The once bustling town of Trinity sat along less than one mile of County Road 432. In the heyday of its existence, more than a million people would come through that stretch, bound for Adventureland and the various restaurants and gift shops accompanying any theme park. Since the dawning of the twenty-first century and the ultimate closing of the park, Trinity has experienced a precipitous decline in both visitation and population. The nostalgia that kept generations returning to that cozy mountain nook had worn in the face of multi-park mega franchises and never recovered.
What tourism Trinity did receive was in the form of hikers and backpackers. The town sits nestled on the southern edge of the Ripley Irvine National Forest, a vast stretch of woodlands that offers a myriad of trails for the experienced and inexperienced alike. Many of its one hundred and forty square miles remain uncharted, though most of that is along steep inclines whose treachery would negate any surveying.
The presence of the Ripley Irvine and its swaths of uncharted wilderness were at the forefront of Timothy's thoughts as they crossed the town line into Trinity. The wood-carved faces were only one riddle, one whose answer was sure to present more questions than solutions. The forest proved to be a bigger mystery. Timothy felt certain that within those vast tracts of dense foliage lay a little house by a lake, one with a rickety fence and a rusted bike rack. All he had to do was find a grain of salt in a haystack.
They passed the Dairy Queen and the Subway, the small clinic, and some legal offices. Next was a strip filled with knick-knack shops and an antique mall, followed by the only grocery store in town, and the Mountain Top Cafe, home of the best pancakes in Georgia. 432 then turned west and passed a lakeside subdivision before coming up to the only stoplight in town. It was a three-way stop that branched south onto County Highway 94, straight into the heart of the Ripley Irvine National Forest. Timothy pulled to a stop and waited for the light to turn green. While he waited, he stared hypnotically down the county highway, lost in a daze where dream and day blurred into one. He saw the trees in hyper-focus, watching the leaves twist in the wind like high-definition ballet. The water of the lake sparkled in the shards of daylight that stuck through the clouds and showed purple from the darkening sky's reflection. Even the asphalt of the road itself looked picturesque in this scene. He felt the wind gusting against his face, cool and crisp. He could see the road tunnel in his vision, moving to a focal point in the center. His eyes tried to adjust, but he felt himself being lurched out of his hypnosis by the vigorous tapping of Marshall upon his shoulder.
"Wake the fuck up, man!" Marshall shouted.
Timothy instantly came to and saw the light was green. He could hear the sound of a car horn being vigorously honked behind him as he put his foot on the gas and eased away from the light. Only then did he notice that his window was rolled down.
"What the fuck just happened?" Timothy asked, rolling his window back up.
"I was about to ask you the same goddamn question."
"I don't know," Timothy continued. "It was like a trance. It just took me."
"Well, that's fucking unsettling."
They pulled into the parking lot of the Ripley Irvine Hideaway Lodge, the better of the two hotels within Trinity proper. It was an old motor lodge, probably built in the 1940s, that looked straight out of an Art Deco history book. It seemed criminal to have the myriad of cheaply built foreign sedans filling a parking lot that was built for crime bosses and steel titans born from the gloomy factories of Detroit. They parked near the lobby and both walked in. It was dressed straight out of the post-war era, slathered with pastel colors and out-of-date electronics. Behind the counter was a plump brunette in a tight-fitting uniform and what looked like a beehive updo. As they approached, she had her head down, furiously typing while holding the telephone to her ear with her shoulder.
"Yes, ma'am," she said into the receiver. "I understand."
She lifted a finger to the two of them, signaling for them to wait while she finished.
"Yes, ma'am, that is very unusual and not something we normally experience here at the Robert Irvine Hideaway Lodge and Suites. Our man is on his way."
The two men looked at each other and signaled their mutual curiosity with matching eye enlargement and raised eyebrows.
"He should be knocking any second, ma'am. Ma'am? That's probably him now. No, ma'am, it's not a ghost, that's Mr. Schubert who's come to fix the problem," the woman behind the counter continued.
Timothy and Marshall's eyebrows grew ever higher at the word ghost.
"Yes, ma'am, you can trust him. Okay.., call if you need anything else. Buhbye."
She slammed the phone down and huffed, blowing a droplet of hair that had fallen out of the hive and into her face.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen, and welcome to Robert Irvine Hideaway Lodge and Suites. What can I do for you?" The woman said after manufacturing a quick smile.
"God, that's a mouthful," Marshall mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear.
"What was that about?" Timothy said, pointing to the phone.
