Fourteen hours. Fourteen fucking hours on the road, into the middle of nowhere. Air rushed through the cracked car window. Brynn leaned her head against it while a pop song played through the car speaker, barely intelligible. I am a good big brother, I decided. I already took most of my paid time off from work for the funeral, so this was precious time, and I hoped it would be worth it for Brynn.

​

"How far out is this place?" Brynn asked.

​

"About there."

​

"Got it," Brynn said, her eyes wide and set on the winding road before us.  

​

Brynn was excited. Maybe it was false nostalgia or the hope of resurrecting memories of the past, but it was something I didn't feel excitement for. I felt dread. 

​

Brynn saw the park through the eyes of a five-year-old. The six-year difference in our age made my eleven-year-old memory more reliable. I was surprised it was still open to the public twenty years later. As we got closer, I could see the expansive parking lot, which sat nearly empty.

We'd arrived at the small roadside attraction that would attract hundreds of patrons in its hay day. Dad brought us here once, and the parking lot was full. 

Pink and yellow paint chipped away from the entrance building. The giant sign read "Magic Forest." 

​

"Is this it? This is it! Isn't it?" Brynn asked as her knee bounced.

​

"Yes, this is the place." I groaned as I shifted the car to park. I didn't want to be a bummer; I just knew this wasn't a place to get excited about.

Brynn jumped out of the car and gave me the 'hurry!' look. 

​

"It looks different?" Brynn said as she brushed away crumbs from her jeans. 

​

"It looks old cus it is old, Brynn. It was old twenty years ago."

​

"Who cares!" She said, skipping ahead. 

​

The closer we got, the more I realized that time was not kind to Magic Forest, which was built in exactly that. The middle of a goddamn forest. 

​

As we made our way to the ticket counter, a gust of wind wafted a mind-numbing nostalgic scent. Magic Forest's exterior might have eroded under the elements, but it smelled the same as it had twenty years ago. Stale popcorn and pine needles permeated the air. 

​

The sounds were the same too. The forest was full of life. Small critters snapped twigs as insects buzzed. Skittering pine needles rattled across the parking lot's concrete unevenly met with disjointed carnival music, which played through hidden speakers embedded in the trees and rocks surrounding the park. 

​

"You ready?"

​

"Always."

​

We walked up to the ticket counter as memories rushed through me. The red-headed woman's wide smile ecstatically greeted us. 

​

"Just two today? No children? Just two?" She asked rapidly, most enthusiastic than necessary.

​

"Uh, yes. Just us two." I said.

​

"Alright then. That will be $40." The ticket holder held out her hand, eager to take my money.

​

"You have to be kidding me," I grumbled as I pulled out my wallet. The park hadn't changed, but the prices sure kept up with inflation. 

​

"Thank you, enjoy!" The ticket lady said, a smile still on her face. 

​

We walked through the entrance and the shops that welcomed us twenty years ago emerged. Wooden signs hung above the shops with

Renaissance-style calligraphy declaring the Mother Goose-themed names of each establishment. Miss Muffet's Muffins, Humpty Dumpty's Diner, Bo Peeps Ice Cream Shoppe, etc. 

​

The bright paint of the buildings had long chipped away. What remained was sun-bleached into pale pinks and blues. The once crowded trails laid empty before us. The place was all ours. 

​

"This is weird, right? It's so quiet." Brynn said, her brow furrowed. I could sense her disappointment. 

​

"I am sorry. It isn't what it used to be, is it?" I asked.

​

"I didn't expect it to be, not necessarily."

​

"This won't ruin your memories with Dad, will it? By being here now? The way that it looks?" I asked.

​

"Oh no, not at all. Everything changes with time, doesn’t it? Where should we start?" The disappointment melted from Brynn's face, and a smile emerged.

​

"Well, let us start at the castle. It'll be interesting to see how that held up." I replied.

​

"Yes! The castle!" Brynn slugged me in the arm with a grin. "And then?" Brynn asked.

