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Many expected otters like us to love the water. We were supposed to thrive and thrash around in rivers, but I hadn't been to a public pool since middle school. Sometimes, when someone asked why I feared the water, I told them that I always felt like something was in it with me. It could've been a fish or a phantom, but the thought of something under my kicking footpaws, lingering until it planned to snatch me, made me terrified.

The forgotten mini mall onscreen couldn't have looked more depressing. Emptied stores, graffitied genitalia inside other body parts, the whole mixture of melancholic consumerism seen when a business closes, as well as how nobody even tried to move some of their stuff out. One half-shuttered storefront even left behind some disgusting things in their backroom toilet. The otter onscreen—me—tried his best to keep his stomach contents in, but I was quick to edit it out with a stroke my laptop keyboard.

Although it was weeks ago, the trip still lay fresh in my mind as I reviewed the footage. To say it was decaying would've been a vast understatement, given the number of years it'd been left to rot, but it was a gold mine for my blog, “Trent Explores". To other fans of urban exploration, especially as I checked each frame on my laptop, it entranced me to comb through the insides of an abandoned place. This mini mall was no exception.

I felt accomplishment once I uploaded the edited version online, having skimmed and trimmed the forty-five-minute video to a watchable fifteen. Minutes later and the flurry of comments appeared on both it and my social media page. Before I could read any, I heard the buzzer go off and waddled into the kitchen for my pizza. Cheese, onions, extra peperoni and grilled oysters, a longtime family favorite among otters.

On I sat down though, my phone started buzzing. I glanced at the caller ID and smiled.

“You like the video, Vic?" I laughed, half-tempted to nibble on a slice. “I just sent it out, and it looks fantastic! I even made sure to keep your face blurred."

Vic Vanderburg, a long-time urban explorer and thrill seeker like me, owned his own blog called 'The Urban Explorer's Guide'. He'd explored caves, abandoned factories, told me the spookiest stories he's ever seen, and I ate it all up. Although he was several years older than me, reaching the big four-zero just a few months ago, the rabbit preferred me as a friend rather than a mentor.

“That's good, Trent, but I've got something else you need to look at."

Moments later and an email appeared in my inbox.

“Is this a love letter?" I joked while opening it up onscreen. Sighing, I set my phone on my desk and put Vic on speaker. “I'm flattered really, but you have a fiancé now."

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, read it over, twerp. Forget about mini-malls and rotting houses in the middle of the woods. How does a place like this sound to you?"

The email had a picture attached to it, an old photograph showing the doors of what looked like a massive building. Above a moving group of smiling vacationers hung a wooden plank from the side of a mock pirate ship, sailing in plaster waters built into the top of the crowded entrance.

“'Welcome to the Buccaneer's Bay Water Park'," I read the sign aloud, “'Fun for the entire family, where dreams are found on the seas.' Huh."

“You're too young to have heard of it, but Buccaneer's Bay used to be a popular outdoor water park here in Oregon," he explained earnestly.

“A waterpark in Oregon?" I laughed shortly. “In their weather? Sounds about as practical as a snow lodge in Nevada, Vic. I take it the place didn't do well?"

“Almost," the rabbit continued, “I thought you'd find it interesting. The place opened in '94 and became popular for tourists from Seattle. It was open only in the spring and summer and raked in plenty of money from parents sick of indoor parks."

“What changed?" I asked, still eying the cooling pizza on my desk.

Vic chuckled on the other end.

“Get this: it closed down in '08 due to some deaths over the years, especially what happened that year, but many former staff members got fired for saying it's haunted."

All thoughts about dinner dissipated, and I glimpsed back to my phone. “Seriously?"

“I'm not kidding. Go to your computer and Google 'Buccaneer's Bay accidents' and see for yourself. The stories you'll find are fucking insane, almost like they're out of The Shining," Vic told me. “I thought they tore it down years ago, but I was wrong apparently. On the news, they just announced the company who owns the land is gonna tear it down next month."

“And?"

The rabbit sighed. “Karen and me are going to visit relatives in Seattle that week, but you definitely got to look into this for your next vlog."

“Well," I trailed off nervously. “I don't know. Water parks aren't for me…"

“They're not for otters?" he joked.

“For me in general, Vic."

“Come on, just look it up and decide for yourself," he pressed on. “I've been looking across the Web, and there's only been a few other urbex bloggers who've been inside. They've only taken a few photos of the place, but not good video quality. This is a literal treasure trove for getting yourself more attention, kid."

