Good morning everyone. An absolute flood of earnings since yesterday’s closing bell:
KLXE 40 IGIC 75 NVEI 60 DEI 60 IPAR 60 CERT 65 INTA 80 ERO 65
KE 55 ODD 80 [Slight revise up too] AGO 75 PRPL 60 LDI 55 MEC 70
RRR 60 SD 60 GIFI 60 KGC 75 DH 60 VTOL 70 ARIS 80 DO 85 CRCT 60
USPH 60 LEU 50 HCKT 65 GO 55 [Revised down] FLYW 60 TPFM 40
CRC 30 [Sales down 55%] BIO 60 ICHR 55 SCOR 50 LAND 60 UIS 65
ARKO 65 PRO 65 ALAB 85 [Speculative growth stock?] PSTL 70 ENV 70
STKS 55 KIND 65 OLO 70 CMP 60 MEG 55 MRCY 50 DV 65 [Lowered Guidance]
RPD 65 NATR 60 POWI 65 SWIM 55 SNCR 65 AMRK 50 AWR 65 FTK 60
TMCI 60 MTW 60 CHRD 60 EGY 75 RMR 60 SHLS 55 [Lowered Guidance]
SVC 60 BL 75 ANGI 65 HY 80 RDDT 60 AMRC 60 AZPN 75 CDRE 55
AIZ 80 BRP 75 JKHY 60 KD 65 HEAR 70 GMED 90 GXO 60 MTCH 65 [Revise down, I will buy on weakness I see the value in a 10-11x PE] MYGN 65 PWSC 60
SMWB 70 REAL 65 RYAM 60 MGY 65 IAC 60 BROS 85 ANDE 55
ATER 45 [Sales down 42%, sandbag] BKD 65 CLOV 70 [Revise up] MASI 75
PEN 75 PUBM 80 [Revise up] CFLT 75 ICUI 75 MCK 60 NVRO 65 LAZR 65
HASI 90 OPK 55 OXY 55 PR 55 VECO 70 SONO 55 GNL 60 RIVN 60 [Good growth though] QYLS 75 ZI 65 [Lowered Guidance] RNG 70 GPRO 60 [Sandbag] LOPE 75
TOST 60 [Raised guidance though] LYFT 75 [Getting Better] PRTS 65 EA 60
TWLO 75 [Slow Guidance looking at 5-10% growth] ANET 80 RVLV 60 UPST 65 [Sandbag, lowered guidance] SPCE 50 [Revenue under 2 million, REALL!?] KTOS 85
CRSR 60 CRUS 75 WYNN 80 HALO 75 IRBT 65 RDFN 90 [Raised guidance, big bottom line beat] AOSL 70 CPNG 60 IEP 55 FOX 65 IMXI 60 SMRT 55 TGNA 60
GLP 55 ASC 65 ALIT 60 VCEL 65 AY 65 HLLY 60 SATS 55 MMI 65 GNE 65
GFF 80 BAM 55 MCFT 55 [YOY declines in sales and earnings, don’t care to Sandbag]
PAYO 80 KLTR 75 VSH 60 BCO 80 MIDD 55 BKSY 60 TRIP 75 HAIN 60
VERX 70 VVV 60 LCII 80 DIN 55 PFGC 60 NYT 75 BBGI 65 NFE 70 RMBL 60
GENI 60 BR 60 QRTEA 60 SHOP 75 [Lowered Guidance] AFRM 75 [Good growth 51% but still lost 43 cents per share] REYN 65 SUN 65
PERI 80 [This is because valuation was on the floor, they did sandbag, but a 6-7x PE for a software company!? Revise up] TEVA 60 RCM 60 STWD 60 EMR 75 UBER 60 [Great company, growth is slowing, maturing] ODP 55 INSW 70 TH 65 DCO 65 PRKS 65 LEV 60
DINO 60 [1 Billion Buyback] WWW 65 ELAN 65 TBLA 70
ACMR 99 [105% growth and making money!] EPC 70 INGR 60 LL 50 [Sad years ago this was a monster!] LPX 95 YOU 99 [35% growth, double EPS] OPFI 75
I actually spent about an hour last night looking at earnings as well. It is important to always check earnings. A company can make 1 bad decision 1 day and can change the whole path of a company. Each quarter you can see if the company is on the same path.