​

"And then the Witches House."

​

"The Witches House!" She exclaimed. 

​

Carnival music played through the static of the camouflaged speakers. The volume of the music was unstable, and it unnerved me. It blasted loudly with one step: silent as a whisper in the next. Critters of the forest clawed up trees and lept from the path as if we weren't the ones that trespassed through their home. 

​

We passed by the Tiny Tune Train; a ride built for toddlers. Rust consumed the once bright green engine. The yellow bucket seats rocked violently as the train turned the corners of the circle track. Though unsteady, it was hypnotic to watch without a single rider present. The 'tick tick tick' of the tracks momentarily muted out the awful carnival song. 

​

The white Ferris Wheel was yellowed with age, and rust stains wept from the joints. Just like the Tiny Tune Train, a merry jingle played as it spun, not a soul on board. An ominous dread settled in my gut. 

​

"Do you want to ride anything?" I asked Brynn. I hoped she'd say no. I assumed she'd say no.

​

She shrugged. I knew her focus was on the magic we had here as kids. The memories. The nostalgia. The rides didn't do it for us. It was the characters and the buildings we wanted to see. The pictures Dad kept from our last visit were worn with her hands' oil and sun-bleached from hanging on her walls. He never brought us back here after our first visit. But the memory of being here was a kind of magic that never left us. 

​

"You think we came too late in the day? I mean… I don't see lines for anything, but when does this place close? It's already getting dark."   Brynn asked.

​

"It is only 3, but we are in a valley, and the trees are so tall, it seems later than it is," I reassured her. 

​

But she was right. The sun dipped beneath the tall trees and shadowed the park in a dusk-like haze. The earth's warmth rose under our feet and met with the chill of the setting sun. A misty fog hovered inches above the gravel path. It was dark enough to feel uneasy but too bright for the automatic lights to flicker on.

​

"Do you remember the first time Dad brought us here?" I asked.

​

"Parts of it. Fragments of memories, I suppose. I remember the princess in the castle. And the witch scared me. I had nightmares for weeks."

​

"This time, you will go to the witch's house. I won't leave until you do!" 

​

"I think I can handle it now! I mean, imagine at five years old seeing that place. No, thank you!" Brynn replied.

​

The castle emerged around a bend in the trail. It appeared much smaller than my memory recalled. The size of a two-story house, the once lavish lavender and gold painted castle was the color of the gray concrete under the paint—a shallow moat filled with scummy green water wrapped around the castle. The carnival song was muted under a strange rendition of 'Twinkle Little Star' that called from the tower speakers. 

"Hello, friends! And welcome to my castle!" The Princess greeted us from the open threshold. A shiver ran over my skin and settled in my stomach at the sight of her. 

​

"She looks just the same as when we were kids!" Brynn squealed. 

 

Brynn was right; The Princess looked eerily the same. The pictures we leafed through before making the long road trip mimicked that sentiment. The bright blue eyes, long golden hair, bright wide unrelenting smile. More than that, the round nose and mole on her chin. 

​

Brynn pulled my arm to the wooden plank bridged between the moat and the castle threshold. The rickety board creaked under our weight and shifted on the uneven earth. 

 

"Careful friends! We must keep the witch out, but our bridge needs some maintenance, doesn't it?" The Princess said with a singsong voice. 

 

Unlike the exterior, the inside of the castle remained intact. The Princess and The Witch story was told in colorful painted pictures against the concrete walls. The bright colors were a welcomed change from the dull colors of the park. 

​

"Do you remember the story?" The Princess asked.

​

"Why would you assume we have heard it before?" I joked. I thought of it as a joke, at least.

​

"Oh, no. Of course. Let me tell the story of the Forest Witch!"

​

The princess clasped her fingers together with a smile. She floated over to a poorly painted portrait on the wall, which depicted a king. 

​

"I was just joking. It is okay. We have been here before. Long ago." I said. 