Another voice could be heard in the background, probably from a room away.

“Listen, I gotta go, but email me what you think. Good night, Trent!"

Vic hung up before I could object. Because of my insatiable curiosity though, I ignored the notification onscreen and found a search engine to type the three words he suggested. And what I found made me further forget about my pizza. Local newspaper articles dating back to the 90s advertised Buccaneer's Bay as a family-friendly park, but it didn't attract crowds due to the popularity of other big-budget destinations in California. However, what sealed its fate were the incidents piling up over the years, including ones about a disturbed wolf strangling his wife in their motel room, a tragic suicide by one of the staff members, and a gruesome accident where an attendee on the waterslide fell off and impaled himself on a spiked gate. That one in particular resulted in the park being closed for good.

Reading the articles about several drowned attendees made me uneasy. It brought up an uncomfortable feeling in the back of my skull, pulling out an unrecalled memory from years past. I remembered seeing red-and-blue lights, and a blaring siren in my ear. The memory faded as soon as it began to emerge though.

Gripping my paws onto the desk, I managed to relax in my seat before noticing my phone vibrating again. More and more followers were leaving comments about the latest video, some asking where my next one would take place in. _ _

_ RickNRoll33: I love this show! When's your next vid coming out?_

_ TrentFan4Eva: Can you go to this spooky place near my town?_

_ DrWhovi4n: Creepy as ever. Can't wait for the next one! You're awesome!_

_ _ It crept across my muzzle, the same smile I always wore after reading the comments section below. My fans were a dedicated bunch and always commented on my videos, all of them eager to watch me explore the creepy, unexplored locations. They loved seeing me travel to these places, and I loved it to death. The more my eyes stared the pictures of Buccaneer's Bay, the more the urge pulled at me.

Sighing reluctantly, I texted my answer to Vic.

***

Gladwin, Oregon seemed like any other American town along the West Coast. Classic main street, rustic architecture, a gas station as old as the road, and a restaurant where everyone celebrated birthdays. A nearby superstore between it and the Interstate helped the location stand out on an online map, but what caught my attention were the rows of shuttered shops along the town's entrance. The few residents I talked to say the same story over and over: “Gladwin hasn't been the same since Buccaneer's Bay closed."

After telling Vic I was interested, I spent the next few weeks preparing for the road trip, all the while convincing myself this journey would be worth every penny. The plan was simple; rent a motel in town, take the car up to the waterpark a couple of hours before sundown, record some videos for the 'spooky' vibe and then leave before it got too dark. The next day, rinse and repeat once more time.

Besides bringing my backpack, I carried in it gloves, my signature face bandana, an emergency GPS, a slick camcorder and head strap camera I often used for paws-on expeditions. Vic also bothered to remind me about bringing extra mini flashlights, reminding me of the time I accidentally dropped one over a cliff ledge.

“Hahaha," I mock-laughed into my phone, carefully navigating the woods north of Gladwin. “Will you ever let that go, Vic? It was one time I dropped a flashlight…"

“Probably not, but you never know when a rookie's gonna need to be reminded."

I dryly chuckled, then paused as I spotted a clearing through the dense trees.

“Anyway, I'm gonna get going. Talk to you soon, Vic."

“Good luck, Trent." A proud click of his tongue could be heard from the speakers. “Can't wait to hear what you find!"

Hanging up, I tossed my phone aside and pulled into the dilapidated parking lot, a massive area once packed with RVs during summertime. All a family needed to do in order to come here was go down a road five miles south of Gladwin, over a small bridge and to this open area. Large cracks zig-zagged the abused blacktop, most of it covered in accumulated grass, all of it in front of a familiar sight: a wooden pirate ship—now rotting decreptively—as it stood floating on plastered waves. Above the front entrance was supposed to be a sign, but even without it, there was no doubt I found Buccaneer's Bay.

Stepping outside my parked car, I hauled my backpack out and placed my bandana over the lower half of my face, covering my nose too. Everything, the trees and the woodland ambience surrounding the place, became so remotely quiet. Beyond the fenced-off ticket booths, the casting shadows of the tops of water slides could be seen from here. I could also see gathering storm clouds. The sooner I got in, the sooner I could leave and not have to worry about getting my equipment wet.

