly, “But they hate each other so much, I’ve been waiting for them to do this for years.”

Wendell fidgeted where he stood. Rodger nibbled at his fingernails. They both had parents who were stupidly in love with each other and all mushy and gross about it. Wendell thought it was kinda sweet. But he’d never admit that. Especially not to Brad.

“Scoutmaster Scott! We’re all done!” Brad called out. Just as loudly, he offered to walk around to help any of the other Scouts who still needed a hand.

Wendell knew Brad did it because he liked the attention and because he liked the chance to show off. But still, at the end of the day, he did genuinely help.

“Can we look around? Explore?” Rodger asked Scoutmaster Scott, DJ, and K.C..

Wendell was glad Rodger was the one to ask. Everyone liked Rodger. He was one of the responsible Scouts.

“Sure, boys! But stay close! No farther than the treeline in that direction, or where the mountain trail starts in that direction. We still have to go over the itinerary for this weekend, and I don’t want you to miss a second of it!” Scoutmaster Scott enthused like he was a game show host about to announce a huge prize.

“Got it!” Rodger said.

Together, Wendell and Rodger went back to their tent.

Brad was still loudly taking charge with two other Scouts who were struggling with their tent.

“Maybe we should bring out notebooks with us. We could sketch out some of the plants we see for our Botany merit badge,” Rodger said excitedly.

“Yeah, sure,” Wendell tried to smile. Any time someone brought up handmade books and art, it made Wendell think about the last time he saw his twin brother, Wylan.

They were at their grandparents’ new lakehouse for the last days of their spring break from school when Wylan went missing. That fateful afternoon, Wendell chose to go swimming with some of the other boys who lived nearby, breaking his promise to go with Wylan through the woods to work on their book together.

Wendell tried to make the memory hazy and foggy and to replace it with other memories. Better memories. But the harder Wendell tried to forget, the more vivid that final hour he shared with his twin brother became.

“It wasn’t your fault, Wen,” Rodger said, as if reading Wendell’s mind.

It wasn’t a secret that Wylan went missing. And it wasn’t a secret that Wendell and his parents were devastated by Wylan’s disappearance. Wendell’s Boy Scout troop and the entire sixth-grade class at his school stepped it up to show their support and help. It was the most attention Wendell ever had in his life, and he hated every second of the pitying looks.

Wendell’s throat tightened. He knew his voice would be croaky if he said anything, so he shrugged instead and kept his eyes locked on his shoes and long socks.

Rodger reached into one of his chest pockets and took out a packet of Fruit Stripe gum. “Here,” he held the pack out to Wendell.

Wendell picked a stick with the rainbow zebra playing tennis. He unwrapped it and popped the green striped gum into his mouth.

“I can’t wait for the ghost stories tonight!” Rodger said even more excitedly. He was very obviously trying to change the subject to get Wendell’s mind off of Wylan, and Wendell was glad he did.

“My older brothers told me about all the creepy stuff they saw and heard when they camped here. Shadow figures and screams coming from the mountains!” Rodger said.

“Are you sure they didn’t make up those stories from Goosebumps books or Twilight Zone episodes?” Wendell asked skeptically.

“So you’re not a believer, Wendell Batty? Because on our last Troop camping trip, you made a big case for aliens,” Rodger said, daring Wendell to deny it.

“There are definitely aliens,” Wendell said passionately. “Ghosts, hellhounds, fairies, vampires, and stuff, though? They’re all made up.”

“Ghosts aren’t made up! We all have souls, right? Well, when some of us die, isn’t it possible for those souls to stay behind? We’re all made up of energy and matter, right? Like we talked about in science this year. That doesn’t disappear immediately when you die,” Rodger insisted. “I think you’re going to have your mind blown tonight when you hear the ghostly tales the other Scouts and Assistant Scoutmaster DJ have to share… if you dare to witness it!”

“I’m excited about witnessing the chocolate and marshmallows between my graham crackers get all warm, toasty, and melty,” Wendell grinned.

Rodger loved huddling around the campfire with the other Scouts for those tales, especially the scary ones. Wendell loved campfire time for the s’mores. They were always one of the best parts of these camping trips.