​

The Princess ignored my confession. She batted her eyes while cocking her head to the left. She rested her gaze on Brynn.

​

"Well, that is where the story starts! Long ago, the king of the forest, my father." She paused to point at the painting of the king.

​

"Honestly. No need. As I said, we have been here before." I said in protest.

​

Her eyes widened with her smile. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath of dissatisfaction. 

​

"But do you remember?" The Princess asked Brynn. 

​

"I don't; go ahead." Brynn said,  "Don't be a dick, Jake." Brynn said.

​

"Well, as I was saying… the King, my father, ruled this land. The Witch in the woods was jealous of his power and put a spell on the kingdom." Her voice stressed each syllable as if she was telling this tale to young children. 

​

"Really, I am sorry." I put my hand up, protesting again. "That is enough. We don't need to hear it. It is fine. It is just us here." I stressed.

The Princess didn't look at me; she kept her eyes locked on Brynn.

​

"I see, well, friends. I hope you enjoy your time at Magic Forest!" She exclaimed.

​

The smile on The Princess's face didn't waiver, but the excitement in her eyes drained away. Brynn took me by the arm and pulled me across the small plank and the muddy water of the pathetic moat. 

​

"Seriously, Jake, what the fuck? Is it hard to be kind? She was just trying to do her job."

​

"Come on, that was ridiculous. And she gave me the creeps." I said. 

​

The Princess seemed robotic, enchanted maybe. Just as the story she told us. Brynn was upset. And I understood why. We had driven all this way to be here. I should play along. But there was nothing magical about this park. The only magic came from when Dad was here with us.

He made everything magical. The way he played along with the characters and mimicked the lore their stories attempted to project into our young minds. He made their story real to us. Well, to me, at least. I couldn't speak for Brynn. But the way she lit up with the idea of visiting the park after the funeral, I assume she felt the same magic I had. 

​

This place didn't hold the same magic without Dad. But I didn't want Brynn to lose the magic she felt either. Guilt hit me. 

"I am sorry; we can go back if you want."

​

"No, no… it is okay."

​

"The witch's house?"

​

"Sure, why not," Brynn said with a shrug of her shoulders. She was losing the magic. I could feel it.

​

"How about ice cream first? Do you remember that?"

​

"Um, okay."

​

She didn't answer the question. I was sure she remembered the ice cream, though. Dad made that part particularly magical.  It might have been the tower of three scoops; or the way Dad flirted with the woman dressed as Little Bo Peep, but I could never forget the smile on his face as we sat under the hot sun as melted ice cream dripped from the waffle cone, sizzling on the hot cement. 

​

That moment was forever stuck in my memories. At least, I could only hope it would.

​

His smile that day was genuine. His smile wrinkled his forehead. His eyes disappeared into his face; there wasn't enough room for eyes with a smile that wide. Mom had passed only months before our trip to the Magic Forest. Dad's smile before the trip only appeared when he attempted to heal our grief. 

 

The carnival music continued through the park until we stopped in front of Bo Peeps Ice Cream Shoppe. The music abruptly silenced as we opened the door to the tiny shop. It seemed so much smaller. The pink and white tiles on the floor were hidden by scuff marks from tennis shoes and dead pine needles.

 

A smell that mimicked frost burn in an old forgotten freezer greeted us. The smiling children painted to the plastered walls cracked and chipped away. This wasn't magical; it was creepy.

​

Bo Peep smiled brightly under the buzzing fluorescent lights. Her childlike blue dress looked foolish on a grown woman. Her makeup reminded me of a porcelain doll-- red circles on her cheeks and lipstick formed into pursed lips.

​

Luckily, we did not have a photo of Bo Peep from our previous trip all those years ago. If so, it would be hard to internalize how she looked the same as she did twenty years before. Yet her glare still shook me. 

​

"Welcome, friends!" Bo Peep called from the small ice cream counter. The lights above flickered with each syllable.

