Darcy’s Docks
by H.J. Dutton
Horrific Scribes Extremity Rating:
ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE! read the letters above the ride’s maw of an entrance. Before it, a procession of boats bobbed in the soupy muck. The entrance’s teeth dripped rainwater, paint having peeled since the park’s closure in ‘97. The year of Claire and her sister Esme’s last visit together. Ten years ago today.
“Can’t we just go in through the back?” Claire’s kid brother Liam asked in the same voice he used when he begged her to take him with her this year. He must’ve inherited that wheedling tone from Esme. Same mousy hair, too. Claire had relented, if only to substitute for her sister’s absence.
“Tradition,” she said as she clicked on her flashlight with a shaky hand. Leftover adrenaline from her argument with Mom. Yes, she was going back this year. No, she couldn’t just stop going. Toward the ride’s mouth she marched, the gym bag’s contents bumping against her back. As she crossed the threshold, water drizzled into her hair like drool. “It’s at the end of the ride. Let’s not waste time.”
That proved impossible once Liam started recording. His little YouTube hobby, she called it. After stumbling through his intro, phone aimed at his face, he prompted Claire to introduce herself as well. She said nothing. Every five steps he stopped to point at something, be it the bile-colored water below or the rusted pipes above, red as guts, narrating it all as if his ten subscribers wouldn’t know what they were looking at.
For a second she contemplated snatching his phone and tossing it over the railing into the water. She kept walking. On and on Liam yapped, about the pirate flags, the animatronics staring at him from across the canal, the music he could hear somewhere in the ride.
“Music?” she interrupted. She wrinkled her nose at the scent of the water.
“Yeah, music! Voices, too. You don’t hear that?”
She didn’t. She opened her mouth to ask him if he’d taken his ADD meds. Instead, she bit her tongue and quickened her pace to force him onward.
Once they rounded the next bend, the last slivers of natural light vanished. The chill from outside still reached them, nipping at their legs and making the beams above creak. Claire aimed her flashlight down the ride’s throat. A familiar scene waited ahead. From the water, an animatronic peered up at them. In its mouth, a sailor. His raincoat glistened red where the thing’s teeth punctured him. When they’d reached this part, Esme had closed her eyes and covered her ears. Claire, laughing, had pinned her arms down so she had to hear the sailor’s cries.
Liam aimed his phone at it. “Damn.”
“Yeah,” Claire said, staring at the floor. “The Docks had a rep as one of the edgier dark rides back in the day.”
As they rounded another bend farther inside, Liam kept glancing over his shoulder. “Are there usually other people here?” he asked.
“Sure. Teens, junkies, teenage junkies, the like. Not today, though. Shit weather.”
“But I hear them.”
“Well I don’t.”
Still, he kept glancing back.
They reached an incline. Its tracks had once deafened her as they’d dragged boats upward. Another spot where Esme had covered her ears. She’d done the same thing on the “sissy rides,” as Claire had called them, a habit she’d never let Esme hear the end of. Bawl baby, bawl baby, look at the baby bawl!
Jaw set, she marched up the path’s steps and onward.
Liam stopped, shoes scraping. He squinted over Claire’s shoulder, neck craned, then back behind him, as if searching for the source of a noise he’d heard. A sour look flashed across his face. “Claire,” he started, “how far d’you think we are from the car?”
“A gazillion miles,” she huffed. “Why?”
He frowned at the path behind, snaking into the dark. “That music. And the voices. They’re getting closer.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Wasn’t a joke.” Which he said every time he pulled his stupid pranks. “I think they’re headed our way.”
She turned the next bend without him. She’d learned years ago not to indulge his fibs. “Wanna go say hi? Be my guest.”
He hurried to catch up. “No thanks.”
Close now. Just a little further. Staring ahead, she forced herself to take slow breaths. Even as her heart thudded against her chest. She hoped hiding her hands in her pockets would mask their shaking; Liam noticed anyway. He stepped up beside her, eyes pleading. “Claire,” he whispered as he wormed his arm around hers.
“Fine,” she breathed and let him take her hand. She told herself it was for him, not her. A little further ahead, they reached the next major scene: a cove crawling with animatronics. Above, below, and across the water the things waited, their huge eyes gleaming. If they were meant to resemble specific animals, she couldn’t tell what. They looked more like muppets. Massive, rotting muppets. Liam, quiet now, no longer stared about the ride. Every so often he glanced over his shoulder, flinching at some sound she didn’t hear. “They don’t sound like people.” He tugged on her sleeve. “Claire, we should go.”