The boys continued walking on the trail. Wendell kept looking behind them every so often to make sure they weren’t going too far.

“Oh, look! A Pink Lady’s Slipper! These orchids are almost unheard of in Connecticut. Especially in July. Their flowering season is usually over by early June!” Rodger darted off the path and into the brush. The leaves and branches crunched and crackled under his shoes.

He sank down into a squat, his pencil furiously scribbling and scratching against the rough, textured page in his notebook. The corner of his tongue poked out of his mouth.

While Rodger was focused on sketching the individual petals, Wendell poked a stick into the dirt by his feet and etched R-O-D-G-E-R R-I-G-GS and W-E-N-D-E-L-L B-A-T-T-Y, to see what they looked like together. He darted another look at Rodger before hastily carving a heart into the dirt between their names. As Rodger rose up, excitedly talking about the orchid, Wendell quickly scrubbed his shoe over their dirt names, scuffing them out and mixing them up with the rest of the dirt.

“We should probably turn back soon,” Wendell said. They were definitely getting too far from the campsite now.

“I think we can go a little farther! You know how slow Dennis, Greg, and Ezra are. They’re probably not even done yet.”

“True, especially if Brad is telling them all the things they’re doing wrong,” Wendell admitted.

The two scouts walked deeper into the dense trees and bushes. Suddenly, a large, colorful shape loomed out in the distance.

“Whoa,” Wendell gasped.

“What!?” Rodger eagerly said, his head swiveling this way and that in search of what Wendell saw.

Wendell ran ahead. He couldn’t believe it. It was so unusual. So unexpected.

Photo by Adam Stuart on Pexels

It was a Ferris wheel. A huge one too.

Wendell rushed through the trees and stood frozen again as he took in everything. It wasn’t just a Ferris wheel. It was a whole amusement park. One that was abandoned for a long time, by the looks of it.

An entry sign with the words “Welcome to Wonder Hills Fun Park” emblazoned on it in peeling gold paint soared above them.

“What are you–” Rodger stopped short. His mouth dropped open, and he looked around the abandoned amusement park with big, round eyes.

“WHOA! How long do you think this has been here?!” Rodger asked excitedly.

“I don’t know,” Wendell said, stepping closer. The amusement park expanded out around him.

“But look at this place,” Wendell said in a hushed voice. “It kind of feels like we’re in a dream… doesn’t it?” Wendell drifted over to a tea cup ride that looked a lot like the Alice in Wonderland Mad Tea Party ride at Disney World, even though the once bright pastel colors were weathered by the elements, and some of the cups had graffiti sprayed over their designs. He could practically hear the whimsical music that would’ve played as they spun.

Deeper into the empty, abandoned amusement park, he saw a carousel and the channels for a water ride that long since dried up. There was a whole section with wooden booths for carnival games. Their fabric banners were bleached by the sun and tattered and frayed from the elements.

A bunch of them were shredded, as if monstrous claws raked through them. It made the hairs on Wendell’s arm bristle.

Rodger dashed up to Wendell and pinched the skin on Wendell’s wrist.

“Ow!” Wendell jerked back and swatted Rodger’s pinchy hand like it was an annoying mosquito.

“We’re definitely not dreaming,” Rodger said mischievously. “Here,” he held out his arm.

Wendell pushed Rodger’s arm away, “I’m not going to pinch you! And I know we’re not actually in a dream, Rodger. It’s just… It’s so weird that a whole amusement park is here! I wonder how long it was here.”

“It looks like it’s been abandoned for ages,” Rodger said, going up to inspect a mini roller coaster with green dragon-shaped cars.

Wendell saw more thick scratches gouged into the hard plastic sides of the rides. And was that a … bloody paw print?

Wendell blinked hard, once, twice, three times. Nope, he wasn’t imagining it.

“Did any of your brothers tell you about this place?” Wendell asked. An anxious spark in his belly told him to keep his voice down. That there were things here that could easily be disturbed. They needed to be careful. “We can’t be the only ones who’ve found it.”

