Ellie
“Where the hell did you bring us?” Logan asked, slipping his credit card back into his wallet as we passed through the rusted turnstiles of the amusement park.
This place looked completely abandoned. Snack stands leaned to one side like they were about to give out. In the distance, the rides groaned on creaking wooden tracks, practically begging us not to trust them. I turned to him with a grin, wide and unrepentant.
“This looks more haunted than fun. I mean, come on,” he said, gesturing toward a cluster of park actors huddled near the entrance. “Even their uniforms are falling apart.”
He wasn’t wrong. The employees’ shirts were riddled with holes and dark, strange stains. From an outside perspective, someone could easily mistake this for an abandoned carnival instead of an active park.
But that was the point.
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, tapping his bicep as we walked past the group. Logan couldn’t help but stare, his eyes wide with disbelief. “It’s supposed to look like this. It’s all part of the story. It’s a haunted theme park, designed to feel broken, abandoned. It adds to the thrill.”
Logan glanced around again, this time with new eyes. I followed his gaze. Despite the rundown aesthetic, the place was packed. Families, couples, groups of teenagers filled every inch of space, winding in and out of snaking lines for rides and attractions.
Even when we passed the Dead Man’s Drop, the estimated wait time on the cracked sign read 150 minutes, and no one seemed deterred.
I’d always loved horror. There was something magnetic about things left behind.
About forgotten places with lingering stories etched into their bones.
This park was a love letter to all of that—designed chaos, immersive storytelling.
Each ride had a backstory, every food stand a twisted theme.
Even the staff, all dedicated actors, were in full character.
Groaning, limping, speaking in whispers or riddles to sell the fantasy.
As a kid, Halloween had always been my favorite holiday.
My costumes were never the cute kind, and as I got older, they definitely weren’t the “sexy” kind either.
I always went for the characters—the creepier, the better.
Freddy Krueger. A walker from The Walking Dead. Monsters over princesses every time.
“I should’ve known,” Logan said with a laugh, looking down at me as I grinned up at him. “You and your horror obsession.”
“The minute I saw this place online, I wasn’t saying no.”
“Well, Ace,” he said, tipping his head toward me with that familiar smirk, “let’s make all your spooky dreams come true.”
I linked my arm through his and picked up the pace, tugging him with me as we headed toward the back of the park for our first ride of the day, The Widow’s Drop.
“That was wild!” I shouted, grabbing Logan by the biceps and bouncing on my toes with giddy energy. “I mean, that drop! My heart was in my ears. Feel!”
I grabbed his hand and pressed it to my chest, letting him feel the rapid rhythm beneath my ribs.
The ride had taken us through a dimly lit haunted house where actors lunged out from the shadows, trying to get screams from even the bravest guests.
But it was the final drop, a stomach-twisting freefall, that had nearly done me in.
I wasn’t sure if I laughed or screamed the whole way down.
The sun beat down on us as we stood outside, both still riding the high.
“The look on your face in the picture!” Logan doubled over laughing, and I shot him a mock-glare that warned, don’t you dare, though I couldn’t stop my own laughter from spilling out.
“There was no way I wasn’t buying that,” he said, holding up the ride photo in triumph.
I leaned in to look—and yep, it was as ridiculous as he said. We were side by side, both mid-scream, my hands latched around his arm like a lifeline.
“We need this framed,” I declared, grabbing the photo from him. “It’s going on my wall when we get back.”
I was always the friend capturing every little moment like it might disappear if I didn’t. It was how I remembered the good things, how I held on to them. I wasn’t a professional by any means, but I was a sentimental person.
Speaking of…
“Wait!” I said suddenly, digging into my purse and pulling out the tiny camcorder I brought along. “I forgot to film when we got here. I was too distracted by your face.”
I clicked the record button and pointed it at Logan. “Okay, rate that ride. One being it sucked balls, ten being the best ride of your life.”
Without skipping a beat, Logan played along, tapping his chin thoughtfully as I walked backward toward the next attraction, the camera pointed at him the whole time.
“I’m gonna give it a solid seven point five,” he said with a slow nod.
I flipped the camera and held it above us, angling it so we were both in the frame.
“Logan Walker is a tough sell,” I said, grinning. “I’d give that an easy nine. The actors were legit.”
