Nathan Taylor, Aron Scott, and Jackson Tilman had been fascinated with horror movies since grade school. Horror magazines, rare old masks, and anything associated with classic horror had become lifelong hobbies. But what fascinated them most were the dark rides found at old state fairs. Some were terrifying. Others, they agreed, could have been done a whole lot better.
For years, the three friends had talked about creating their own Halloween haunt, one filled with atmosphere, eerie surprises, and the ultimate jump scares around every corner.
Then old man Benson, a local historian, told them about something that sounded almost too good to be true.
Somewhere in southern Georgia, just outside the nearly abandoned town of Harrisville, is an old fairground that hadn't operated in more than fifty years. According to Benson, the fairgrounds had once been enormously popular.
It also came with a few horror stories attached to it.
The old man leaned back in his chair.
And in a strange tone, “With a little fixin' up, you boys just might turn that place into something again. Maybe even breathe some life back into a town that's practically dead.”
Nathan looked at Aron.
Aron looked at Jackson.
They didn't need much convincing.
Two days later, they packed Jackson’s SUV with enough clothes and equipment for several days and headed south.
The first couple of hours passed quickly. They talked almost nonstop about their plans for the fairgrounds.
“Real actors,” Aron said. “No cheap rubber skeletons hanging from fishing line.”
Jackson laughed. “What's wrong with rubber skeletons?”
“Everything.”
Nathan looked back from the passenger seat. “We keep whatever's original. That's the important part. If this place really has been sitting untouched for fifty years, we don't need to turn it into some modern amusement park.”
“Agreed,” Jackson said. “We restore it.”
That word stayed with Nathan.
Restore.
None of them had considered that some things should be left undone for a reason.
By midafternoon, the interstate was behind them. The restaurants and shopping centers gradually disappeared, replaced by long stretches of pine forest, farmland, and two-lane blacktop.
Cell service became unreliable.
Eventually, even the radio began fading between stations.
Jackson tapped the navigation screen.
“We're getting close.”
“How close?” Aron asked.
“About thirty miles.”
Aron stared through the windshield at the empty road ahead.
“Doesn't look like there's a town within thirty miles.”
Several miles later, they passed their first sign.
HARRISVILLE 18 MILES
Beneath it, someone had spray-painted three words:
TURN BACK NOW
Jackson slowed slightly.
Aron looked at Nathan.
“I'm guessing that's not from the Chamber of Commerce.”
They laughed.
But Nathan turned in his seat and watched the sign disappear behind them.
Somewhere beyond the spaces between the tall pine trees, an old set of railroad tracks appeared and began running alongside the highway.
And from that point on, none of them saw another car headed toward Harrisville.
About sixteen miles outside town, Jackson spotted an old roadside diner beside a weather-beaten gas station.
“Coffee,” he announced. “Before civilization completely disappears.”
They pulled in.
The place looked as though it had been sitting there since the highway was built. Two pickup trucks occupied the parking lot, and an old Coca-Cola sign creaked above the entrance.
Inside, Nathan mentioned where they were headed.
“Harrisville.”
The conversation at the counter stopped.
An elderly man sitting alone at the far end slowly lowered his coffee cup.
“Harrisville?”
“Yeah,” Aron said. “We're looking at the old fairgrounds.”
The man stared at the faces of each of the three men as if they were suspects in a crime yet to be committed.
“The fairgrounds are closed.”
“For now,” Jackson replied. “We're thinking about reopening it.”
The waitress stopped pouring coffee.
The elderly man reached into his pocket, placed several dollars beside his cup, and stood.
Nathan smiled. “You remember the place?”
The man put on his cap.
“I remember when everybody left.”
That wiped the smile from Nathan's face.
“Why'd they leave?”
The old man walked toward the door.
Nathan called after him.
“What happened out there?”
The man stopped but didn't turn around.
“If you hear knocking after dark, don't go looking for where it's coming from.”
Then he stepped outside.
Jackson watched through the window as the old man drove away.
After several seconds, Aron picked up his coffee.
“Well,” he said, “that's encouraging.”
Nathan laughed.
But the waitress didn't.
She quietly placed their check on the counter.
“You boys planning to stay in town overnight at that motel?”
Nathan nodded.
The waitress looked toward the highway leading south.
“Then don't answer the door after it gets dark.”
Why?
The waitress gave no explanation. She turned and walked away.
An old gentleman approached their table.
"Excuse me, young fellas, you want to know more about Harrisville? "
"We couldn't find much about it online."