Brynn walked up to the counter, peered down at the cooler of ice cream before her, and grimaced. I walked up and peered down into the ice cream cooler as bile crept up my throat. The containers held cottage cheese-like substances in multiple arrays of colors—pink, brown, green, and white. A smell of rot wafted from behind the counter. 

​

"What the actual fuck is this," I whispered as I took hold of Brynn's forearm and pulled her from the counter. 

​

Bo Peep slammed her hands to the glass cooler and sneered. 

​

"Whatever do you mean, friend?" Bo Peep asked, eyes wide.

​

"Nothing, nothing at all. We should be going. It… is getting dark." I said.

​

Brynn's arms trembled under my grasp. She pulled me with her to the door. Bo Peep slammed the counter again.

​

"WHATEVER DO YOU MEAN, FRIEND? WHAT IS WRONG?"  Bo Peep yelled.

​

I pulled Brynn outside and slammed the door behind me. The carnival music screamed through the speakers. There was no light in the sky. The chill bit at my bare skin. Lights that dotted the gravel path buzzed to life. 

​

"We need to get out of here. Something is not right." Brynn said.

​

I was relieved that she felt the same uneasiness that had settled within me the second we walked from the parking lot. 

​

"Hell yes. This is not the place we remember." I agreed

​

We turned in unison towards the ticket counter. At least where I remembered the entrance would have been. The trail was not lit in that direction, but the fear of the park was more potent than the fear of the darkness we charged into.

​

The carnival music grew louder as it wrapped around us. I lost sight of Brynn. We should have held on to each other, but that is hindsight for you. I took each step deliberately in the direction I knew the parking lot would be. Should be. 

​

But no matter how fast I ran or how long, the parking lot never appeared. I was blind. The only sense of normalcy was behind me. Suppose you could call Magic Park normal. It was more normal than nothing at all.

​

I turned back towards the path of lights and shallow carnival music. I called out for Brynn. But she didn't respond.

​

"Brynn! Brynn! Where are you!" My screams were muffled as if I floated underwater. 

​

My heart pounded in my ears. My stomach turned. The air was heavy in the darkness. It lulled me with a memory of comfort. But not enough to stay in it. 

​

I turned towards the lights and raced into Magic Forest, terrified of what I might see in the park, which I once considered my happy place. When I broke through the shell of darkness and stepped back to the gravel, the music screamed, the wildlife of the woods trilled. The smell of curdled milk, rotting wood, and mold consumed me. 

​

"Brynn!" I yelled, but there was no answer. Blood rushed through my ears; my heart rattled against my ribcage—Woosh, thump, woosh, thump.  

I spun back to look, but there was nothing beyond the park. Nothing at all. Only the void I had just escaped.

​

 Woosh, thump, woosh, thump--- my senses cried to be relieved. 

​

"Brynn! Where are you?" I begged, but there was no answer. Tears formed in my eyes, but I wouldn't allow this place to see them. The worn carnival music morphed into a clear lullaby. What lullaby? I wasn't sure, but I was sure it was a lullaby. Maybe it was the tone or the soft cords of the piano, but it soothed me as much as I could be soothed.

​

Lights that marked the path ahead popped and fizzled out until only one path was still illuminated—the path to the Witches House. 

 

"Brynn, please! Where are you?" 

​

In response to my question, the lullaby's volume increased. I knew what the park wanted. I knew I had no other choice. I had to go to the Witches House. 

​

I continued to call for Brynn as I walked along the loose gravel. The only reply I would receive was the hoot of an owl or the trill of an insect. The lullaby was the only unnatural sound in the park. I didn't remember the walk being as long as it took.

​

When I came upon the Tilted House, I groaned. I would have to walk through it to continue. I already felt unsettled, and this wouldn't help. Long shadows cast against the face of the house from the dim lights of the path. The Tilted House was pale yellow, the windows trimmed with blue, or so that is what my memory told me. At night it was impossible to know if that was still the case. The path purposefully cut right through the house, forcing visitors to experience the illusion whether they wanted to. 