Okay, I told myself as I grabbed my camcorder, let's do this. Click.

“Hey everyone!" I waved before turning it towards the entrance/exit booths, my enthusiasm rising all the while. “On this episode of 'Trent Explores', we're at a place Buccaneer's Bay Water Park. Right now, I'm outside the gates of this once-popular tourist attraction in the town of Gladwin, Oregon. Lovely place with a great diner, really, but we're not here to talk about local food. Today we're going to explore a water park that's supposedly haunted with the spirits of previous parkgoers. Is it all true?" I smirked. “Let's find out!"

I placed it away and turned my headgear camera on.

Of course, this was illegal. After all, scaling a chain-link fence that held a 'do not enter' sign on the front happened to be frowned upon in many jurisdictions, but this was the life of urban explorers. When you were young and eager to go where you weren't allowed to be in, nothing could stop you. This mentality had led me to interact with the police on more than one occasion. Hopefully, it wouldn't be the same for tonight.

_ _ Stumbling off the fence, I basked in the interior of a neglected tropical paradise. Past a boarded-up snack shack (or as the map I printed out earlier called it, the 'Flying Dutchman's Den'), a small pathway led to what used to be a decently-sized water park separated into three sections, all of them easily connected by a lazy river that looped around to the beginning. This allowed everyone to be able to circle the place without walking too much.

And immediately, the years of inattention could be seen from the overgrown plant life.

There wasn't anything particularly interesting in the snack shack, nor the long-abandoned locker rooms opposite of it, so I started walking down the path. My footpaws occasionally stepped on some twigs and dead leaves, and my ears could catch the sounds of distant birds.

“If you've been watching the news like one of my buddies had," I spoke loudly for my audience, “this place'll be demolished and turned into a hotel soon. Next week, actually. You can probably guess why I decided to come here. There's also the…interesting deaths to talk about. First up is an old ride called…the…"

The Whirlpool. A circular tiled tube about several yards across that imitated a miniature whirlpool for swimmers to either fight against or sway within the swirling water. Despite it being emptied and filled with dead leaves, the thought of it being filled with chlorinated water and functioning caused my tail to twitch at the imagined fun, even though I hadn't swam in years. I could picture two excitable otters like me and Ben enjoying ourselves in it.

At least, before he drowned in that river years ago. It was one of the many reasons I rarely went swimming anymore. Not to mention the nightmares that made my rudder-like tail shudder.

Don't think about it now. Focus.

“Let's check out the first reported death, shall we?" I scurried off.

In the center of the property rested a large wave pool, now decrepit and its walls a heavily graffitied mural. Interestingly, some of it looked recent. What surprised me the most though was that somebody placed an ancient couch in the shallow end, leaving it and plenty of liquor bottles behind. I could already imagine a group of eighteen or nineteen-year-olds passing a stolen pack of beer to each other while talking about which female classmates had larger boobs.

Not too far past it rested the accumulating green of weeks-old rainwater in the deep end. The idea that hundreds of parkgoers once came all this way to swim in it appeared alien to me.

“Their first reported accident occurred in 1996," I casually explained, my camera zooming towards the back of the pool, “when a fourteen-year-old wolf named Damien Markwell was in the Caribbean Waves pool. The newspapers chalked it up to a 'freak accident', because it was the beginning of summer and the lifeguards were swamped with how many had come that dat. Doctors believe he was trying to catch the largest wave by going deeper than he should have, but he got tired and passed out before drowning amid the waves."

I paused to catch my breath. “Rumor has it a few working lifeguards claimed to hear someone shout 'help' near the deep end, only to find nobody in peril. A couple of past parkgoers spoke on occasion about feeling someone desperately tug at their footpaws. Except nobody was under them in the water." A shiver ran up me. “Eerie, isn't it?"

Stepping beside the couch, I knelt down to zoom closer to the murky water.

“I can only see tadpoles though…" I turned back to the couch and chuckled, “And the crappy couch of some local teens who made this their hideout. I don't know about you, but I certainly didn't do something like drag a couch into the middle of an abandoned park in the woods and get wasted? Did you though? Leave a comment and like this video if you did!"

Besides the wave pool sat a half-toppled slip and slide called the 'Freebooter Falls', which I went to explain. Reciting what happened in 2002 sent a vivid chill down the fur of my neck. Apparently, a few teenaged tourists who graduated tried to break a supposed record of how many could slide down at a time. By the end of the day, ten were injured and one vixen died after breaking her neck from the two-story drop. The slide was repaired, and Buccaneer's Bay paid some hefty fines, but Freebooter Falls rarely saw as much popularity afterward.