For instance, SHOP and TWLO earnings were good… but the growth has slowed, they are both maturing at the moment. Can you give these companies the same 50x PE ratio you once did, when they grew 20%+ [Remember, for me, growth has to be at least 20% year over year (This is because on a good year you can see 10-20% for SP500) For me hyper growth has to be at least 30%] UBER earnings weren’t good, I scored it a 60, much of this has to do with the growth and high teens and now the valuation… I was big on UBER a couple of years ago as growth was near 40% and they were just on the brink of making money, at that time, if you recall, the stock was in the 20s! I traded it a lot. You can do a search:
Here at Ultimate traders
Type in UBER
The point is, when you buy a stock, unless you have confidence they will always adapt, you must check every quarter. Earnings season is the best time to make or lose money, to add or subtract stocks to your watch list..
The honest truth…
If you are trading companies coming off an 85+ score, unless it has a PE above 40-50 chances are you will not lose….
I generally like, if possible to be trading companies with at least a 75, this means that the company beat top and bottom line estimates [Both! By at least 5%, that they also had a 5% earnings growth and 10% sales growth year over year! THIS IS FOR MY PROTECTION!] Yes, I am a hard grader, I care about my money!
If you are trading companies with a 65 score, that means they just met analysts estimates, and barely grew sales and earnings… That is like a toss up in the direction of the company… a toss up with what will happen with the stock…. If you are stuck, you are stuck! You can decide to take a loss… because waiting for a company to turn it around generally takes 4-6 quarters, [12 to 18 months and that’s if they do! 90% do not]
PERI sand bagged. I figured… But it was bad news, I saw the financials and saw the insane 155 million cash flow for 2023… and the market cap was near 500 million at the lows… And I wrote a briefing here, a few weeks ago about why I was buying more.. That was stupid! PERI announced a 75 million buyback. [ I need to check report to see if they bought shares]
The MTCH revise down was not good, but a PE under 10 is stupid for the company… PYPL went past 70 and has dipped under 65, that is stupid to me… No, PYPL and MTCH arent growers anymore… PERI is growing near 8-10% this past quarter… and they are all in the dog house.. generally I don’t like dog house companies… CAR was a dog house… I better see value where a PE is like 10 or less… Where sales and earnings arent on the super declines.. that is me…
I traded OSCR which came off of awesome earnings… I do not know if it is the norm, so I wont go in big, but I will trade it again… I did want BILL at 55 [I am in 60.50] I feel a 26-27x PE for a company still growing at 20% is cheap… I can see why it should be near 70…. I will keep trading CAR. I will buy the dips in MTCH and PYPL … I may take a small risk and buy calls in COIN and DKNG if they get crushed more…
5 Trade Ideas:
MTCH – guide down, can this stock hit 28-29, I will be willing to buy 2 blocks and wait
YOU ACMR OSCR – Awesome 99 scores on earnings, let me see how the market trades them
CVS CAR – I have been abusing these tickers, no position in CAR, only CVS at 84 from 2/2023
COIN DKNG – May take small risk in calls, earnings were very good on them both
RDFN – This is purely speculative, I just added it to “Plays” numbers did get better, they did a revise up, this is still speculative, an idea, watching now
The contents of this post are for information and entertainment purposes only and does not constitute financial, accounting, or legal advice. ... By choosing to make a trade you are responsible for your own actions. Please do some due diligence. These are trades I am making and you can follow along. If you make a winning trade, I do not even expect a bravo or thanks but that’s fine, if you lose on a trade the same difference.. I do not even expect an upvote or reward… The Elite team is aware of the risks and volatility in the market.
Good luck everyone let’s make money. Share trades, ideas here during trading hours. Our main goal here is to make money so I hope we can help eachother. I will be in and out of here as well.