“No, they didn’t, but you saw the graffiti,” Rodger said, roaming over to an old concessions stand. The glass was still intact on the popcorn and cotton candy machines. Cracked and scratched into a spider web-like pattern, but not smashed. More of the heavy scratch marks marred the painted letters on the sides of the machines. “It’s so hard to get here, though. Look at the bus we had to take. I wonder who’d come all the way out here.”

Photo by Jakob Jin on Pexels

Yeah, who? Wendell’s stomach squirmed. “I think we should go, Rodger,” he whispered.

Suddenly, there was a movement out of the corner of Wendell’s eye. Then snapping and rustling sounds of the trees and sticks as an unmistakably dark and furry creature darted by.

“Is that a dog?” Rodger gasped. “What’s a dog doing out here?”

“It’s probably a coyote, or maybe a fox,” Wendell said nervously. “We should probably leave it alone.”

Rodger crept to the tree line where the dog-like creature vanished. “He’s there!” Rodger breathed. “I think he’s limping… I think he might be hurt.”

Was that what left the blood paw print Wendell saw?

Snapping and rustling noises behind them drew both boys’ attention to look behind. Wendell could’ve sworn he saw human shadows this time. He heard faint hints of what sounded like murmuring, too. This place was all wrong. They needed to leave.

“Rodger, we NEED to get back now,” Wendell said sharply.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Rodger said, sounding like leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. He trudged back to Wendell.

As they backtracked, Wendell felt invisible eyes on him and Rodger. He could swear he kept seeing something standing just out of sight, following them. It was too tall to be the mystery dog.

That wasn’t all, either.

Along with the normal sounds of nature surrounding them, Wendell could hear the sounds of murmurs woven in with the sounds of the rustling leaves and crackling branches, like how water trickles over stones.

Could other worlds, like fairy realms, actually exist? This whole surreal experience was making Wendell question what he thought he knew.

As they made their way back to camp, Rodger was uncharacteristically quiet. They passed three rare plants, and Rodger made no move to sketch them. Instead, he nibbled at his lower lip and kept tossing looks behind him.

“Where were you two!” Brad stormed over to Wendell and Rodger seconds after they set foot into the campsite. “I can’t believe you both left me here while you two went off and what? Tried to get a jump on your Botany merit badge?”

Neither boy pointed out that Brad was too busy involving himself in “helping” the other Scouts. Brad was stubborn and had what Wendell’s parents called “selective hearing”.

Merit badges seemed so small, especially compared to their afternoon fever dream of finding an entire abandoned amusement park in the woods. Wendell wanted to put it behind him, though. “We just went for a walk,” he said.

Rodger shot him an incredulous, bewildered look. Calling it just a walk was egregiously downplaying what really happened.

“There you two are!” K.C. burst through the tree line behind Rodger and Wendell. Panting, he straightened his skewed glasses. His uniform was rumpled and had snags in some places. There were leafy, twiggy bits in his orange hair. “I looked everywhere for you! Scoutmaster Scott told you where you were allowed to go,” K.C. lectured, using his fingers to comb the debris out of his hair.

Rodger had no patience for kiss up K.C. though.

“Scoutmaster Scott! When Wendell and I were out on the trail, we found an injured dog! He’s limping really badly on one of his paws!” Rodger cried.

“He might be really hurt,” Wendell added, hoping it would make Rodger like him more.

When Rodger smiled at him, Wendell’s heart soared.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I know you boys want to be helpful, but I don’t think that’s someone’s pet,” Scoutmaster Scott said. For once, he wasn’t acting like he was a game show presenter on TV. For once, he wasn’t smiling.

“What if he belonged to someone and they dumped him here so he doesn’t need to be their problem anymore? We can’t leave him out there,” Rodger pleaded.

“Not this far out,” Scoutmaster Scott insisted. “If anything, it might be one of those coyote-dog hybrids, and that’s all the more reason for you two to stay away.”

“It might have rabies,” DJ drawled, twirling his Walkman headphones cord around his finger.

“He or she definitely doesn’t have rabies. I’ve watched all kinds of training videos and vet videos about dog care, and this dog isn’t rabid,” Rodger said fiercely.

“Well, whatever that canine’s story is, you two aren’t going to have anything else more to do with him, her, or it. We need you here with us,” Scoutmaster Scott said.