“I can’t give out tens this early in the day. We’ve got a whole lineup ahead of us.”
I tilted my head back and forth, mock-considering.
“Well,” I said, lowering the camera slightly. “I guess that just means we have a lot of work to do.”
Logan slipped his arm around my shoulder as we strolled down the paved walkway, weaving through a line of creaky, worn-down game booths.
Workers in character stood at the booths, instructing kids on how to play the games.
The sun beat down hot and relentless, and the air between bodies felt thick and almost unbearable.
Normally, I would’ve pulled away—Logan’s body heat soaking into mine would’ve had me sweating—but instead, I stayed tucked close to his side, content to let him shield me from the chaos around us.
The booths were made of weathered wood, with chipped paint and crooked signs barely hanging on. Then the crowd thinned, and one booth sat slightly apart from the others like it had been forgotten on purpose.
“Come on over,” the worker called, flipping a ball in the air and catching it again with a smirk. I ignored him at first, but then he pointed directly at me. I blinked, pointing at myself with a skeptical head tilt.
“Yeah, you.” He grinned slowly, nodding.
Of course, now I wanted to go over.
“You sure about this?” Logan muttered from the corner of his mouth. “Pretty sure this is how every horror movie starts, the pretty blond walks toward something she definitely shouldn’t.”
“Well, it’s two pretty blonds walking toward something we shouldn’t,” I shot back with a smirk. “Because you’re coming with me.”
I grabbed his hand and tugged him forward. I could’ve sworn I heard him gulp behind me, but he didn’t resist.
“Want to play?” the guy asked, voice low and eerie—part of the act. Pale gray makeup dusted his face, the tangled mess of hair adding to the illusion that he, too, had been left behind in this haunted amusement park.
“He does,” I said quickly, tossing a thumb back at Logan, who stood stiff behind me, arms crossed, posture screaming protector mode.
The guy laughed and reached into a bucket, pulling out five balls.
“All right, big guy. Five bucks for five tries.” He held out a hand with dramatic flourish.
Logan groaned but pulled out his wallet and slipped a crisp bill into the guy’s palm. I knew I was awful at these types of games with no hand-eye coordination to speak of, so why embarrass myself when I could get a good laugh watching Logan instead?
He stepped up to the red spray-painted line on the patchy grass and tossed a ball in the air like he was warming up for the World Series.
The game’s objective was to hit the stack of bottles perched on a stool.
Logan’s first pitch missed entirely.
The booth guy let out a long whistle, tipping his invisible cowboy hat. “I reckon you’ve never hit a target in your life.”
I burst out laughing. Logan rolled his eyes.
Then came the second throw—dead-on, center of the stack of bottles—and nothing moved.
“Hey!” Logan shouted. “I hit those!”
“I didn’t see a thing,” the guy replied innocently, throwing his hands up like he was completely unbiased.
Logan groaned, deeper this time, and chucked the rest. Zero. Nada. Not a single bottle budged.
“Don’t feel too bad,” the guy said, standing and gesturing toward the prize wall beside us. “I’m feeling generous. Why don’t you pick something out for the lady? On the house.”
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest,” I teased.
“He stole five dollars from me. How is this on the house?” Logan muttered.
I hushed him and wandered over to the prize wall. Stuffed animals, oversized novelty hats, and flashing glow sticks, which were all a little ridiculous. But on the bottom row, a collection of embroidered keychains caught my eye. Logan bent down, scanned the selection, and picked one up.
It was a small circle, stitched with a bold red A in the center.
“Huh,” I said, taking it from his hand and examining it. “An A? You do know my name starts with an E, right?”
He smiled softly, that same smile that was completely Logan—the one that curled just one side of his mouth and melted me in seconds.
“You’re the only one I call Ace. So for me, the A means more.”
My heart skipped a beat. The butterflies in my stomach did somersaults.
I threw my arms around him, burying myself against his chest. Logan didn’t hesitate. His arms came around me immediately, holding me tight. I breathed him in, let myself sink into the moment. It was sweet. Thoughtful. Unexpected. The kind of gesture you remember.
And now, every time I looked at that keychain—and I would, because it was going straight on my keys—I’d think of him.
And I’d smile.