Update #2 Thank you everyone who gave me the advice to do another vet check. I went back and forth with his former trainer about it. She doubled down on her belief that there was nothing wrong with the horse and it was all my riding abilities. After some research my gut told me he had ulcers. Well lo and behold I was right. The vet said not the best but not the worst. My gut also is telling me that most of the trainer’s horses probably have ulcers as well since she’s not checking. Besides the gut issues the vet believes he is sound. I was advised to start him on ulcergard and that its okay to start one dose then move him then continue the months worth of treatment. I know for a fact his former trainer was feeding him at different times of the day so that’s probably where they came from. He’s going to be boarded in a pasture 20 mins away from me, and has a new trainer. He will also have a slow feeder and constant access to forage. We will be doing loads of ground work for a few months. Turns out he was just on a lead line and this former trainer was the only one who started him so im hopeful with more help that he will continue to learn. Thank you again and wish us luck!
Hello. Im (24f) a fairly intermediate rider. I rode english for a handful of years as a child and got myself into western about a year ago. 10 months ago i befriended a coworker who said they had a horse for sale and told me to come look at him. I got myself back into western as an adult with the hopes of buying myself a horse so this sounded perfect. Keep in mind ive never bought a horse before this. I showed up and he was already tacked up (i later learned why) he did okay first ride. Just a walk and trot. He stopped several times. What i thought was a pretty slow 8 yr old gelding at first turned out to be an extremely anxious horse who tends to refuse a lot under saddle. He cannot be tied anywhere that isnt a pen with metal bars. If you tie him to a trailer he freaks out. Mild rearing, weaving his hind end back and forth, screaming for his friends. He will not trot or lope a solid circle with out stopping at the same part of the arena every time unless i push him through with a crop whip. I got him vetted when i first got him. He had a torn suspensory ligament, got 4 months off, vetted again and got the okay to start easy work. Mind you im doing this all under the supervision of my coworker turned current trainer. He bucks when asked to do any real work, rears, pins his ears, nips. I just got home from a round up where he screamed the entire time (yes he is herd bound but had his buddies with him as we brought them along), bucked when being pushed through, refused every 20 feet, reared with me on and i fell off!! Fourth time ive come off him in 10 months. My “trainer” said i whiskey throttled him but hes never reared so high under saddle that i probably pulled the reins and when he inevitably spun around from this i lost my balance and flew off. She says his anxiety is part of his personality and it may get better with age and i should just push through because hes so “young and had potential” but honestly im losing the love i had for horses and trust in my friend/ trainer. I pay board and a training fee to her monthly so i think she just doesnt want to be out a paycheck. I dont know if he’ll get better or ill end up seriously hurt. I pay for my caapartment/ schooling so ill lose everything. She has even gone as far as to yell at me and say im not really interested in actually being a horse owner when i had previously mentioned selling him after he spooked on the lead and reared up at me on the ground. Please give me some experienced young-horse owner advice
TLDR: my 8 yr old horse has dumped me or spooked in hand a handful of times while only owning him for 10 months. Super anxious Bucks rears pins his ears and nips. Should i sell? Been riding less than 5 years
Update: thank you to those who left helpful and kind comments. The vet is coming out at their soonest availability to look at him. The trainer i spoke of insisted he isnt in pain which doesnt make sense because she insisted he wasnt in pain before i brought a vet out to look at his suspensory ligament. To be clear, i did give him time off and got an approval to start riding him again from the vet. Vet never looked at his back though so maybe thats causing him pain to. Will have more updates to come. Really dont want to quit on this guy

good evening from Oklahoma, team.
practically complete newbie here (i’ve been on 4 practice bulls so far, and i’ve only made 3 seconds for PR. wish i knew how to share a video so yall could pick me apart). i would say i’m a pretty competent horseman, and i was actually surprised i did as poorly on a (practice) bull given what i thought would have been comparable experience horseback. i have been riding a lot the past couple of weeks bareback in hopes that it will translate somewhat to bullriding. but for those who are experienced in both: are there any notable differences? the other more experienced bullriders at my practice pen say it’s important that u never sit back on ur butt, and also that you should break at the hip. so is bullriding more like posting the trot of a horse or is it more like sitting its cantelope? is it something between, or is it really just apples and oranges?
many thanks in advance

Need help, got the cpu cooler bracket completely stuck (think the threads are stripped) i cut the plastic there with bolt cutters and wondering what i can do to fix this. mobo and cpu are completely fine so dont wanna trash jt over this

FT-Pens: Yokohama F. Marinos 3-2 Ulsan Hyundai

Venue: Nissan Stadium, Yokohama
Auto-refreshing reddit comments link
LINE-UPS
Yokohama F. Marinos
William Popp, Shinnosuke Hatanaka, Takumi Kamijma, Keigo Sakakibara (Kota Mizunuma), Katsuya Nagato (Jun Amano), Ken Matsubara, Nam Tae-Hee (Riku Yamane), Asahi Uenaka (Ren Kato), Élber (Eduardo ), Yan (Ryo Miyaichi), Anderson Lopes .