The old man had an uncanny resemblance to old man Benson. "Harrisville," he started, "is a ghost town that was established in the 18th century, before the factories, before the city railroad. People lived and died there, working the tobacco plantation and textile mill; now it's a mess of decaying brick buildings and rotting wooden homes, except for the fairgrounds and the only standing factory. The fairgrounds once had life, a place to go every weekend; they had the first fully operational amusement park in that part of the state, with a roller coaster and bumper car attractions. Then there was the Fun House. That damn Fun House, A 60-foot by 100-foot building, with odd stuff and the Room of Mirrors. Everything else around the area is deteriorating into nothing. You boys be careful, stay alert, and listen."
Jackson leaning back in his chair: "Well, now that we've gotten the all-clear up. Let's say we head into town and get our rooms, shall we?"
"We have a meeting with the Mayor and fire marshal at 10 a.m. tomorrow to set up a fire inspection. And we need to get it approved before we can even start any work.
In the morning, they met with the mayor and the fire marshal at City Hall and had a long talk with the fire marshal and Mayor Jameson. An easy pitch to convince them the inspection was important for the survival of what was left of the town.
The following day, after the inspection, the fire marshal returned to City Hall to have a few words with Mayor Jameson.
"Did you tell those boys everything about the fairgrounds, Jameson?"
"Of course I did." Half smiling. "They knew enough."
"The factory, the railroad tracks?"
Jameson nodded
The marshal looked toward the fairgrounds. "Did you tell them why the fairgrounds closed?"
Jameson: "Look, those boys are going to rebuild the fairgrounds, including the Fun House."
"Look, I know."
Jameson, a little annoyed about the questioning: "Do you realize what an impact that will have on this town?"
"Yeah, I know." His expression changed. "Then you'd better tell them the truth about what happened the last night it was open."
The following morning, the men met up with the mayor at the edge of the fairgrounds property. There were abandoned cars, and the main gate was hanging from its hinges. Oddly, there were flickering lights that raised the question of as to where the electricity was coming from.
The Mayor drove up and parked beside them.
"Good news, guys, the marshal has given you the thumbs up."
Great!
Aron, excited to get started: "How about giving us a tour?" Nathan turned and stared at the Fun House for a minute, and when he turned back around, the Mayor was back in his car, the motor running.
"Sorry, guys, I have a ton of paperwork to do back at town hall. Take your time, look around."
The men branched out over the grounds to do their individual investigations.
"This place is in amazingly good shape," Aron shouted.
He walked alongside the row of concession stands; he could see that not much work needed to be done. In fact, it didn't look like they'd been used much at all. Just a buildup of fifty years of dirt.
Jackson continued down the main stretch of the fairground, stepping over old discarded artifacts left from years gone by. The Ferris wheel looked fully intact, with no loose wires. The wooden roller coaster and the bumper cars needed a little maintenance; that's it. But he thought it odd that the rope lights that surrounded the grounds were faintly flickering since the electricity hadn't been connected.
Nathan forced the door open to the huge building with a large sign that read Fun House, which once housed the oddities and the Room of Mirrors. It was a bit dark; the only light came from the open door that he entered through and a few dusty windows. As Nathan entered the Room of Mirrors, he noticed something disturbing: every reflection in the mirrors was looking in the same direction, but not at him.
He had a sense that something was standing somewhere beyond him. Nathan slowly turned...nothing. Then, deep somewhere inside the Fun House, he heard a knock, then a pause...knock. Everything became deadly silent; Nathan stood still for a long moment, listening. His senses were heightened as he turned and left the building. Outside, he gathered with the other two men, but he didn't mention what he had heard or seen. They departed the fairgrounds at around 3:17 pm to talk over a few details at dinner.
Jackson: "I found a crew; they'll be coming in tomorrow morning, so we'd better get back to the motel and get some rest." They were dead tired, too tired to answer the faint knock at the door,
The next morning, they had a full crew, along with a few locals and a couple of curious senior residents. They spread out, cleaning the midway
By eight, the fairgrounds looked different.
Pickup trucks lined the old entrance road. Ladders leaned against weathered buildings, pressure washers coughed to life, and for the first time in decades, voices and laughter carried across the midway.
Nathan stood near the entrance and took it all in.
“This might actually work.”
Aron laughed. “Ask me that again in two weeks.”
Jackson walked past carrying a coil of electrical cable.