"Oh, that? Nothing. One of our guests is experiencing an 'episode' as she calls it. She's a regular. This is nothing new," the woman said as she adjusted her pointed, multi-colored glasses and giggled. "How can I help you?"
"We need two rooms with single beds," Timothy said.
"I'm sorry, but I'm all booked up on single rooms. I do have a double bed if you'd like that."
Timothy looked to Marshall, who merely crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.
"That'll be fine," Timothy said to the woman.
"How many nights?" She asked.
"Two or three?" Timothy asked Marshall.
"Two," Marshall replied firmly.
"Two, please," Timothy said to the woman while handing her his credit card.
"You'll be in 113 on the back side of the building," she said as she ran Timothy's card. "Numbers are on the doors, you can't miss it."
She handed Timothy back his card and waited as what looked like a Dot Matrix printer about as old as he was slowly printed a receipt the size of notebook paper. When it was done, the woman ripped the contact side off and handed Timothy the printed side. She then turned behind her, grabbed a key ring off a wall of hooks, and dropped it in Timothy's hand.
"Welcome to Trinity, gentlemen."
The room looked like any other mid-grade hotel room, with beige walls and generic art hanging cock-eyed on the wall. There was a flatscreen television and a Direct TV box, but no Roku, Fire Stick, or other kind of streaming device. The bathroom was tiny, allowing only the barest amount of legroom when one used the toilet, while the sink was located in the room, armed with fluorescent lighting above and an army of single-use soaps and shampoos. Marshall and Timothy both chose their respective beds and plopped down upon them with matching sighs.
"This place is already freaking me out," Marshall said as he stared at the water-damaged ceiling.
"What, the hotel?" Timothy replied.
"No, Trinity."
"Oh."
"I mean, we've been here for five minutes and you're already going into hypnotic trances, meanwhile, Miss Twin Peaks down there in the office is talking about ghosts haunting the very hotel we chose to stay at! Fucking A, man. This place is weird."
"I've felt a different energy since we got here. Something, I don't know, more sinister?"
"It's something, alright. These backwoods hillbilly redneck fucks don't play around. Haunted or not, I just know we're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."
"You wanna go exploring, Toto?" Timothy asked, rolling over to his side to face the still flatly lying Marshall.
"Anything to get me from staring at this ugly ass stain on the ceiling."
"Let's go find your tchotchke shop."
"We passed it on the way in. It's just up the road a bit."
"Then let's go."
Without another word, the two men rose from their respective beds and left the hotel room they had only just entered. It was a little passed midday, with the sun high overhead, but cloud cover remained thick enough to block any warmth it was willing to send to Earth. They got back in Timothy's car and headed back up 432 towards the main part of town.
At the stoplight, Timothy tried his best not to look across Marshall towards County Highway 94. He could feel it beckoning him, desperate to grab him and draw him in. He said nothing of this to Marshall. He felt like he was already dangerously close to crazy in the eyes of his companion; more esoteric urges would only add fuel to that fire. It was difficult not to show. Though it was only thirty or forty seconds, for Timothy, time had slowed down to crawl. His fingers gripped the wheel tightly, and his stomach churned from anxiety and fear. He could also sense faint voices, more feeling them than hearing them, as though they were from the inside. Finally, the light turned green, and he rolled forward, hitting the gas harder than usual, causing the car to momentarily jolt before cruising. Marshall noticed but chose not to acknowledge it.
Half a mile up the road was a free-standing wooden building that looked like an old Victorian house, which it probably once was. There was a small sign that jutted out from the lawn in front that had Norris Gifts and Curios painted in faded blues and reds. Marshall signaled for Timothy to pull in. He parked the car in the small lot next door.
"Let's hope this wasn't all for naught," Marshall grumbled.
"Only one way to know," Timothy replied, opening the car door and exiting first.
Marshall remained inside for a moment, staring out the dashboard at the old building. Timothy could see that whatever was haunting this town was getting to him as well. Finally, Marshall exited and joined Timothy on the small jaunt to the front door.
Norris Gifts and Curios was like every antique shop in the southeast, filled with an ambrosia of Americana spanning two hundred and fifty years of history. Everything from cast iron cookware and rusty iron farm implements to Star Wars toys in wrinkled but unopened packages and stacks of junk wax baseball and football trading cards. Anything with a niche collector market could be found within the cramped confines of the store's two floors. The moment Marshall entered, he was perplexed. He looked around as though he had never been in the place.
"Do you remember where they were?" Timothy asked.
"Kinda," Marshall replied, scratching his head to think better. "This place looks different."
