Dreamworld Read online

  Dreamworld

  Extreme Horror

  By

  Sam West

  Dreamworld:

  Extreme Horror

  By Sam West

  Copyright Sam West 2015

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced or used in any way without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews. The characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

  Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

  – Shakespeare.

  1.

  “No. I am not going to some sleazy strip-club,” Jim Pearson said, knocking back the last of his pint.

  “You’re kidding me, right? Why the fuck else are we in Broadgate?” Gavin said.

  “Er, for a quiet drink. Besides, I promised the missus. No strippers.”

  “Fuck the missus.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to. Which is why I don’t want to go to strip-clubs.”

  “Boys, boys, this is getting us nowhere,” Andy said. “Gavin, it’s your round, leave my brother to me.”

  Gavin got up and rolled his eyes, gathering together the empty pint glasses with an angry clatter.

  “Andy,” Jim said to his younger brother as soon as Gavin had cleared off out of it. “If you don’t sort out your friend, I’m catching the first train out of this dump back to London. Why the hell is he here, anyway?”

  “I thought he might liven things up a bit. Get you out of dives like this.”

  “I like it in here.”

  The pub they were in was indeed to Jim’s tastes. It wasn’t showy, and there were no girls in mini-skirts here. Just lots of dark wood, an ancient carpet and old men propping up the bar. Perfect.

  “It’s crap,” Andy said.

  “It’s a proper pub. All I want is a quiet pint. It’s my night, not yours. I can’t believe you invited Gavin, you know I think he’s a cunt.”

  “Yeah, well, you and Nigel are hardly the life and soul of the party are you? And as your soon-to-be wife is currently living it up on a girl’s weekend in Benidorm, I thought you’d secretly be pleased I made the effort to spice things up a bit.”

  “Spice things up? What kind of moronic thing is that to say? You make this stag-night sound like a failed marriage. Nigel? Haven’t you got anything to say? You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  Nigel remained silent and shrugged helplessly.

  “Thanks,” Jim muttered, feeling dangerously close to tears.

  God, if he shed a tear right now he’d feel like the stupidest cunt in the whole wide world. He would sooner die. The fact was, Andy hadn’t just touched a nerve, he’d fucking yanked it out his body, stuck a pin through the end of it then set it on fire. He was worried sick about his gorgeous fiancée living it large in Benidorm. Men hit on her constantly, and she was hardly forthcoming when it came to batting them away. His beautiful Elise enjoyed being the centre of attention a little too much.

  “Stop being such a morose bastard. This is supposed to be your stag-night, your last night of freedom, and all that,” Andy said.

  With a sinking heart, Jim took in his three companions. If this was ‘freedom’ then he sure as shit could go without it. His eyes locked with his miserable looking, best-friend Nigel across the rickety, wooden table. His only friend, if truth be told. Which is probably why his brother had felt compelled to make up the numbers with ‘Gavin The Cunt,’ as Jim fondly thought of him.

  Nigel was even more of a nerd than he was, and Jim considered that to be really saying something. He also took social-ineptness to a whole new level. He had barely spoken a word since they had hit the town a few hours ago, being terrible in a group situation away from the work environment. This was partly the reason Jim had brought him along, but now he regretted it. This probably wasn’t the best time to give Nigel a crash course in ‘How To Behave In Social Situations.’

  The two lads had bonded over their love of computers at their job for an up and coming computer company that designed gaming programmes. Jim was pretty much the only person on the planet who saw what a great guy Nigel was beneath the lank hair, ratty face, puny body, unflattering glasses and Oxfam pullovers. Jim considered himself to be the spit of Nigel, except taller, and not as thin.

  He couldn’t be more wrong. Jim certainly didn’t consider himself trendy, but unbeknown to him, others did. The Argyle pullovers, little round glasses and Converse-style, colourful trainers that he had worn for ten years since his geeky mid-teens had come full circle and now he was the cutting edge of male fashion of the ‘retro’ variety. Not that Jim knew this, or even cared.