“Ask me after we see how much all this is going to cost.”
More local residents had volunteered to help. Mayor Jameson had even shown up wearing old jeans and work gloves. But Nathan noticed something peculiar about the older workers.
None of them would go near the Fun House building.
They would clear brush from around it. Stack lumber beside it. Even help repair the sign hanging over the entrance.
But nobody would step inside.
By noon, Jackson had one of the old bumper cars
“Power isn't even connected yet,” Aron said.
“I know.”
As the two stared at it, the bumper car jerked forward.
Jackson: "Aron, slowly turn to your left and look down the midway at the Ferris wheel and the Carousel."
They were rotating, then suddenly stopped as if they had brakes.
Jackson checked the cable lying beside the control box.
All still disconnected.
Neither man said anything.
By late afternoon, Nathan was inside the Fun House removing broken panels when footsteps crossed the roof above him.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He stepped outside.
“Jackson! You up there?”
No answer.
Aron appeared from around the corner.
“What?”
“Someone's on the roof.”
They found the ladder lying exactly where Nathan had left it.
On the ground.
That evening, the older volunteers packed their tools earlier than everyone else.
One elderly man walked past Nathan without saying goodbye.
“You coming back tomorrow?” Nathan called.
The man stopped.
His attention moved toward the Fun House.
“No, sir. Not me.”
“Why not?”
The old man hesitated.
“You boys ought to leave before dark.”
Nathan smiled. “Afraid of ghosts?”
The man didn't smile back.
“Ghosts are dead.”
Then he walked away.
Mourning came. Nathan and Jackson went into Harrisville to visit the town's old administration building next to the Mayor's office, looking for something that could tell them more about the fairgrounds. They found a metal cabinet that contained drawings and blueprints of nearly every attraction that had once stood on the grounds.
Jackson spread the Fun House plans across a dusty desk.
“Something's wrong.”
Nathan leaned over his shoulder.
“What?”
Jackson pointed.
According to the blueprint, another corridor ran behind the Room of Mirrors.
They returned to the fairgrounds with the blueprints and met Aron in front of the Fun House for a little more verification.
There was no corridor.
Only a wall.
Aron tapped it with the handle of a screwdriver.
Hollow.
It took them twenty minutes to remove the plywood covering.
Behind it stood a door.
There was no handle on their side.
Nathan wedged a pry bar into the frame.
The door groaned open.
Cold air slipped through the opening.
Jackson aimed his flashlight inside.
A narrow corridor disappeared into darkness.
Mirrors lined both walls.
Every single mirror had been covered with heavy black cloth.
Nobody made a joke this time.
Nathan stepped inside.
“Wait,” Aron said.
Nathan stopped.
From somewhere behind the covered mirrors came a sound.
Knock.
Nathan stared into the darkness.
A second followed.
Knock.
Then a third.
Knock.
Behind them, someone dropped something.
They turned.
Mayor Jameson stood in the doorway of the Fun House.
His face had gone pale.
“Close that damn door!”
Nathan frowned. “What?”
“Put the wall back.”
“Mayor, what's going on?”
Jameson looked at the covered mirrors.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then quietly:
“I should've told you before you started.”
“Told us what?”
Jameson looked at Nathan.
“The reason Harrisville emptied.”
Aron folded his arms.
“We thought the factories closed.”
“They did.”
Jameson stepped into the corridor.
“But towns don't lose twenty thousand people in two months because a factory closes.”
Nathan glanced at the mirrors.
“What happened?”
Jameson drew a slow breath.
“People started seeing things in here.”
“Ghosts?”
“No.”
Jameson looked toward the nearest covered mirror.
“Tomorrow.”
Silence settled over the corridor.
Nathan almost laughed.
Then he saw Jameson wasn't joking.
“What did they see?”
“Different things at first.”
Jameson paused.
“Then on Halloween night, everybody saw the same thing.”
“What?”
“Morning.”
Jameson looked toward the Fun House entrance.
"Before I answer any more questions, we need to get out of here."
“The fairgrounds were empty. Cars abandoned. Gates open. Lights still burning.”
Nathan waited.
“There was something else, wasn't there?”
Jameson nodded.
“Everyone in the reflection was looking toward the same place.”
Aron whispered, “At what?”
Jameson looked at him.
“We never found out.”
He started toward the exit.
Nathan caught his arm.
“Mayor, there's more.”
Jameson stopped.
“Yes.”
“What?”
Jameson looked back into the corridor.