They stood frozen in the front aisleway while Marshall tried to remember where Allison had found her wood-carved faces. A young woman with blue and pink hair came from around the corner and acknowledged both of them with a large, toothy grin.
"Can I help you guys with anything?" She asked.
"Do you still have those wood carvings of the old men's faces? You know, the ones with the long beards?" Marshall asked.
"I'm not sure if we've got any left or not," she replied. "Been a long time since anyone asked about those."
"Where would they be?"
"If there's any left, they'd be in that back corner," she said, pointing down the aisle where she had just come from. "I haven't seen one in a long time, but that doesn't mean they ain't here!"
"Are they a hot seller?" Timothy asked.
"They were," the woman answered, smiling wider at Timothy. "Back when old man Parsons was alive. Ever since he died, they've been kinda a collector's item 'round these parts. Ain't no new ones, so what's out there is out there."
"Did he sell them anywhere else?" Marshall asked.
"Never. He liked Mr. Norris. Trusted him, you know? They were always a top seller. People just loved those damn old men. You'll find them hanging all over the county."
"You don't think you have any?" Timothy asked.
"I doubt it, but you're more than welcome to look if you wish."
Marshall didn't wait for another prompting. He raced down the aisle to the crowded back corner where antique postcards, sheet music, 78 rpm records, and double-image slides wrestled with coffee table books and Lionel train sets. Marshall frantically looked through the corner but found no trace of wood carvings.
"There's nothing here but junk," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat.
"It's not exactly junk," the woman with the blue and pink hair quipped. "People pay good money for that stuff."
"Would they be somewhere else?" Marshall questioned anxiously.
"No," the woman answered. "This is where they always were, on the wall behind you mostly."
Marshall looked behind him and suddenly remembered the wall. He saw Allison scanning the myriad of faces in search of the perfect beard, nose, or expression. He remembered making fun of her, saying they were all the same, and hoping she would make her choice so they could leave. It all flooded back to him, and he suddenly began to cry.
"Dang," the woman said at the sight of his tears. "You must really love those carvings."
"It's not so much that as the memory attached," Timothy said as he came up behind them.
"And that's just what she and this whole goddamn place are!" Marshall said. "A fucking memory."
"Do you know anything about this old man Parsons?" Timothy asked the woman.
"Not really," she replied. "He was one of them ol' loners who live down on 94 near the edge of the forest. Just some old codger who was good with a knife and needed a hobby in his old age, I guess. This county's full of 'em. Adventureland didn't scare them all away."
"Looks like they won out," Timothy replied.
"Yeah, she ain't like she used to be, this old town. When I was a kid, this place was everything."
"Doesn't it feel kinda haunted?" He asked, half-jokingly.
"You feel it too, huh? I thought only us locals felt it."
"Oh, we feel it," Marshall chimed in. "This town is fucked."
They left Norris Gifts and Curios feeling dejected. The search for answers in regards to wood carvings only brought more questions and more mysteries. They sat quietly in the car for a long time before Timothy turned over the engine and pulled out of the small parking lot next to the antique store. Marshall was red-faced, burning with anger at the stone wall they had just run up against. He was angry at himself for believing in the whim of a clue in the first place, and even more incensed that he had let it get his hopes up. No matter what would happen on that trip, Marshall promised himself he would not get his hopes up. Yet, a few hours into the journey, he had already broken that promise.
They turned onto 432 and headed back toward the hotel. As they passed the grocery store, Marshall pointed to a side road that branched to the right from the highway.
"Turn here for a minute," Marshall said.
Timothy didn't question. He pulled the car into the turn lane and took the little country road off the highway.
"What's down here?" Timothy asked as the last remnants of Trinity proper receded into the distance.
"You'll see," Marshall replied.
The road twisted around bluffs and crystalline lakes, passing small farmhouses with rusted barns and mid-century modern homes that sat on large, sculpted lawns. For three and a half miles, they bobbed and weaved their way overtop the hills and underneath ever-encouraging tree lines before it all opened into a vast open space. Sitting before them were the ruins of Adventureland, the theme park that had brought so much joy and prosperity to the town of Trinity. It stood like a monument, a rusted graveyard of twisting metal and broken plastic. The road led straight into the vast, overgrown parking lot that lay before the park entrance. Timothy slowed as he got close to the front gates.
"So this is it, huh?" Timothy asked.
"Pretty amazing how quickly Mother Nature reclaims her territory, isn't it?" Marshall replied, looking at the remains of Adventureland's only roller coaster, The Behemoth. It towered over them, sadly quiet when it once had roared.
