Dream Park

This is largely a descriptive piece, and is about a Dream Park I’d like to visit some day. Parts of it are inspired by theme parks I’ve been to, R.L. Stine’s HorrorLand, and fanciful images I conjured up in my head from playing Nintendo's Diddy Kong Racing. I should mention that my sister and I are big fans of haunted houses. Growing up, we made several in our own home using bed sheets, masks, plastic spiders, red ink and a wheelchair to seat visitors on. We found these little rides so exciting to create that we would start their construction much before dawn, then hobble out after dinner time on sore limbs but wide smiles, raring to invite our neighbors and friends into a space from which they’d emerge very, very scared! We thought it was the best way to spend our Monsoon holidays. So here’s Dream Park, a weird, magical, cheerful place from somewhere in my head.

The sky sported a big white sun. Trees of a fresh, lime green shimmered when the clouds parted, but quieted as they drew close. An artificial hill and two narrow driveways rose upwards into Dream Park—a riot of color and activity—then dipped dramatically into a lake with clear water and baby sharks. A faint rainbow lazed against the horizon, calm and self-assured, taunting the visitors who scurried around tents and coasters on their quest for amusement.

Near the center of the park, a kid screamed at a clown, then shoved his candyfloss into his mother’s hands before bawling against her hip. She tousled his hair with a warm smile and took him inside Mirror Maze, out of which he exited minutes later with saltier cheeks. The mother looked aghast, not unlike the balding man hurrying out of Horror Villa with a handkerchief pressed to his sweaty temples. A pair of twin girls with low pigtails giggled at him behind their large iced tea jugs. After the man disappeared into a nearby food court, they took a selfie by the entrance of Horror Villa, then stepped inside.

The ride was slow and dark. Sometimes a witch’s cackle sounded and occasionally a man in a funny suit jumped at them. Throughout, the twins laughed to each other and exclaimed how wonderful the smell of the haunted house was—a heavy, watery musk with a moldy tinge, just like the laundry room in their grandma’s basement. Towards the end of the ride, they praised the beautiful woodwork of their coaster and whatever else was left to be talked about. Even the red “Get Out Before It’s Too Late” sign over the exit made them smile despite themselves. 

The moon appeared in the sky soon. A cool evening mist ushered visitors into the welcoming red and gold glow of the park’s Retro Café, where the walls were a rich yellow and adorned with lines of Christmas lights. A red and white tiled floor glinted under the bright lamps on one side of the café, and sloped gradually into the kitchen from behind an extravagantly embellished Christmas tree. The number of baubles, charms and candy-canes bearing down on it could make Atlas consider himself lucky. Plastic tables and chairs sat around a long metal counter, behind which a cashier with rosy cheeks chuckled after every order. After punching in numbers and returning the change, he drew a striped lollipop from a bulbous glass container and handed it meekly to his customers. Gracious sighs and delighted chatter followed. 

The festive tunes that flowed out of the café were accompanied by the clinks of coffee mugs, merry laughter and satisfied pats on bellies. Outside, Dream Park eased into a blissful quiet and the stars danced amidst the full skies.