Skip drove over the cracked asphalt and steered around a curve, glimpsing to his right just in time, to spy the decaying skeleton of the killer coaster called The Blue Cyclone.
He tried to imagine the ride in its heyday.
It was easy to envision the snowy white and bright blue paint of the wooden railings gleaming brightly at sunrise. He could see the billowing, brightly-colored flags positioned along the railings of the ride snapping smartly in the mountain breeze and cheerily advertising the park. He could feel the excitement pulsate as the coaster's cars slowly rose higher and higher into the clear blue sky.
He imagined himself in the front seat. The coaster would be packed, filled with eager riders waiting to have the living daylights scared out of each one. He could hear the metal clack, clack, clack, as the cars traced their way up to the top of the highest peak, ran the short plateau, then fell at full speed straight down at a breakneck speed.
It was a sharp, harrowing drop that seemed to last forever, then a hard swing to the left, and a horizontal turn sharply into the next curve that switch-backed in the opposite direction. The echoes of screams and laughter rang in Skip's ears.
There was no hint of evil in his daydream. No trace of malingering wickedness or sense of tragedy just waiting to happen. The cars would be waxed to a blinding shine and the wheels underneath greased for speed. There was only pure fun permeating the crisp, mountain air.
"Man," he muttered, "I bet you woulda been one heck of a ride."
But not anymore.
The paint was peeling off the carcass of the coaster like burnt skin after a really bad sunburn. It was flaking off in sheets, exposing raw wood to the elements. It looked like the whole frame was sloughing and disintegrating and ready to collapse. It was impossible to see how the coaster was still standing at all.
Boards barely clung on, hanging precariously in midair. Time and the weather were eating away the once proud structure as surely as cancer eats a body. Slats between the tracks had loosened and fallen off, giving the ride a toothless appearance.
The whole ride looked like a bum who had been on the streets for way too long. The coaster was breathing its last. It was obviously inches away from crumbling.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Nobody Knows Your Secret
Misterio / SuspensoIt was a heck of a shot. It was the perfect murder. Someone killed Kyle Winthrop as he lay in his bed. His mother, Claire, doesn't care much - she's too strung out on prescription pain pills. But his Grandmother cares, and she begs her good friend...