Staring up, part of me couldn't help but imagine myself enduring such a fall.

The tour went on as normal; I explored the Davy Jones' Locker Rooms (finding countless sex positions crudely drawn along the tiled walls), tried to climb through the rusting jungle gym, had the wonderful opportunity to find a mountain of white pool recliners mangled together along with a hollow maintenance building disemboweled of any valuable copper wiring.

“If you're wondering what that is, it's thunder coming in," I spoke up between ragged breaths. Each step up the wooden stairs didn't push away my eagerness. “I'm gonna have us check out two more rides before I go. The first one you can see here is the big blue slide going from this ridge up top and curling all the way down to the pool connecting to the lazy river down there! And we're going inside!"

The top of the platform had everything to expect—graffiti, discarded beer bottles, the usual—I couldn't help but admire the view.

Past some trees piercing into the sky, I could spot the parking lot where my car was. The sun had already started receding and the clouds were closer than ever, so I turned my flashlight on and carefully entered the slide. It smelled like piss and I slipped at first going inside, but on my knees, I carefully scooted further down the slide's twisting and turning tunnel. The thrill of going all the way to the bottom of this thing didn't stir me.

At least, not until I was halfway down.

“Huh?"

I paused, thinking I'd heard a weird noise behind me. As my footpaws continued to try waddling faster, that was when I finally noticed it again. Soft footsteps echoing from the top.

“Weird, did you hear that?" I asked myself/the audience that would eventually watch this online. “Must've been the wind or a loose screw or something…Heh, whatever."

These slides hadn't been maintained for over ten years, so of course it'd make some noises with me on it. One time, Vic mentioned going across this ancient train bridge somewhere outside of Chicago when he was younger, and the old rabbit thought he was being followed. Yet he wasn't. All it was were the vibrations he made. The decay and age of the structure made even the slightest of movements seem like a minor earthquake.

“Want to know something?" I asked my viewers. “When I was a pup, my parents would send me to live with my aunt and uncle for the summer. Seeing some of the shacks here reminded me of this one me and my brother Ben—well, me mainly—used to go to. It was across a small river, and he convinced me it was an island where pirates used to hide their treasure. Hehe, I used to make my aunt so angry whenever I tracked mud and dirt from it into her kitchen—"

Bang!

_ _ I jumped a couple centimeters, and immediately regretted it.

“Fuck!" I screeched, “Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

Before long, I was sliding on down. Very fast.

The blue interior blurred as my body was launched back and forth on the unstable slide. Half of me expected the metal and plastic tubes to collapse with me inside while the other half expected a brutal injury. Especially as I saw a dim light below me getting closer. Instead, my paw managed to grip a piece of the outer slide, and I slowed down enough to stumble into the emptied pool.

My heart must've burst inside my ribcage. All of the air in my lungs escaped in the scream I bellowed out during the fall, while my limbs trembled at the solid ground under me. I felt immense relief before the terror and pain finally settled in. A nail nicked my left arm and left a long scratch that stung like hell. Thankfully, there wasn't too much blood. And thank God I hadn't landed on my backpack carrying the equipment.

“Ow, ow…" I winched, focusing on my sore tail. “Fuck, that smarts!"

Bang!

_ _ Freezing, I turned around back to the slide's exit. My flashlight, cutting through the twilight, could barely illuminate the shadowy interior. Unexpectedly, the echoing banging noise started to get closer.

“…hello?" I spoke up.

For a split second, I expected a cub or some thrilled parkgoer to appear with a splash. Yet I only saw darkness inside the slide. My fur stood on end as I prepared myself. All the muscles in me tensed into solid marble, yet my heartbeat continued to accelerate for whatever was coming down. The banging turned into clatter until eventually, out popped…

…one of the beer bottles. One of the same ones resting by the top of the slide. As it rolled off the slides and crashed into a million pieces at my footpaws, I sighed in immediate relief.

“Must've been knocked over during my 'trip', heh…" I convinced myself, then readjusted my headgear. “Okay…Okay, viewers, I-I…I think there's been enough exploration for one day. We're just gonna go through the lazy river tunnel and that's it. Hopefully."