Subs: Hiroki Iikura, Fuma Shirasaka, Kaina Yoshio, Yuhi Murakami, Hijiri Kato, Kenta Inoue.
^{____________________________}
Ulsan Hyundai
Jo Hyeon-Woo, Kim Young-Gwon, Hwang Seok-Ho, Matheus Sales (Ko Seung-Beom), Lee Myung-Jae, Seol Young-Woo, Lee Dong-Gyeong (Lee Chung-Yong), Lee Gyu-Seong (Darijan Bojanic), Gustav Ludwigson (Kelvin ), Um Won-Sang (Kim Min-Woo), Joo Min-Kyu (Martin Ádám).
Subs: Yun Il-Lok, Jo So-Huk, Kim Ji-Hyeon, Ataru Esaka, Lim Jong-Eun, Kim Min-Hyeok.
MATCH EVENTS via ESPN
13' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 1, Ulsan Hyundai 0. Asahi Uenaka (Yokohama F. Marinos) right footed shot from the centre of the box to the bottom left corner. Assisted by Nam Tae-Hee.
21' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 2, Ulsan Hyundai 0. Anderson Lopes (Yokohama F. Marinos) left footed shot from the centre of the box to the bottom right corner. Assisted by Yan Matheus.
30' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3, Ulsan Hyundai 0. Asahi Uenaka (Yokohama F. Marinos) right footed shot from outside the box to the top right corner. Assisted by Nam Tae-Hee.
34' Substitution, Ulsan Hyundai. Darijan Bojanic replaces Lee Gyu-Sung.
35' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3, Ulsan Hyundai 1. Matheus Sales (Ulsan Hyundai) header from the centre of the box to the top left corner. Assisted by Lee Dong-Gyeong with a cross following a corner.
39' Takumi Kamijima (Yokohama F. Marinos) is shown the red card.
42' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3, Ulsan Hyundai 2. Darijan Bojanic (Ulsan Hyundai) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the bottom right corner.
45' Substitution, Yokohama F. Marinos. Eduardo replaces Élber.
45' Substitution, Yokohama F. Marinos. Riku Yamane replaces Nam Tae-Hee.
62' Substitution, Yokohama F. Marinos. Ren Kato replaces Asahi Uenaka.
70' Substitution, Ulsan Hyundai. Lee Chung-Yong replaces Lee Dong-Gyeong.
70' Substitution, Ulsan Hyundai. Martin Ádám replaces Joo Min-Kyu.
81' Substitution, Yokohama F. Marinos. Kota Mizunuma replaces Keigo Sakakibara.
81' Substitution, Yokohama F. Marinos. Ryo Miyaichi replaces Yan Matheus.
82' Substitution, Ulsan Hyundai. Kim Min-Woo replaces Um Won-Sang.
82' Substitution, Ulsan Hyundai. Ko Seung-Beom replaces Matheus Sales.
95' Substitution, Ulsan Hyundai. Kelvin replaces Gustav Ludwigson.
105' Substitution, Yokohama F. Marinos. Jun Amano replaces Katsuya Nagato.
120' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3, Ulsan Hyundai 2(1). Martin Ádám (Ulsan Hyundai) converts the penalty with a left footed shot to the top left corner.
120' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3(1), Ulsan Hyundai 2(1). Anderson Lopes (Yokohama F. Marinos) converts the penalty with a left footed shot to the bottom right corner.
120' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3(1), Ulsan Hyundai 2(2). Kelvin (Ulsan Hyundai) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the top right corner.
120' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3(2), Ulsan Hyundai 2(2). Kota Mizunuma (Yokohama F. Marinos) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the bottom right corner.
120' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3(2), Ulsan Hyundai 2(3). Ko Seung-Beom (Ulsan Hyundai) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the top right corner.
120' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3(3), Ulsan Hyundai 2(3). Ken Matsubara (Yokohama F. Marinos) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the bottom left corner.
120' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3(3), Ulsan Hyundai 2(4). Lee Chung-Yong (Ulsan Hyundai) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the high centre of the goal.
120' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3(4), Ulsan Hyundai 2(4). Jun Amano (Yokohama F. Marinos) converts the penalty with a left footed shot to the bottom right corner.
120' Penalty saved. Kim Min-Woo (Ulsan Hyundai) left footed shot saved in the bottom right corner.
120' Goal! Yokohama F. Marinos 3(5), Ulsan Hyundai 2(4). Eduardo (Yokohama F. Marinos) converts the penalty with a left footed shot to the bottom left corner.
^{Don't see a thread for a match you're watching? Click here to learn how to request a match thread from this bot.}

The homeless man in the brown overcoat chewed on his dirty thumb, staring off into the mist and dirty rain. He told me his name was Angel. I stood next to this penniless vagrant with rapt attention, a man in a $1000 suit and more money than I knew what to do with. I listened to every word he said, writing some of it down.
“Mmm, you have to understand,” Angel said, his hazel eyes rolling wildly as he stared past me at things only he could see, “NASA is run by the reptilian overlords. They are a demonic agency with the power to kill people. Anyone who has real, solid evidence that shows the Moon landing was faked gets murdered or dies under suspicious circumstances. NASA even killed Michael Jackson. And do you know why?” I shook my head, a notebook perched in one hand and a solid gold fountain pen in the other. Angel leaned in close, as if he was about to whisper a great secret.
“Because Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk became more famous than NASA’s ‘Moonwalk’.” I looked up, surprised. A thin smile played across the corners of my lips. Angel’s expression stayed grave. A fit of laughter ripped its way out of my stomach.
“What? No way,” I said, still chuckling loudly. But Angel only nodded grimly.
“NASA got jealous and decided he had to go. They poisoned him, man. NASA has lots of hitmen on its payroll. They always get their target.” I continued jotting down notes, trying to collect as much information as I could.
“NASA killed Michael Jackson because they were jealous his Moonwalk was better than theirs,” I quickly scrawled in cursive across the expensive white paper.
***
If you had told me a few days ago that I would spend many hours of my time roving around while listening to crazy drug addicts and rambling homeless people speak about conspiracy theories, I would have laughed. That is, until I moved me and my daughter into Disney’s brand new, secret town and learned that not all conspiracy theories are fake. If I had listened to the first rumblings of bizarre rumors about the secret Disney town they were building in Florida and stayed far away, I wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.
I told my neighbor about it the day before the move, a shirtless man with a bulging beer belly and a black carpet of hair across his chest who went around telling everyone his name was J-spot Jeffrey.
“Well, my ten-year-old daughter loves Disney stuff,” I explained as he nodded vacantly, drinking down an entire can of light beer in a single long swallow before belching. “And, you know, her mom died last year…”
“Oh, I was so sorry to hear about that,” Jeffrey said disingenuously, putting out a fat hand across the low metal fence slung across our yards and patting me hard on the shoulder. “You never know when it’s your time, eh? One day, you could just be driving down the highway and-”
“Yeah, it was horrible,” I said, cutting him off. I remember the night I had gotten the call telling me a tractor-trailer had hit my wife’s car. When I saw pictures of the vehicle later, it looked like little more than a twisted framework of blackened steel. Everything around this house reminded me of her. It made my heart ache with regrets and loneliness.
“The town’s not too far away, eh? You think I could come visit you once you get settled in?” Jeffrey asked. I looked at him in surprise.
“Why would you want to do that?” I asked.
“I’ve heard a lot of urban legends about Disney- not just how Walt Disney’s head is cryogenically frozen, but a lot of creepier rumors too. I’d just like to look around and see it. What do they call the new town?” he asked.
“Storyland,” I said. “The town of Storyland.”