She resisted the urge to glance into the tunnel’s dark corners. “It’s right up ahead. You can see it through, or you can walk all the way back to the car. Alone. Up to you.” Liam let go of her hand and hugged himself. By an emergency exit he waited, shifting from one foot to the other, as Claire continued ahead. Without the scrape of his footsteps, a cold silence flooded the tunnel. Nothing, other than the tap of her own shoes, and the slosh of ancient gunk.
Almost there. Before she reached it, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. A few more steps and, from behind the last bend, it loomed into view. A space where the canal yawned outward into a lagoon shape. She turned off the flashlight and waited for her eyes to adjust. Along the rail sat an assortment of photos, candles, and plushies Claire had brought with her on prior visits. Near the track, half-submerged and cloaked in scum, was a massive animatronic. Its eyes reminded her of those cymbal monkey toys. She avoided its stare.
Before the ride’s closure, the beast would rise from the murk in a cloud of spume and roar at guests. The roar bounced off walls and made your skull buzz. During their ride through, she’d tormented Esme about this part. The scariest, loudest thing in the whole park, she claimed.
Her worst mistake, though, was not telling Esme exactly where in the ride it would happen. When they reached it, Esme hadn’t covered her ears yet. Claire hadn’t warned her; she wanted to see how Esme would react. So, when the thing rose from the froth, eyes blazing, and rattled their eardrums, Esme jumped overboard.
Did Claire try to stop her? Had she done anything at all? No, she just sat there. Like a goddamned vegetable. Sat there as her sister scrambled over the side. As she splashed out of sight. To Claire’s credit, she’d screamed. Screamed herself hoarse. Minutes later, park staff fished out Esme’s body. The track had snagged her mousy hair. Held her under. The body they carried out looked like regurgitated food.
From the water, a hungry gurgle echoed. She’d make this quick. No reason to stay longer than she had to. Opening the bag, she pulled out the Beanie Baby Liam had chosen, along with two Yankee candles and a lighter. She crouched by the railing. With a shaky hand she flicked the lighter on, then lit the candles, placing the Beanie Baby between them. She stood and, elbows on the railing, clasped her hands tight. The standing water stung her nose. Swallowing, she shut her eyes. She whispered. Whispered again. Her knuckles went white. For a little while longer she stood as if awaiting an answer. Then she clicked the flashlight back on and turned to leave.
When the exit door loomed into view, she paused. No Liam in sight. Must’ve left after all. She reached for the door, and with both hands she pressed against its bar. Rusted shut. Her brow wrinkled. Last year it had opened fine. Stepping back, she stared up and down the walkway. If he’d kept going past her, toward the exit proper, she would’ve heard him. He must’ve taken another door out. She squinted up the tunnel. “Liam?” she called, just in case he’d stuck around. Nothing. Only the tunnel’s nauseating noises answered.
She powerwalked back toward the entrance. Down the ride, a frigid draft crawled, flogging her skin. Up ahead, another exit. She tried the door and cursed. No good. In every patch of shadow an animatronic loomed–sneering, judging. More wind blew through the tunnel. It tugged the beams above. Made them rasp. The whole ride growled at her.
Ahead the entryway gaped, ready to spit her out. She hurried out into daylight without looking back. Before she stopped to catch her breath, she put distance between herself and the ride.
Where was Liam? She looked around; no sign of him. Had he walked back to the car? Not likely. He wouldn’t have braved the park alone, given how much the Docks spooked him. So where the hell was he? “I’m ready to go, Liam,” she called, glancing back at the ride.
No answer. She muttered curses as she pecked his number into her phone. Straight to voicemail. She stared, blinking.
“Liam,” she called into the park. “We’re not doing this right now. Let’s skedaddle.”
No response.
“Liam?” she bellowed. Her voice rang out into the park. Breath held, she waited for his voice. Nothing. As if he’d never been here at all.
“Liam!”
From the ride’s dripping maw, Claire’s shouts echoed back at her.
Like triumphant laughter.
Want another gripping story by H.J. Dutton? Read “Family of Four” in Horrific Scribes, September 2025.