  “Let’s just go to one strip-club,” Andy was whining in his ear. “We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. Come on. It will be fun.”

  Jim stared incredulously at his brother. Fun. He would feel dirty oggling strippers, like he was being unfaithful to Elsie. Not that Andy would ever grasp that concept; ever since he had joined the fire-force and started hanging out in earnest with ‘Gavin The Cunt,’ Jim had really noticed the change in him. He was beginning to wear the same arrogant expression Gavin did, and had even hit the gym, like Gavin did, even though he had a long way to go before he hit Gavin’s proportions. Both Andy and Gavin shared the same neat dark hair, dark eyes, pumped bodies and self-important swagger, making them look more like brothers than he and Andy did. With his natural blonde hair, pale skin and slim build, Jim felt like a kid when he was with them, even though at twenty-six he was older than both of them by two years.

  Speak of the devil…

  Gavin was back, carrying a tray laden with four pints of bitter and four whisky chasers.

  “Drink, then we’re going to Laplands and you cunts will enjoy yourselves and Nigel here will get to see his first, real life, naked woman.”

  Andy was the only one who laughed. Nigel blushed and Jim bit down an uncommon, violent urge to reach over the table and ring his stupid, muscled neck.

  I don’t have to be here. I can just catch the late train back to London. And Nigel can come with me. Or not. I don’t care. Fuck them, and fuck the hotel they’ve booked…

  The realisation that no one was forcing him to stay was a breath of fresh air. He was on the verge of getting to his feet and announcing his plans when the door to the pub, which was right next to their table, swung inwards. All four heads automatically swivelled in the direction of the sudden movement.

  Jim shivered at the sudden rush of cool, October air that swirled around their table and felt icy fingers ruffling the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck. A sense of dread so strong gripped him; he held his breath and goose-bumps puckered his exposed forearms beneath the rolled up sleeves of his pullover.

  No one entered the pub, and the door slammed shut. Jim found he was inexplicably shaking. A twirling movement caught Jim’s eye; a sheet of paper dancing in the air in front of Gavin’s face.

  Gavin snatched at the A4 sheet.

  The strange sensation passed. Jim figured it was the icy air that had made him shiver and the shock of the door opening suddenly that had made him jump.

  “They should get the bloody door fixed,” Andy grumbled, hugging himself. “It’s bloody freezing in here.”

  “What’s that?” Jim and Andy said in unison.

  Gavin handed him the sheet of paper and Jim quickly scanned it. It was a flyer, advertising a tour round Broadgate’s infamous and now closed down theme-park, Dreamworld.

  ‘Halloween, Midnight Tour of Dreamworld,’ blazed the heading in big letters. Jim proceeded to read the elaborate scroll of the handwritten paragraph beneath it. The words were inside a wide, yawning mouth of the entrance to a ghost-train. ‘Come and join the scariest midnight tour in the whole wide world; the tour
of Dreamworld. Find out about the gruesome history of the theme-park, about all the countless lives that have been lost on these haunted grounds. Who knows, maybe on this magical night you’ll get to meet the devil himself…

  Tour five pounds per head, tour guide Eric Flu.’

  Absently he handed his brother the flyer, lost in thought. Back in the day, it had been a popular theme-park. Jim had a vague, child-hood memory of visiting it one hot summer back in the early nineties with his parents when Andy had still been in his pushchair. The place had been billed as one of the spookiest theme-parks in the world, and it had certainly lived up to its reputation; it was dark and seedy with ghost trains and haunted houses. It even had creepy clowns with cracked face-paint handing out balloons to worried looking children.

  Despite being scared shitless, Jim had loved it.

  “I want to do the tour,” he announced to the group.

  “You have got to be shitting me,” Gavin sneered. “That place has been closed for years and left to rot.”

  “Not true,” Nigel said, speaking for the first time for ages. “It’s recently been bought again by a developer who wants to restore it to its former glory.”

  “That’s lovely Four-Eyes. Who gives a fuck?”

  Nigel blushed some more.