***
A few days later, my daughter Casey and I were driving down the private road towards Storyland. A metal gate finely embossed into silver images of Mickey Mouse and the Cinderella Castle loomed twenty feet in the air. A guard dressed in all black came out, taking my license and looking closely at it before allowing the gates to split open down the middle. Dozens of cameras peered down with their opaque, lidless eyes, seeing everything but understanding nothing.
Every time our family visited Disney, I felt a sense of awe at seeing how much land they owned. Casey stared impassively out the window at the thick Florida swampland, her green eyes the color of ivy. She wrinkled her nose as a fetid, rank odor snuck in through the air conditioning and vents.
“It smells like swamp water here,” she complained, putting her long sleeve up to her nose while breathing in through the fabric. I rolled down the windows a crack to try to let fresh air stream into the car, but it just made the smell worse.
“That’s because there is a swamp here,” I said. “It does smell pretty bad, huh?”
“What if the whole town smells bad, Daddy?” she asked. “I don’t want to live in a place that smells like that, even if Mickey does live there.” She seemed to think on it for a long moment. “OK, maybe if both Mickey and Elsa live there, I’ll be OK with it.” I gave her a faint half-smile, tuning her out as she started to ramble about what kind of house Mickey Mouse would live in.
It took us nearly twenty minutes from when we passed through the gate to reach the first buildings of Storyland. The palm trees, thick vines and green, swampy water started to give way to perfectly manicured lawns.
“Welcome to Storyland!” a cheerful sign read far ahead of us, curving over the road in silver letters five feet tall. Giant Disney characters filled with helium loomed over the street, grinning down at us in their frozen, plastic expressions. Mickey and Minnie floated next to Elsa, Belle and Simba. They all had their gigantic inflatable hands up in greeting. Some hidden mechanism inside the floating characters caused their arms to wave, moving back and forth in slow, lazy arcs.
“So cool!’ Casey said excitedly, leaning over in her seat and hugging me. Her little arms wrapped around my neck as she kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks Daddy. This place is the best.”
“It doesn’t smell like a swamp in here anymore,” I remarked as we stopped in front of the enormous, gleaming sign. Two thick metal gates blocked the road. Tiny black half-spheres of hidden cameras blinked their red eyes in a rhythmic procession. After a few moments, the gates started sliding apart on their own. It all appeared to be fully automated. We pulled through, coming to a town that reeked of excess and money.
Casey nodded happily to herself, floating along on cloud nine as expensive mansions and castles loomed above us on both sides of the street. Her auburn hair had strawberry-blonde streaks running through it. She opened her window and stuck her head outside like a dog, letting her long hair flow behind her in the wind.
Some of the castles appeared to be four or five stories high with giant glass windows cut into the hard, gray stone. A few even had narrow moats of clear, fresh water cut into the enormous lawns. Palm trees lined the yards of Victorian houses, their thin turrets reaching up into the sky like grasping fingers. Ferraris, Porsches, Lamborghinis and other luxury cars shone in the driveways, their sleek bodies emanating power and respect. And yet I didn’t see anyone out in the yards. I found that odd.
The GPS didn’t work out here. Once we got off the public roads and onto Disney’s private land, it acted as if we had driven straight into the middle of a forest. When I bought the property at Storyland, they had sent me a map and a letter, stating they would begin setting up cell phone towers in the area within days. Digging through the middle console, I pulled out the folded map, squinting down at it as I pulled over to the side of the road.
“We live at 777 Celebration Road,” I said, frowning at the convoluted spiderwebs of streets that spanned the map in front of me. “And we’re on the road leading in. Looks like it’s called Main Street USA, so if we take Main Street USA to…” Casey gave a slow, strangled squeak, the sound of a rabbit getting its neck snapped. It immediately snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up suddenly, seeing her staring out the passenger’s side window, her mouth agape.
A child stood on the sidewalk with blood coming from the dark, gaping holes in his eye sockets. He held his hands against his pale, white cheeks. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, the many gaps in his tiny milk teeth showing through his pale lips.
“I’m stuck,” he gurgled, blood pouring from his throat. “I’m stuck in this place. Help me!”
