Haunt || Matty Healy

Thirteen.

The distinct smell of popcorn, extra buttery, is what fills my senses before I make out where I am. It's a bit chilly in the night and the moon is out high. I admire it for a moment until I get dizzy enough to note the glowing ring around its atmosphere and it seems as if it starts to double like my eyes have gone crossed. There are now two moons, eerily resembling a pair of pupil-less eyes.

I quickly glance away, wrapping my arms around myself. I feel a chill run down my spine as a breeze passes through my body. Looking down at my attire, I frown at the simple silk shorts and camisole ensemble that resembles my pajamas, but I don't recall actually ever changing into them. I wiggle my toes, making a face at my lack of shoes, but slightly impressed at how well my pedicure has been kept. I passing roar of screams break my trance, enhanced only by an underlying screeching of rickety tracks.

I cast my eyes in front of me, wondering when the blank slate of the area I had been standing in grew with noise and attractions of Brooklyn's Coney Island. In the distance I make out an old roller coaster, that arguably should have been shut down years ago, and rightfully named The Cyclone. I'm fairly sure the screams I just heard came from that monstrosity; however, I squint and can't make out a single person in any of the carts.

A child's laughter startles me and I make out a blurry figure, a flash of color that could only have been a child, runs past me to the forming line in front of a ride. More and more people begin to surround me, or perhaps I'm now starting to acknowledge them.

"Step right up, toss a ball, pick a toy, there's a winner every time!" I snap my head to the announcer's voice; a large booth had been set up behind me. Nixon is stood behind a bar, gesturing to the hundreds of stuffed animals of mostly pop culture referenced toys. It's a simple ball toss, with stacked glass bottles that had to be knocked down in order for the game to be won. My best friend's older brother gestures me over. I take a tentative step towards him. He's smiling at me but if he recognizes me, he doesn't show it. He hands me a white ball, "first one's free," he insists.

I take it, confused at why my actions don't seem like my own. I pull my hand back and fling the ball foreword, "MISS," Seven yells into my ears. I yelp releasing the ball and turning back. He's standing right beside me, a bright smile on his face that's contagious and eyes that reflect the multicolored lights attached to the various rides behind me.

"Not fair," I point out. He shrugs and ruffles my hair, taking a ball from the outstretched hand of his brother and tossing it, effectively knocking down the bottles. The odd thing is, when the glass bottles fall, the sound doesn't quite sync up with the action; it's lagged by a few seconds but no one seems to notice. There are cracks splintering the glass and I tell myself it's crimson colored paint that's seeping through the cracks.

I step back from Seven and Nixon, taking it all in. I've always loved Coney Island as a child, the thrill and excitement, the nerves and adrenaline – I ate that shit up. It's as if nothing's changed, even when staring at the new rides, the new amusement park in general, replacing what I new as Astroland with a reinvention of Luna Park.

"Daddy, Daddy!" A little girl cries with excitement. My heart begins to race as if it wasn't already pounding hard enough. "Let's go on that one!"

I hear my father's laughter before a little girl comes into view, dragging him to the Wonder Wheel. "My little Nila," he teases, "Grew an inch and wants to go on every ride." My heart constricts painfully as I watch him grab my younger self and hoist her on his shoulders. She squeals in delight, pointing him in the direction of the line for the ride. I make a move to follow them but I'm intersected by Kelsey.

She's grinning at me, a bag of popcorn in her hands, "Nila, there you are!"

I furrow my eyebrows, "Here I am...?" It sounds like a question when I speak. She doesn't notice.