  “Don’t talk to my friend like that,” Jim said, sick to the back teeth of Gavin. He turned his attention to Nigel. “Fancy doing that tour, mate?”

  “Yeah,” Nigel smiled. “I really do.”

  “What?” Andy spluttered. “You can’t be serious. This is a fucking stag-night, we can’t go on a bloody tour round some bloody building site.”

  “Why not? It’s Halloween and I feel like celebrating,” Jim said.

  “You can fuck off,” Gavin scoffed, getting to his feet. “I’m going to see me some strippers. Are any of you cunts coming?”

  Only Andy stood up. “Oh, come on, Jim. Don’t be such a prick.”

  “I’m not the one being a prick,” he replied.

  “Just come, will you?”

  “No. If you’re going to your sleazy strip-joint, then just go already.”

  “Leave him, Andy,” Gavin said, before addressing Jim. “We’ll be in Laplands if you ever get the urge to act like real men and join us.”

  “Jim?” Andy asked.

  “Just go.”

  “Fine, I will.”

  “Fine,” he spat back, instantly regretting telling his brother to do one.

  But it was too late, the two men had already left.

  “Just us, then,” Nigel said with obvious relief.

  “Yeah.”

  That stupid urge to cry was back again and he took a big gulp of his pint. Some fucking stag-night this was turning out to be. He glanced at the clock. There was still an hour to go before the tour of Dreamworld began.

  Fuck my brother, he thought bitterly, draining his pint before reaching for the pint his brother had deserted.

  Jim decided he was going to get very, very pissed.

  2.

  “I’m sorry, Trace, I’m not really in the mood. Maybe we should just call it a night.”

  “Come on, Georgie, he’s not worth it babe, you need to forget about him and let your hair down. Plenty more fish in the sea.”

  Tracy slipped her arm into Georgina’s, probably to stop herself from falling flat on her face in the high heels she wore. An icy wind blew along the promenade and Georgina shivered. She had no idea how Tracy could go out with bare legs this time of the year, she was cold enough in jeans and boots.

  “Look, it’s very sweet of you to invite me out tonight, but it’s late and I’m tired.”

  The truth was she hated this kind of thing, just the very mention of ‘girl’s night out’ was normally enough to bring her out in a sweat. She was more of a ‘half-a-pint-of-lager-and-a-bag-of-pork-scratchings-in-a-corner-of-a-quiet-pub,’ kind of girl, as opposed to a ‘dancing-‘till-dawn-in-a-pretentious-nightclub-with-overpriced-cocktails’ kind of girl, like Tracy.

  And for one night, Georgina had had just about all the ‘fun’ she could take.

  “Stop being so boooring,” Tracy whined. “You’re twenty-four but you act like an old man.”

  Yeah, well, it’s better than acting like a complete slapper…

  Immediately she felt guilty for thinking such a thing. Tracy was a sweet girl and a good friend, so what if she went out looking like a total prostitute? It wasn’t as if she acted like one. And she was being nice to her, trying to help mend her broken heart and all that.

  “Look, I’m tired, that’s all. I’m not really in the mood for this, I miss him, Trace.”

  “I know you do babes. Which is why we’re going to have a good time.”

  As she spoke she clung on to her all the tighter, almost bringing Georgina to her knees. Her feeble protests died on her lips when she noticed the car curb-crawling them. The window wound down.

  “Hello ladies, you looking for a good time?” Georgina steered her friend away from the edge of the pavement, but still the stranger persisted. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

  Georgina hazarded a glance in his direction. He was nothing but a silhouette in the dingy interior. Tracy wasn’t nearly so coy.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are? Fuck off, you dirty pervert.”

  “Trace,” she hissed in embarrassment.

  “What?” she replied in a too-loud voice. “If it looks like a shit, and smells like a shit, then it usually is a shit.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you, you ugly cow. I meant the total babe who’s propping you up. I wouldn’t let my dog fuck you, bitch.”

  “Why you fucking…”

  “Trace! He’s not worth it,” she all but shouted, clinging on to her friend’s arm to stop her from stropping over to the sleaze in the car.