He looked straight up at the sky, and I saw his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. The flesh separated as a crimson waterfall flowed down the front of his chest. Casey inhaled deeply, like a drowning person coming up for the briefest moment of air. Then, with lungs like a forge’s bellows, she screamed, an ear-splitting, high-pitched shriek of absolute terror. I jumped to action, putting the car into drive and peeling away from the walking corpse on the sidewalk. When I looked back, the boy had disappeared, but a few drops of bright, fresh blood still glistened brightly under the sharp rays of the Florida sun.
“What was wrong with that boy?!” Casey cried, tears streaming down her small, pinched face. Her red eyes turned to me, searching for answers, but I couldn’t give her any. I pressed the gas hard, revving the engine and glancing down at the map. Main Street USA led to Frozen Lane and finally to Celebration Road.
“That must have been a joke,” I said, trying to justify it to myself and to Casey. “Hollywood make-up and fake blood. If that boy really had his throat cut like that, he wouldn’t be standing and breathing.” Casey’s tears slowed as she blinked a few times, absorbing the statement.
“That’s not a nice joke,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her fluorescent blue T-shirt. “If it was a joke, that boy is a poophead.” I nodded.
The homes on Celebration Road were not so extravagant as the castles and Victorian mansions spanning Main Street USA. They all had perfectly-manicured lawns, in-ground pools in the shape of classic Disney characters and beautiful wrap-around porches and massive bay windows, however. The house I had rented for a year after only seeing pictures of it came up quickly on our left. It was painted bright red, a three-story colonial with porches on every story and circular windows like glass monocles reflecting the tropical sunshine.
We got out of the car, walking up the cobbled stone walkway toward the front door. A silver knocker with the Beast’s face on it stared back at us. Underneath the knocker, I saw a printed note with a looping signature scrawled underneath it. I ripped it off, reading the note aloud as Casey played with the knocker.
“No drugs, alcohol or tobacco products are allowed in Storyland due to the risk of interactions. Free samples of MOUSE-Z are given to all households, however. MOUSE-Z is a totally non-addictive, non-toxic dietary supplement that will enhance your enjoyment while in Storyland. All guests and citizens of Storyland consent to exposure to MOUSE-Z through their food, water, air or exposure to surfaces. Enjoy your stay, and thanks again from the Disney Company!”
I scratched my head, reading the note again. What the hell was MOUSE-Z? It didn’t sound like any dietary supplement I had ever heard of. I scowled, squinting at the signature, trying to make out the letters at the bottom. “Mr. Crawley.” It sounded like a made-up name. I crumpled up the note, unlocking the door. The cool, air conditioned breeze blew past us with the smell of flowers and fresh paint. I saw vibrant plants scattered around the entrance room. Couches as white as virgin snow sat against the walls, each emblazoned with the black silhouette of the Cinderella Castle and the Disney logo. A landline rang in the living room just as I walked past. My heart jumped into my throat when the shrill ringing pierced the silence, but I quickly calmed down when I realized it was just the phone.
“Hello?” I said as soon as I picked up the receiver.
“This is the guard at the front gate. You have a visitor named Jeffrey Stein,” the man said in a flat tone. I sighed, looking down at my watch. That was quick. Jeffrey must have been really hot to see this weird little town.
“Yeah, send him through,” I said, hanging up the phone. Casey had gone ahead into the kitchen, and I quickly followed behind her.
“I’m so thirsty,” I said, cutting through the living room with its enormous flat-screen TV and comfortable sectionals. The kitchen had all brand-new appliances, and the fridge was stocked with food, soda, juices and milk. I grabbed two Sprites, giving one to Casey who opened it gratefully. I cracked mine open and chugged it all in a few huge gulps. It tasted slightly strange, almost like the bitter aftertaste of caffeine. Casey wrinkled her tiny button nose.
“This soda tastes old,” she complained. I tried looking at the expiration date, but everything suddenly seemed blurry. I blinked quickly, but my eyes teared up. I felt very weird, dissociated and floating. The world flickered like a shimmering mirage. The dull colors and faded texture of reality throbbed like the cobwebs of a nightmarish fever dream.