“At 3:17 the next morning, someone knocked on the front door of our house”
He looked at each of them.
“Three times.”
And from somewhere deep inside the Fun House came another quiet:
Knock.
Everyone stood frozen for a second.
Jameson stared into the dark corridor.
He continues. “I was nine years old when it happened.”
Nathan said nothing.
“The fair had closed a little after midnight. My father took us straight home. Nobody talked on the way. Not my mother. Not my father. Not me.”
Jameson rubbed his hands together slowly.
“I remember sitting on the living-room floor while my father smoked at the kitchen table. We had one of those big wooden clocks, similar to one of those loud German Black Forest types, hanging over the television. Loud thing. You could hear every second.”
He glanced toward Nathan.
“I haven't owned a ticking clock since.”
Aron shifted uneasily.
“What happened?”
“At exactly 3:17, someone knocked on our front door.”
Jameson tapped his knuckle against the desk.
Knock.
“My father looked toward the hallway.”
Jameson waited.
Then:
Knock.
“My mother whispered, ‘Don't answer it.’”
Jackson swallowed.
“And the third?”
Jameson looked at him.
“The third knock didn't come from the door.”
Silence.
“It came from the kitchen window.”
Nathan frowned.
“The kitchen was around the side of the house?”
Jameson nodded.
“My father realized the same thing.”
“How could someone get there that fast?”
“They couldn't.”
Jameson's voice dropped.
“Because we'd have heard them.”
Nobody spoke.
“Then porch lights started coming on across the street. One house. Then another. Then another.”
Nathan understood.
“Other people were hearing the knocks?”
“Everyone was.”
Jameson walked slowly toward the window.
“The Henderson family lived across the street from us about 45 years ago. One night Mr. Henderson came outside and turned on his porch light.”
Jameson paused.
“What happened when he opened his front door?”
“What was there?”
“Nothing.”
Jackson frowned. “Nothing?”
“Nothing we could see.”
Jameson turned back toward them.
“Mr. Henderson stood there maybe ten seconds. Looked one way, then the other. Then he stepped back inside and closed the door.”
Nathan waited.
“What happened to them?”
Jameson's eyes remained on him.
“The next morning their house was empty.”
Aron gave a nervous laugh.
“They left.”
“No.”
The laugh died.
“Their car was still there. Mrs. Henderson's purse was sitting on the kitchen table. Breakfast dishes were in the sink.”
Nathan felt something tighten in his stomach.
“The whole family?”
Jameson nodded.
“Gone.”
He took a breath.
“By the second night, nobody opened their doors.”
“Did the knocking come back?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Every night.”
Nathan looked at the covered mirrors.
“At 3:17?”
“Always.”
Jameson continued.
“People started leaving. At first, families packed properly. Then people simply threw whatever they could into their cars.”
He stared through the window and back attoward the distant fairgrounds.
“My father had us gone before the end of the week.”
Nathan stepped closer.
“But you came back.”
“Years later.”
“Why?”
Jameson considered the question.
“Because Harrisville was still my home.”
Then he looked toward the Fun House.
“And because the knocking had stopped.”
Nathan suddenly understood.
“When the fair closed.”
Jameson nodded.
Nathan's expression hardened.
“And you still let us reopen it.”
Jameson didn't answer.
“You knew.”
“I hoped it was over.”
Nathan stared at him.
“You hoped?”
Jameson met his eyes.
“This town was dying, Nathan.”
“And now?”
Before Jameson could answer, something struck the roof of the building.
Knock.
Everyone froze.
Several seconds passed.
Then:
Knock.
Jackson whispered:
“That's two.”
Nothing followed.
Nathan slowly exhaled.
Then Jameson's cellphone rang.
All four men jumped.
It rang again.
He didn't answer.
Later that day, the workers noticed small things beginning to happen at the fairground.
A repaired ride starts before power is connected.
Footsteps cross the fun-house roof.
A mirror shows Jackson standing several feet farther back than he actually is.
Nathan hears three knocks from behind a wall they haven't opened yet.
And every time something happens, an elderly resident quietly leaves.
At the main office, Jackson discovers more old records. Soon, Aron, Nathan, and Mayor Jameson join him.
The fun house blueprint is different than the prints that they saw at the town office. It contains a corridor that no longer exists.
Or should it?
Behind this wall, they discover another door.
Beyond it is a hallway lined with mirrors. The place is like a maze.
Every mirror has been covered with heavy black cloth.