The clouds were closer than they were ten minutes ago. Lightning strikes disappeared and reappeared as faraway phantoms, allowing me to visibly see where to go even without the headgear light. The lazy river was the same height as me, except the only force pulling me in its path was the need to get out of here.

I walked hurriedly down the 'river', coming across some garbage and cigarette butts here and there, until I came to a cavern embedded into the ridge overlooking Buccaneer's Bay.

Siren's Cave. Although my tail still felt sore from the fall, and my nerves were stretched thin, I scavenged enough energy to talk about this fabled place.

“S-So this is Siren's Cave," I began with a force smile, despite the head strap camera, “and out of all the rides here in Buccaneer's Bay, this place has to be the most…I wouldn't say infamous, but definitely unsettling…"

The cave was modeled to resemble a tropical cave in the Caribbean, with long-dead palm trees planted outside the entrance and a plastic toy chest covered in leaves but seeing the lack of light inside of its curving walls made me stop for a second. Some previous urban explorer drew an arrow on the wall and wrote 'Hell' in black marker.

“Get a grip, Trent." I whispered to myself. The park's exit was past this tunnel, meaning I wouldn't have to go the long way to leave. “And note to self: edit out the clips where you're talking to yourself."

I stepped into the mouth of the cave. And with each step made, the headgear's flashlight shaking between my twitching ears, I described in detail what happened in 2008.

“Imagine being a young cub," I explained, recalling the details of a forum post I discovered during my research into this place, “and your family has gone to Buccaneer's Bay for a wonderful day of swimming. You're…beyond excited. It's early in the morning that summer and you're among the first inside the place, so the first thing you decide to go on is the lazy river. Everything is fine until you and your raft go inside the Siren's Cave. Instead of seeing creepy statues of mermaids or pirate mannequins on the sides of the river though, you find something else. A dead body.

“Not just any dead body though. It belonged to a thirty-four-year-old tiger named Jason Reid, the new owner of the park back then. See, it turned out that Mr. Reid had a…gambling problem. He just lost $8,000 due to online poker and wasn't as financially smart as his predecessor. It was suspected he was skimming money from his employees' salaries to try and pay for the debt, but the park couldn't pay back because of so many things. Declining interest, the accident lawsuits piling up, but then…then all the lifeguards threatened to quit if they didn't receive their paychecks. They hired an attorney and everything.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Reid was in a downward spiral. Everything came to an end the morning of July 23rd of that year. He was drinking that day and went inside the Siren's Cave with a shotgun. Buccaneer's Bay hasn't been open since…"

Siren's Cove wasn't exactly long, but it might have felt that way. By the time I finished telling my audience about it, I couldn't see the entrance behind me. The only source of light came from my camera as it illuminated the trench-like river. I could feel the immense weight of the walls and ceiling bore onto me. If the tunnel collapsed, it wouldn't be until next week that construction workers would find my body. If they didn't decide to pave it over first.

Would I become another ghost here?

_ Shut up_. I chastised myself. You're getting paranoid. There's no ghosts.

It was easy for urban explorers to be superstitious. I'd seen countless videos online showing them go to haunted houses, haunted malls, cursed buildings, but it wasn't until earlier today with the beer bottle that I started to grow suspicious. Was somebody following me or something?

Suddenly, I heard breathing behind me. Deeper in the tunnel.

I slowly twisted my neck to gaze back at the solid wall of black behind my tail.

“Anybody there?" my shaking voice echoed. “Hello?"

Silence.

“I know you're there!" I spoke firmly. “If you're the bastard who threw that bottle down the slide, then you got me. Hahaha! Now please stop fucking around with me and show yourself. I've got a video recording right now."

More silence. But I could hear something pitter-pattering, and it wasn't natural. Before my rational side could argue, I turned back and went back towards the noise. My flashlight plus the dusty bulbs embedded into the faux-rock ceiling caused some momentary glares reflecting off them, but it didn't prevent me from seeing a figure climb up an emergency ladder on the left ledge of the lazy river.

“I see you, dammit!" I groaned, “Stop!"

A slamming door could be heard atop the ladder. So, I impatiently scurried up it to find a lone alcove in the wall. And in the alcove, poorly camouflaged against the brown interior of the 'cave', rested a white door with the words 'Maintenance – Do Not Enter' on it.

