The Second Stage

The Boardwalk

As far as her eyes could penetrate, game tents, food stands, and restrooms stretched up from the wooden planks now covering every surface in sight. Yet, everything was wrong.

The colorful nylon and canvas draped over crooked or splintered wood supports. Bulbs flickered through dirty glass and sparked on the few functional tents. Ride names buzzed and flashed, and a few of the attractions played swaying, unstable tunes from broken speakers and subwoofers gutted from their casings.

A glance behind her confirmed that, for whatever reason, Amelia had stopped at the entrance. Her silhouette suspended in the mist, hair draping downward as she floated upside down.

Meredith looked off the edge of the boardwalk, past the jagged railing, at the dark waves sloshing against barnacle encrusted stone. Debris—trash, plant, aquatic, and human—churned in the sulfuric soup. It stretched into the fog until the ocean faded out of sight. Above, speakers still chewed and regurgitated the Beach Boys song she recognized: Amusement Parks USA.

Shoes clopping on the damp planks, Meredith followed the Boardwalk. The sights disturbed her but moreover, enraged her. This was a bastardization of her fondest memories. She recalled the rustic Crabhouse and its bright red mascot perched atop its second story. In its place, the plaster sculpture of a man, boiled alive, dangled from a skewer. Meredith didn't bother examining the fried dough stand—not with those insects buzzing around it. The fog made everything else indiscernible, incomprehensible further than a few dozen feet from her. Thus, every new horror came a surprise.

One sight brought joy to her though. To her far left, the single pier—her pier—extended out of view. That small sailboat might still be out there. For hours she would gaze at it, the way it slid over the water, the wind carrying it wherever fate dictated. She had dreamed of buying one like it, dreamed of sailing away with Kyle, into a new place, into a new life. Yet Meredith hadn't been able to sail away with Kyle or herself. Meredith didn't know how to sail. She didn't even know how to swim. If that pier had proven anything, it was that Meredith only knew how to sink.

The end of that dock was far too sacred to tarnish with this foul grease of this place. Behind her, the song of the carousel wavered in the breeze. She turned to it and discovered that it too was exactly as it had been. It was empty. That could only mean—

Someone called Meredith's name. She whirled on her toes. The boardwalk remained desolate. Another voice came from somewhere down the Boardwalk followed by a gale of laughter. Meredith stared at the road, fog tumbling across it, nothing visible beyond a tipped shopping cart and spoiled clam chowder spilling out of an overturned food stand. Laughter rang out again.

She pursued it as the Beach Boys song restarted. Even over its wavering piano, Meredith picked up another line of dialogue from a set of double doors. A frayed red carpet rolled out from the cavernous interior of the Surf's Up Cinema, its gold-painted pylons chipped and weathered. Every space for a movie poster stood empty, glass cracked or shattered, with only the words "Coming Soon" splattered in black paint over the corkboard backing.

"I'm a damn good nurse and deserve to be paid as one," Meredith heard her own voice speak. Laughter.

Meredith peered ahead, the darkness burying everything. With caution in each step, she approached the doors. No further voices echoed. Only the sound of running water called to her. The fog didn't seem to pass through the entryway, allowing a view of the roof stretching twenty feet above the shattered tile floor and torn maroon carpet. Tan fluid poured from rents in the red dark ceiling. Popcorn overflowed from the concession stand. The doors to the lone theater silently parted as mirth and conversation billowed from the flickering light.