Wendell heard his unspoken words loud and clear, You boys aren’t safe, and I promised to keep you safe.

“No more solo outings,” Scoutmaster Scott added, wagging a finger at the boys as if he caught them swearing or throwing rocks at each other.

“But it’s a whole amusement park! We have to show everyone!” Rodger exclaimed, looking around avidly, hoping other Scouts would be as excited by the idea as he was.

Wendell could tell Rodger wanted the other boys to witness it for themselves.

“We’ve got a full day ahead of us tomorrow, boys,” Scoutmaster Scott said.

“A full weekend more like,” K.C. cut in. “We’ve got archery, canoeing, obstacle courses, and hiking!” He said so enthusiastically that a smattering of spittle sprayed out. Wendell and Rodger exchanged a quick look. They were both glad to be away from the spit zone.

“Yes, yes, Junior Assistant Scoutmaster, K.C., we’re all aware of what fun and games are on the itinerary,” Scoutmaster Scott said in his own enthusiastic voice, but the expression on his face was anything but.

“Junior Assistant Scoutmaster DJ, do you need any help setting up the campfire or the telescopes for tonight?” Rodger asked.

“Nice try,” DJ said, “I’ve got my own merit badges to earn.”

“Ezra and Dennis are on dinner duty. Their vegetarian chili could use the Riggs magic touch if you’re feeling up to it,” Scoutmaster Scott grinned at Rodger.

Rodger’s dad was a chef at a fancy restaurant in the city. He taught Rodger everything he knew, and unsurprisingly, Rodger earned all three of his cooking merit badges. He was the only Scout so far to do it.

“Scoutmaster Scott is keeping secrets from us,” Rodger whispered to Wendell that night in their tent. “I think he knows more about that old amusement park than he’s telling us. Did you see his face when I told him about it? I’ve never seen him turn white like that.”

Rodger had a point. How could a place like that exist out here, and how could no one else know about it but them?

Brad mumbled in his sleep and tossed and turned in his sleeping bag. The fabric rustled and swished.

“Maybe he heard rumors,” Wendell insisted. “I bet DJ or K.C. told him about people playing ouija boards or trying to summon up ‘dark spirits’ around here.”

“We have to go back,” Rodger said urgently.

Going back was the last thing Wendell wanted to do. It gave him the creeps. It felt so unnatural and wrong.

“That dog might be really hurt. He might need us,” Rodger pleaded. “And if we made it here, someone else totally could’ve. Some people go to really far lengths to dump animals they don’t want anymore.”

Rodger would know. His mom worked at an animal shelter, and she fostered dogs since Rodger was a baby.

“How are we going to get away? Scoutmaster Scott has a full day planned for us,” Wendell said.

They were here on a scouting trip after all, not a dog rescue.

Wendell knew how much Rodger loved dogs, though, and didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

But Wendell also didn’t want to miss out on all the things he loved most about being a Boy Scout, like archery and canoeing. There was also talk that Junior Assistant Scoutmaster DJ had some wilderness survival activities planned.

“We’ll go at night, around campfire time,” Rodger said. “They’ll all be distracted by the sky. You heard Scoutmaster Scott. It’s some sort of special Super Blood Moon. There hasn’t been one for decades.”

True. Scoutmaster Scott hinted that he had loads of star and moon gazing activities planned for the night after their usual campfire tales and songs.

Wendell’s stomach twisted and turned, but still, he pinkie promised Rodger he was in.

* * *

Gutteral, growly noises broke through the hazy twilight of Wendell’s dreamless sleep.

Whether he’d been asleep for hours or for minutes, Wendell couldn’t tell. He curled himself into a ball in his rustly sleeping bag and clenched his eyes shut tighter. He could hear Brad and Rodger still deeply, steadily breathing. They were fast asleep.

The noises echoed around the tent, like they were in a cave or tunnel. It might’ve been five dogs or five dozen. The gravelly, throaty noises ramped up… then they suddenly stopped. Then there was silence, glorious silence, until a chorus of mournful howls, violent and passionate, broke through it like a sheet of glass smashing and shattering.