“Good idea, buddy: go into the maintenance closet," I muttered in disbelief. Sighing, I gripped the door. “Listen, I'll admit it's not…technically legal for me to be here either, but there's no point in hiding."

When nobody responded, I leaned my ear carefully against the door. Heavy, jagged breathing could be heard through the aging metal barrier, as well as a voice.

“…you don't belong here…"

“You're one to talk!" I growled between grunts, attempting to open the door. “Now come out! And show yourself!" That was when it violently flung back open, propelling me backwards and hitting my head at the bottom of the lazy river.

***

Most people knew I had a dead brother, but not the circumstances of his death.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, the memories of that day resurfaced in my horrid dreams. Ben was fifteen while I remained the scrawny ten-year-old otter with a slight pop tart addiction. Despite this, as North American river otters, we both loved the water. We loved how our bodies fluidly curved and cut through it, as well as the rushing sensation across our fur. Cruelly though, it was this same obsession that became Ben's end.

“W-We're not supposed to go in this lake!"

_ “Shut up, squirt! Aunt Sheila and Uncle Joe are busy at the campsite, so don't worry!"_

_ “They said there's a whirlpool! Ben, don't go in!"_

_ “The water's fine, Trent! You're missing out!"_

I never told anyone about it, but I still had nightmares sometimes. In each dream, I remembered following him along the lake shore, my eyes trained on Ben's body floating deeper into the center. His tan fur and red swim trunks stood out against the semi-black water. He'd stopped answering my pleas long ago, and as much as I will for him to turn, to kick as hard as he could back to the beach, my older brother wouldn't.

I'd never felt so helpless until minutes later.

“Wha—Oh fuck, help! Help me!"

_ “Ben? Ben!"_

_ “I can't get out!"_

_ “Oh no, Ben! No! Swim faster!"_

_ “I can't—"_

_ “Ben, go faster! Ben!"_

_ “Mfh, help me—Help! Trent, help me!!"_

I didn't though. I helplessly stood on that shore, crying while I watched him be gradually pulled underneath his thrashing waves. Next thing I knew, they gradually stilled into a flat mirror. Ben's body wouldn't be seen for what felt like ages, until tanned, lifeless fur would flat to the surface and breach. His bloodshot eyes would crane in my direction, then glare furiously across the lake. Right at me. Right into my guilty soul.

“Why didn't you save me?"

I screamed back to consciousness.

My dampened cheeks burned until there was no longer a lingering echo. What I had been wailing had turned into a whimpering sob. However, I choked back the tears when recent memories brought me back to where I was.

It was even darker than before. Sitting up, I realized I was still inside the Siren's Save at Buccaneer's Bay. Thankfully, my flashlight still shone brightly on my headgear, but the back of my clothes was soaked wet from…running water? Yes, the lazy river somehow had a couple centimeters of it floating in one direction. Towards the exit.

The swelling on the back of my skull throbbed intensely as I started standing, especially as I climbed back up the ladder onto the ledge. It felt like an achievement to even be awake, but my main concern was how much time had passed. My equipment must've been soaked and ruined by now, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to get back to the motel. Or at the very least, a hospital after that fall.

My entire body froze. Was the stranger still here?

Carefully, I peeked up over the concrete ledge. The alcove remained dark, and the door was still open, but all I could see inside were an abandoned mop and bucket. No tall silhouettes or ghosts or demonic-faced ghouls to be seen.

Quit it. Whoever it was probably left long after you hit your head, I hissed at myself again, this time wincing at my bruised head. Ugh, now pull yourself together and go to a hospital, Trent. You can worry about the equipment and footage later. Just go!

Between grunts and whimpers, I was able enough to climb onto the ledge and followed the lazy river out towards the exit. The heavy sounds akin to running water were getting closer and closer, but it wasn't coming from the bottom of the artificial trench beside me. It was coming farther down the tunnel, and it was a noise I dreaded to recognize.

“Vic is never going to let this down when he finds out," I groaned. “First the flashlight and now a lecture about proper planning ahead. What's next—"

My paws were wet. And not in the way you think. As I glanced back down to the ledge, I found droplets and wet prints. Part of me didn't realize it until now, but the roof of the Siren's Cave was made of molded rock. Dry as a literal bone.

“Who…" I muttered, “What…brought this…in here?"

Then I heard another banging noise behind me. Like a door closing.

