The End Has Come

Anthony was the one who loaded her into a wheelchair from Guest Relations and pushed her through Adventureland to New Orleans Square. People peered out at them from shops and seating areas, but no one approached. Amy chuckled. Even living through the end of days hadn’t made most people any less squeamish about a little blood.

“You don’t have to do this,” Anthony said. “We just scavenged . . .”

“I’ve lost too much blood. I’m not letting you waste the resources.” The world was going pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. “Just get me to the Mansion.”

“Amy . . .”

“I’m still Mayor, aren’t I?” She smiled. “Do as you’re told.”

“You’re an imperious bitch sometimes, you know that?”

“I do.” There was a small bump as Anthony turned the wheelchair and began pushing it up a gentle slope. Amy didn’t need to open her eyes to see the artfully crumbling mansion in front of them, or the overgrown yard.

“Do you need me to carry you inside?”

“All riders must transfer past this point.” Amy grabbed the armrests and pushed, struggling to get to her feet. When she finally opened her eyes, everything was gray . . . but she had a little more in her. “Thank you, Anthony. Keep the lights on.”

“Anything for you, Madame Mayor,” he said. He was crying. She wanted to stop and comfort him, but there wasn’t time; she needed what little strength she had left if she wanted to make her way into the ride.

With a final smile, and a jaunty wave, Amy climbed the two low brick steps and walked into the Haunted Mansion, where the doors to the elevator — the famous “stretching room” — were standing ready. She stepped inside. There was a click behind her as Anthony pressed the hidden button, and then the voice of the Ghost Host was welcoming her to find a way out.

No way out, she thought. Not even your way.

The prerecorded spiel ended, and the door opened in the wall, allowing a gust of frigid air to escape. Aware that she was leaving a trail of blood behind her, Amy staggered through the queue area to the moving walkway, which was still moving; alone of all the rides in Disneyland, the Haunted Mansion never stopped.

The Doombuggies sailed regally by, waiting for passengers. Amy lurched into the first to pass, grabbing the bar and using it to drag herself to the far side of the small black carriage. Then she closed her eyes, and let the Mansion carry her on into the dark.

The smell wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. That would be the air conditioning doing its job, lowering the Mansion’s ambient temperature to something akin to a walk-in freezer. The citizens of Disneyland went about their lives never considering how many people had died there, or in the Plaza, or in the open spaces of Downtown Disney, the promenade connecting the Parks to the hotels. Those bodies had to go somewhere. It was a health hazard otherwise.

The power could never go out in the Haunted Mansion.

By the time Amy’s Doombuggy reached the graveyard scene, she could barely feel her legs. She grabbed her safety bar and pushed with all her strength, finally lifting it enough to bring the whole ride to a halt. She slid out of the buggy and onto the narrow path they had left open between the graves, between the stacked piles of bodies. She pushed the safety bar back down. The ride resumed, and Amy walked on into the dark until walking ceased to be an option.

There was an open space between a pile of bodies and a tombstone. That would do. Sitting down, she closed her eyes, and finally, after the long months of struggle and fear, allowed her shift to end.

“The difference in winning and losing is most often not quitting.”

–Walt Disney

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mira Grant hails from somewhere between hell and high water, with an emphasis on whichever is drier at the moment. She spends most of her time researching things most people are happier not knowing about. Mira is the author of the Newsflesh trilogy, as well as the Parasitism series. In her spare time, Mira likes to visit Disney Parks around the world, which is possibly one of her creepiest hobbies. She also writes as Seanan McGuire, filling the role of her own good twin, and hopes you realize that the noise you just heard probably wasn't the wind.

IN THE WOODS Hugh Howey