​

I opened the door, immediately hit with the smell of death. Not new or fresh death. Old death. Like the smell of a mouse that died in between the walls of your house. It was dark, but the lights on the path outside continued through the house. The floors and walls slanted at an angle which made me feel as if I was the one who leaned when I walked through.

​

Crackled carnival music bounced off the walls as soon as the door shut behind me. I took each step carefully—Woosh, thump, woosh, thump. I felt the heat of fear press on my cheeks.

​

I was already clumsy; I didn't want to trip over my own feet and fall on my face or break something. Staggered breaths rose and dropped in my chest—Woosh, thump, woosh, thump.

​

Lucky for me, the house was small. A few steps through the parlor, into a mock kitchen which leaned the opposite way of the room behind me, and out the back door. 

​

The door slammed shut behind me, rattling the rotted steps down from the house.  The Witches House should have been only a few steps away, yet it felt as if an hour passed before I the crooked green nose and tall black hat appeared before me.

​

You see, the Witches House wasn't a house. It was a building shaped as a Witches Head. I wouldn't ever tell Brynn, but even at eleven, it scared me. Her open mouth was the entrance. Her tall hat was considered a tower. Inside was cave-like and empty. The odd appearance of the structure caused little kids to run screaming from the path. 

​

The Witch stood stoic at the entrance of the house. I swallowed the saliva that formed in my mouth. Fear pumped through my veins and punched me in the gut. 

​

"Oh, Jake, that took you much longer than it should have." The witch said. Her voice sounded just as you supposed. She looked just as her house depicted her. Now I knew witches. Real ones, friends who practiced Wiccan. None of them looked like this fairy tale version of a witch. Green paint covered her skin, a large, crooked nose, stick-straight black hair to her shoulders.

The hair on my arms rose when she said my name. 

​

"Where is Brynn?"

​

My skin tingled, and my heart raced.

​

"She is where she should be; she is in the castle with The Princess."

​

Woosh, thump, woosh, thump. I felt dizzy. The darkness started to crowd me. My vision blurred.

​

"What the fuck does that mean? Where she should be?"

​

The lullaby's tune quickened. My breathing became shallow. I wanted to sleep. My eyelids drooped.

​

"It was as your father promised us all those years ago."

​

The Witch smiled and took a step closer. My knees buckled as I fell to the ground.

​

"I don't understand," I said with shallow breaths. My heartbeat became weaker, the lullaby stronger.

​

The Witch hovered above me. I looked up. A halo of light illuminated her face, and my eyes grew tired. 

​

"Of course, you don't; you didn't listen to the story." She cackled and leaned down to whisper in my ear. " If you had just listened to the story. The Princess would have warned you. But no. You couldn't listen, could you?"

​

The Witch jerked upright with a belly laugh; a tear ran from her eye. 

​

"The king, who sacrificed his daughter to lift the kingdom's curse. The same sacrifice your father chose. He promised us her; he promised us you. I suppose we only need one of you to keep us alive, to keep the park's magic."

​

"What the fuck." I muttered. "Dad did this?"

Her story made no sense. But who was I to question what she said? I could barely stand. I could barely talk. 

​

"You don't remember because you aren't meant to. Your Father had a choice; we did give him that." The Witch lowered to the ground and put her bony arm around me. The smell of sulfur filled my nostrils and burned my throat.

​

"We said, either he stays as the King until someone takes his place, or he must promise us one of you. We had enough time. He chose to live his life; he chose to sacrifice you. Most parents do. The Princess was young. But she grows tired. She grows old. You wouldn't know by looking at her, but she is. The magic is dying with her. So that is why you are here. Your sister, she can be the Princess, or you, you can be the Prince. We just need one of you."

​

And this is how I try to tell the story of what happens here at Magic Forest. I try to warn the parents of the smiling children. The parents who are oblivious to the sacrifice they will make. Yet every time I try to warn them, the words won't form. Instead, it comes out as "Long ago, the king of the forest, my father…."