"How long has it been shut down?"
"Four or five years tops," Marshall replied.
Timothy pulled the car up to the curb next to the old ticket booths and parked. He and Marshall both exited the vehicle and walked up to the front entrance. A chain link fence had been erected in front of the turnstiles to keep people out of the park, though it hardly discouraged trespassing. They could both see holes cut in the chain large enough for bodies to enter and exit.
"So," Timothy asked as he looked through the fence towards the entryway of the park. "You came here a lot?"
"I only came here a few times, all as a kid. It was a dump then. I remember really hating it because it was boring. My parents loved it, though. Dad would drink his way through the World's Showcase, and Mom would fill us up on churros and elephant ears so that we would be placated enough for her to have a decent time. She liked the gardens, I remember. She would always make us spend an hour or more slowly looking at them all. It used to bore me to fucking tears, man."
"I never came," Timothy said. "I can't believe you said Allison had. I feel like I would have known."
"Maybe there's a lot more about your sister that you don't know."
"Clearly."
"You want to go in?" Marshall asked with a smile.
"Are you serious?" Timothy replied with surprise.
"Yes!"
"What if we get caught?"
"Who's gonna catch us?" Marshall said, motioning to the empty parking lot.
Timothy looked out at it, then back at the hole in the fence.
"Alright," he said. "But quickly. I don't wanna end up in some redneck jail trying to explain what we're doing here."
Marshall flashed a mischievous grin and quickly slipped through the hole in the fence. Timothy quickly followed suit. They jumped over the frozen turnstiles and found themselves in the middle of a time capsule. Many of the shops looked like they still had stock on the shelves, though their doors were locked and barred. The information booths and customer service windows all looked ready for use, all just missing a uniformed teenager to man them. Even the trees and hedges were trimmed, and the grass was not too high. It was nothing like what the two men had expected.
Ahead were three paths leading to the different areas of the park.
"Is it like you remember it?" Timothy asked as he scanned the area.
"Exactly," Marshall replied. "It's freaky."
Timothy noticed a board covered with flapping sheets of paper and pointed to it.
"What's that?"
It was a giant corkboard labeled "Community Center," and it was covered all the way across in flyers. Most of them were advertising for events long since passed, printed on faded color paper and splotchy from condensation. Marshall pulled one particularly colorful flyer off the board to scan it more closely.
"The Hastings County Fall Fair 2021," he read aloud before turning to Timothy. "Must've been a real..,"
He stopped. Timothy was frozen stiff, his face the palest shade of white. Marshall felt his heart start to beat uncontrollably.
"What is it?" He asked trepidatiously.
"Is that…Allison?" Timothy asked, pointing to the community board.
Marshall turned and saw a Missing Persons poster stapled beneath the flyer he had just ripped off. The name said "Amanda Fischer," but the face was most certainly that of Allison.
"Oh my God," he said quietly.
Marshall reached out and gently removed the poster, his hands shaking violently. Tears streamed down his face at the sight of her. It was an old picture from her social media profile that both Marshall and Timothy knew very well. Her hair was long, and she was smiling. The crooked tooth that she had always hated and Marshall had always loved was plainly visible in her wide grin.
He handed the sheet to Timothy, who stared at it in stunned silence. The spare blurb of text below her photograph said that she had been missing since February 2020 and was last seen at Adventureland. There was also a number to contact for information.
"That's her," Marshall said, his hand still shaking."
"Who is Amanda Fischer?" Timothy asked.
"I don't fucking know, man!" Marshall shouted, his voice reverberating throughout the empty park. "It's her, apparently."
"Should we call the number?"
Marshall's eyes widened. He grabbed the sheet while removing his cell phone. With a trembling thumb, he dialed the number on the sheet and waited. It rang once before the sound of three beeps signaled an automated voice that said the number he had reached was out of service.
"Fuck!" He shouted angrily.
"What is it?"
"The number is disconnected."
Timothy frowned and turned back to the main entrance. Marshall remained fixed in place, struggling to comprehend the latest developments.
"Come on, man," Timothy said. "We need to get out of here."
Marshall looked up from the paper and saw Timothy walking away, his head and shoulders stooped. In the silence of the empty park, he could hear the footsteps. Marshall folded the paper and stuffed it in his pocket, then jogged to catch up with Timothy.
"What do we do now?" Marshall asked Timothy.
"We find out who the fuck's number that used to be," Timothy answered as they crossed the turnstiles.
They slipped back through the hole in the fence and turned back for one last look at Adventureland before getting back in Timothy's car and driving back to town.