Whatever strength to leave immediately grew tenfold. I ignored the searing pain with each step and ran towards the cave exit. As my heart raced and my skull burned the same temperature as petrified blood, the image of a police officer questioning me now looked more welcoming than before.

The seconds to the exit were packed by things my horror-enslaved mind noticed. I heard something breathing heavily behind me, combined with a gurgling noise that couldn't ever be natural. Sloshing noises, either behind me or in the watery trench, resonated in my ears like angry music. A sharp claw nail belonging to the stranger's footpaw or one of many loose screws scraped at the tip of my rudder tail. Repeatedly!

Was this stranger directly behind me or a stone's throw away? Did he intend to kill me or kidnap me or bore whatever its eyes were into me?

I wasn't too far outside the tunnel. I needed to keep going. I needed to waddle faster than I ever had to in my entire life. I was a fool for going in the first place! I could have been exploring another lost mini mall or a trailer park instead of this! Now a murderous stalker was going to grab me and slit my throat!

There was the exit! Thank God, I could see flashes of lightning! Now I could plainly hear falling rain. And smell it too! My footpaws stumbles faster out of the darkness. I even forgot about my backpack at the bottom of the lazy river. Outside, I could spot more tremendous, tropical-themed structures through the thick rain pounding down beyond the cave.

At long last, gallons of rainwater drenched my vision and body. Brief reprieve overwhelmed me, made my tail wag as well as a joyous laugh to bubble from the back of my sore throat. Unfortunately, when my eyes wandered back to the mouth of the cave, expecting nothing and seeing nothing, there wasn't nothing.

A silhouette of a tall wolf. Standing there without a maw or eyes or anything. Even under an erratic series of lightning flashes, no natural kind could brighten its form.

I was gripped by true terror.

“No…No, you're…?" I mumbled over and over with wet lips, “You can't be…"

It remained silent before walking directly into the rain.

I ran. Or rather, I psychotically stumbled through the rain. Each time I glanced back in delirious horror, I could see more of these phantoms. By a pool, sitting on a forgotten bench or just…standing there. In the rain. Looking at me. All of them staring directly at me!

In hindsight, I wasn't aware of my surroundings. I didn't have time to react to my body slamming in the metal barrier of the Whirlpool ride, now filled to the brim with collected rainwater from tonight and days passed. The rusted gate immediately gave way to my weight, causing me to fall in.

The water tasted awful, making me lurch and vomit. Every second beneath felt like a pair of ghostly, monstrous paws were trying to drag me back under. No matter how hard I tried to claw myself out, no matter how much air I tried to gulp down each time I breached the surface, it was useless. In the mere moments before everything became black, I could hear voices over my helpless shrieks.

“Why didn't you save me?"

_ “My back hurts! I think I fell!"_

_ “I can't swim! The waves—"_

_ “—too strong. Couldn't resist another gamble."_

_ “Give me a paw! Help me!"_

_ “You need to help me!"_

_ “It's too strong!"_

_ “Help me!"_

_ “Help me!"_

_ “Help me!"_

***

“—I'm minding my own business when a tiger thinks I'm hitting on his girl! I'm not even flirting with her for fuck's sake—asking only where the bathroom in the joint is—and he's screaming in my face!"

“What'd you do then? Punch him?"

“I ran off to take my piss, went back out and then punched him!"

The bear and the Siberian tiger laughed together as they hauled scraps of wood from a destroyed ride. Both clearly preferred being in some random bar as opposed to a random, run-down water park in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon. Hell, they could barely even have a conversation over the noise of a nearby wrecking ball demolishing the Siren's Cave. Still, a job was a job in this economy.

Buccaneer's Bay hadn't seen this many people in its walls for years. Across the park, a bulldozer pushed the entrance remains into a corner pile. The remnants of a mock pirate ship lay half-sunk in the small sea of concrete rubble and graffitied plaster, while a platoon of construction vehicles begun tearing the monuments of fun down piece by piece. By the end of next week, the only signature of a water park would be the massive parking lot.

As I wandered through the property, watching them carelessly pulling apart everything attached and unattached to the ground, a distant part of me wondered where I would go.

“—hear about that poor otter—Trent something—who died here?"

“I did! Some twenty-something internet vlogger who drowned after breaking in here."

“What an idiot. Got himself killed for some likes and shit."

“Yeah…Wait...did you hear that?"

“How can you hear anything?!"

“Yeah…Yeah, never mind!"