That's when Mayor Jameson finally tells them:
Fifty years ago, people began seeing things in those mirrors.
Not ghosts.
Tomorrow.
Then one night nearly everyone saw the same tomorrow.
By sunrise, Harrisville began emptying.
Jameson closed the office door and turned the lock.
Nathan noticed.
“Mayor?”
Jameson remained facing the door for a moment.
“When I told you people left Harrisville because the factories closed, that wasn't exactly a lie.”
Aron folded his arms. “That's an interesting way of putting it.”
“The factories did close. People did lose their jobs. Harrisville would've declined eventually.”
“Eventually?” Jackson said.
Jameson walked to his desk.
“But towns don't lose twenty thousand people in two months.”
Nobody spoke.
Jameson opened the bottom drawer and removed a yellowed newspaper clipping.
“October thirty-first. Fifty-three years ago. Last night the fairgrounds operated.”
Nathan took the clipping.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Nathan looked up.
Jameson gave a humorless little laugh.
“That's the problem. No fire. No murders. No explosion. Nobody disappeared. At midnight, the fair closed normally.”
He hesitated.
“By sunrise, families were leaving Harrisville.”
“Why?”
“People started seeing things.”
Aron leaned forward. “What things?”
Jameson looked toward the window.
“Tomorrow.”
That silenced them.
“The stories weren't all the same. One woman supposedly saw her kitchen before a grease fire. Another man saw a wreck that hadn't happened yet. Someone else saw an empty chair at the dinner table.”
“In the fun house?” Nathan asked.
Jameson nodded.
“The mirrors.”
Jackson almost smiled. “Come on.”
“I didn't believe it either.”
“Didn't?”
Jameson looked at him.
“I was nine years old.”
The room became very still.
“My father took me there that Halloween.”
Nathan slowly lowered the clipping.
“What did you see?”
“That isn't important.”
“Mayor...”
“I said it isn't important.”
For the first time, there was genuine anger in Jameson's voice.
Then it disappeared.
“What matters is what everybody saw just before closing.”
“What?”
“The same thing.”
Nathan waited.
Jameson swallowed.
“Morning.”
Jackson frowned. “Morning?”
“The fairgrounds. Empty. Gates standing open. Cars abandoned. Lights burning in buildings where nobody was anymore.”
“And?”
Jameson stared at Nathan.
“That was all.”
Nathan knew immediately that it wasn't.
“What aren't you telling us?”
Jameson's eyes fell to the desk.
“My father was holding my hand when we looked into that mirror. Then he squeezed it so hard it hurt.”
“Why?”
Jameson waited several seconds before answering.
“Because everybody in the reflection was looking at something.”
“Looking at what?”
“We couldn't see it.”
Nathan felt the hair rise along his arms.
Jameson continued quietly.
“Whatever they were looking at was standing outside the mirror.”
Nobody moved.
Finally, Aron asked, “What happened after that?”
“The fair closed. People went home.”
It was enormously successful.
Children laughing. Music. Ferris wheel turning. Fun House packed.
For the first time in years, Harrisville felt alive.
Then Nathan notices an old mirror they never restored.
Someone has removed its covering.
Nathan looks into it.
The midway is deserted.
But the reflection isn't showing the present.
It's showing morning.
Cars sit abandoned with their doors open.
The Ferris wheel is still turning.
Aron whispers:
“Nathan...”
Every mirror in the room now shows the same empty morning.
Except one.
That mirror shows tonight.
Hundreds of people are still walking through the fair.
Then, one by one, everyone in the reflection stops.
They all turn toward something Nathan cannot see
Nathan realizes what happened fifty years ago.
The mirrors weren't warning Harrisville about something that might come.
They were showing something that would come when the fair reopened.
Suddenly:
Knock.
The crowd outside continues laughing.
Knock.
Jackson whispers:
“That's two.”
Then every light on the fairground goes dark.
The Ferris wheel slows; the ancient machinery groans somewhere beyond the Fun House
Silence.
From somewhere beyond the Fun House comes the third knock.
.Not from the walls.
Not from the roof.
From the Main gate
Hundreds of people fell silent. Nobody moves.
Except for one vaguely familiar figure that stood at the far end of the fairground.
Then the ancient loudspeaker above the midway crackles.
Then a voice that hasn't been heard in Harrisville in fifty years:
“Welcome back.”
"Some attractions are closed for the season."
"Some are waiting for you to return."
Happy Halloween
M.N. Curry
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