Clare had just started to
convince herself that the whole mermaid thing was a part of the ride when the
boat floated into the next cavern. It
had to be. It seemed too staged, and if
that thing had really meant to harm either of them, it would have. Still, something in her gut told her that she
was just kidding herself. This presence,
whatever it was, was playing with them. Like a cat playing with a mouse before
it killed it.
The next cavern was made
to look like a swamp, the large, moss-covered trees sprouting out of the murky
water. Vines hung down from the ceiling
and brushed their faces as they floated along.
The music switched again, a strumming banjo replacing the sound of the
woman humming.
“This was a bad
idea.” The camera was shaking in Max’s
hand.
“Listen, it’s just a
ride. That was probably a gag to help
scare the girls so they would press a little closer to their dates.” Clare leaned in, whispering in Max’s ear. She needed to keep him calm.
They were stuck in a
small boat, surrounded by water filled with God knows what, and the last thing
she needed was for him to freak out and try and jump over board. Maybe she was right. Maybe the ride was just a ride.
She kept repeating that
sentence over and over in her head as the boat neared the middle of the
cavern. There, set farther back, almost
flush with what she was guessing was the back wall, was a small, log cabin, set
high on stilts over the water. A peer
jutted out, and sitting on that peer was a small, furry creature. The blue light made his matted fur look gray,
and his big, bug eyes seemed to glisten in the faux moonlight. He had on a small vest, and a banjo rested in
his lap.
The boat stopped. Clare held her breath.
“Well, well, well, what
do we have hear!” A voice came on over
the speakers, the banjo music playing faintly behind it. “Is that a pare of young lovers I see? How sweet.”
The voice had a thick,
southern accent. Clare couldn’t place
it, and she figured it was most likely because the person doing it was some
long forgotten Chicago voice actor doing his best Beverly Hillbillies impression.
The recording
continued. “Well, I hope your love is
pure and chaste, because we don’t take kindly to sinners round these
parts.” The creature on the peer began
to strum his banjo. “Oh no, we
don’t. We skin them alive, and feed them
to the mermaids.”
“This is sick.” Max was
shaking his head, his camera pointed right at the creature on the peer.
Clare had to agree. This all just felt so wrong. This whole ride had a weird, perverse streak
to it. She couldn’t recall if she had
ever ridden the Tunnel of Love when she was a kid, but if she had, she didn’t
remember any of this.
Suddenly, two vines
dropped from the ceiling, both on either side of the peer. Near identical creatures to the one playing
the banjo clung to the vines with one hand, and in their other hand was a long,
curved blade.
“So,” the voice
continued, “are ya sinners? And don’t
forget, lyin’ is a sin.” The voice began
to cackle.
The vines began to swing,
and the blades those creatures were holding seemed to be getting awfully close
to Clare and Max.
“What the fuck is
this?” Max scooted against her, doing
his best to put some distance between him, and the approaching blades.
“Sinners! Sinners!”
Little, squeaky voices began to play over the speakers, and the banjo
music seemed to pick up pace. “Skin the
sinners! Feed them to the
mermaids!”
There was a thunk as one
of the vines smacked into the side of the boat.
The blade came inches from Max’s eye, missing only because he ducked at
the last second.
The boat jerked forward,
and the vines shot back up into the ceiling.
“I don’t think I can take
much more of this…” Max looked at Clare, his eyes wide.
“I think we only have one
more cavern to get through. You’ll be
fine.” She put her arm around his
shoulders. “I’ll protect you.”
She just wondered who the
hell would protect her.
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