  “Is everything alright here, ladies?”

  Georgina had been so busy looking sideways at the perve, she hadn’t noticed the uniformed policeman heading towards them in the opposite direction on the promenade.

  “No,” Tracy shouted. “It’s not. The shit in the car was soliciting us. Fucking arrest him.”

  “Trace!” Georgina hissed. “I’m sorry Officer, please excuse my friend…”

  As she spoke the car revved up.

  “Fuck!” she heard the man curse.

  She watched the man lean out of his window to peel something off the windshield that must have been stuck fast and obstructing his view. It was some flyer that fluttered in her direction. Out of sheer reflex, she caught it.

  “Sir?” the policeman asked. “Would you mind turning off your engine and stepping out of the vehicle…”

  But it was too late, the offending car was already halfway down the wide, seafront road.

  “Aren’t you going to get on your walkie-talkie, radio thingy and get him arrested?” Tracy said. “Last time I heard, curb-crawling was a criminal offense.”

  “Seems to me like it was a simple misunderstanding,” the policeman said with steel in his voice and a warning glint in his eye which Tracy was blatantly choosing to ignore. Or maybe she was just simply too pissed to notice. “If a girl such as yourself chooses to go out dressed like a prostitute then you can only expect negative attention.”

  Fucking pig, was all Georgina could think, but had the good sense not to say. Tracy, however, was experiencing no such brain-to-mouth filter.

  “Jesus Christ. Men. They’re all the same, policemen or not. I suppose I deserve to be raped, seeing as I am expressing my right as a human being to dress however the hell I want to dress.”

  “I suggest you take your friend home and sober her up. It was obviously just a simple misunderstanding and best forgotten.”

  “It’s fucking illegal to solicit.”

  “Tracy! God Almighty, you’re going to get us arrested.”

  “You should listen to your friend. Go home or I’ll have you arrested for being drunk and disorderly.”

  Georgina gripped her friend’s arm and looked be
seechingly at her. The look must have had some kind of effect, for she lowered her gaze first and sighed deeply.

  “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

  “Stay out of trouble, ladies,” the policeman called after them.

  “Fuck you,” Tracy said under her breath, and Georgina’s toes curled in her sensible ankle-boots.

  Thankfully, the policeman didn’t appear to have heard. When she glanced over her shoulder, he was already halfway down the street in the opposite direction.

  “Fuck, I need a drink after that.”

  Georgina inwardly groaned. “I’m sorry, Trace, but what I said still stands. I really want to go home…”

  Her voice trailed off as she realised she was still clutching that piece of paper the perve had flung from his windscreen. She stopped dead, and from the light of the tacky gift-shop they happened to be passing, she began to read…

  ‘Halloween, Midnight Tour of Dreamworld,’ blazed the heading in big letters. She went on to read the rest of it inside the wide, yawning mouth of the ghost-train…

  ‘Come and join the scariest midnight tour in the whole wide world; the tour of Dreamworld. Find out about the gruesome history of the theme-park, about all the countless lives that have been lost on these haunted grounds. Who knows, maybe on this magical night you’ll get to meet the devil himself…’

  “What is it? Gimme that,” Tracy said, snatching the leaflet out of her hand. “Oh, wow, cool. It’s Halloween, I reckon we should do it.”

  Georgina wasn’t completely turned off by the idea. She did enjoy a good ghost story, and a spooky tour sure beat trawling round more tacky bars. It sounded like it might be a laugh. And anyway, as much as she wanted to go home, she didn’t relish the idea of offending her friend.

  “Okay, fine, why not? It’s almost midnight now. But after this I’m definitely going home.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on then, let’s get spooky.”

  3.

  Jim and Nigel stood outside Dreamworld. The past hour, since his brother and Gavin-The-Throwback had pissed off to Laplands, had passed uneventfully. Tediously, one might say. Nigel had droned on and on about the computer programme they were currently working on, and Jim’s mind had continually drifted to what his beautiful fiancée might be getting up to in Benidorm.