My mind felt like static. It was dead and empty from all the noise and commotion throughout the school day. The constant buzzing sound of Bellevue, my hometown, was enough to make someone go insane, and to add to all of that, the town was falling apart.
Businesses were leaving, old downtown buildings decaying, and the school system was the worst in the area. It wasn't an extremely large town, maybe five or six square miles. Bellevue was shit really though. Only thing that lived in town were poverty ridden families, old retired people coming back to live in their childhood town, and crackheads (maybe not crack but some kind of hard drug made it's way around).
A few days prior I was reminded of the old Whirlpool Park. Not because of the water formation but the appliance company. Fifty years ago they used to pour their chemical sludge and let it stay there. Kids continued to play, however, and now there are many children in this region with cancer. That's besides the point though.
There are legends, deep and dark found within people. Stories untold such as one of the Whirlpool Park. First thing was first, it was run-down now. The weeds and grass had taken back what was once it's own, and the brownish-black decaying of the equipment was eerie in itself. I've driven past in many times and always wondered what lied just beyond the fence.
Always curious, I thought it'd be a good idea to visit the fenced off area to see what it was all about. I wasn't worried about toxins, I was more worried about the stories I had heard. People going missing, drug busts, and creatures of the dark.
The date was April, 15th, a Thursday, thankfully near the end of the school year, where my attentiveness and care for a good nights sleep was beyond gone (although that was gone only a couple months into the year). The conditions were perfect. A clear sky, decent weather, and a way to get to the Park, which was slightly less than thirteen miles according to Google Maps.
Preparation was fairly easy, but mentally I wasn't sure if I was ready to see anything completely out of the ordinary. I reassured myself on multiple occasions throughout a period of at least thirty minutes, that all the talk was just local lore and legends. I stepped out of my room and peered down the hallway to see if I could catch the reflection of the television on our family picture above the large couch. Luckily, there was no light coming from in there and I tip-toed down the creaky hallway. Step after step a loud croak let out and it terrified me time after time. I already had a "Why I'm out of my bedroom" story, but what about the Park? It didn't matter.
My parents were early birds, always getting up before the sun rose and going to work. That was in my favor because I knew they'd never check on me.
I made it to the front door which was directly out of the living room. I cracked it open and moved it very slowly until enough space was available to cram my body through it. I succeeded and immediately took my phone out to text my friend Jake, who was giving me a ride. He was going to record the experience. It was like my own, little, personal ghost hunting show, minus the fact that it wasn't ghosts or spirits I was looking for.
He pulled up shortly later and threw my backpack in his back seat. I got in the car, greeted Jake, and we took off for Route 20. The road is boring mostly. Just two two-lane roads heading in opposite directions. It passed through the nearest town to us, Clyde, and continued on towards the now thriving Fremont.
The Park was directly off the main highway through our tiny town. For the twenty minutes we sat driving, we were completely silent. I thought I was ready. I felt ready. The closer we got, however, the less ready I became. The butterflies soon took over my guts and the mental picture of whatever was waiting for me took over. When we were within 500 yards of the dilapidated park the feeling of dread took over.