My vision started to ripple and morph within seconds. I looked down at Casey, but where my daughter had been standing, I now saw a nightmarish creature with giant, glassy black eyes. I stepped back, crying out.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” the demonic figure hissed in a deep, gurgling voice. With red skin stretched thin over its bony head and black talons on its hands, it looked like it had stepped straight out of Hell. It opened its mouth, revealing needle-sharp teeth growing out of its oozing gums like hundreds of tumors. Two enormous, pointed mouse ears were surgically attached to its shiny skin. Black stitches stuck out like pieces of barbed wire at the base of the rotted, brown ears. Dried crusts of orange pus clung to the sides of its head, like the decomposing riverbeds of some ancient diseased tributary.
“What’s going on? What… Get back!” I cried, putting my hands up. The thing just laughed, gnashing its torn slash of a mouth as its lidless black eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.
“This world is our creation for your kind. There are many surprises in Storyland for the sons and daughters of Adam. I am Mr. Crawley, and I will be your guide. Come and see,” he said, running forwards and lunging for my throat with his twisted jungle of cancerous fangs. I spun around, fleeing through the morphing door with thousands of teeth that appeared in front of me. The sides of the door flexed and shivered like the lips of some alien predator. With a wet, sloshing sound, the door started to close around me, the enormous fangs drawing nearer. I lunged through it, landing hard on black, spongy earth. I raised my head and beheld an amazing sight.
An extraterrestrial landscape stretched out to the horizon with writhing, snake-like jungle vines dancing across its surface. Castles thousands of stories high loomed far off in the distance like great mountains, their sharp turrets piercing the crimson clouds and disappearing from view. Spinning black holes sent out great jets of light and planetary rings like those of Saturn shone through the narrow breaks in the blood-red clouds that covered the sky like tumors. Thick patches of shimmering, silver fog swept across the landscape, obscuring entire swaths of the eldritch jungle.
A plume of fluffy, luminescent fog a few dozen feet away disappeared like a breath of smoke as a humid jungle breeze blew past. The insane creature with the mouse ears surgically attached to his demonic, naked body stood in the midst of it, his black eyes glittering with insanity as he stared straight at me.
“This is my world,” he said as silver saliva dripped from his grinning mouth. “Do you think you can run from me? I am everywhere, in the wind and in the trees and even in you. I am Mr. Crawley, and I know who you are. Your daughter is here with us, too.” I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“This is all some hallucination,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “I bet this place isn’t even owned by Disney. It’s probably some fucking CIA black site where they experiment on people with new drugs.” Mr. Crawley laughed at that.
“This world is the rock which the builders rejected which has become the cornerstone of all things. We have made it so. You will not leave until we allow it. We can make every moment of your time stretch out to a million years. By the time eternity passed, the only thing that would return to your body would be an insane, empty shell of a mind,” Mr. Crawley hissed, his blank, obsidian eyes gleaming with a child-like cruelty.
“What do you want with me?” I whispered.
“Only this,” the creature gurgled as the bloody clouds above us whipped and soared in cyclonical whorls like the currents of a hurricane. “You must call more people into Storyland, many more. If you bring others to this world, the cornerstone of all realities, we will let you and the girl leave in peace…” His voice and the world began to blow away like smoke in a strong breeze. Everything grew faint and distant. “...but if not, we will follow you, and then, only the death of the universe many eternities from now would bring you any release from the endless suffering of Storyland.”
***
I groaned, feeling blood running down my face. I opened my eyes. Sharp, stabbing pains emanated from various spots all over my body.
“Hey buddy,” Jeffrey said, leaning low over me and slightly slapping my face, “what the hell is going on here?” I looked around, seeing that I had run straight through the sliding door in the back of the house at Storyland. I was lying surrounded by twinkling shards of glass on the concrete patio. To my amazement, I saw Jeffrey had a shirt on for the first time as long as I had known him. The white fabric of the T-shirt was stretched thin across his bulging, fat stomach.
“Ohhh, God, my head,” I said, bringing my hand up to my forehead. My fingers came away wet with blood. “I had the craziest goddamn dream, Jeffrey. We got here, and there was a bizarre note on the door saying that all the food and drinks and stuff were laced with some weird drug. And then I drank a can of soda, and…” I trailed off, my heart suddenly speeding up in my chest. “Where’s Casey, Jeffrey?” He shook his head, dumb-founded.
“I just got here and heard the door shattering back here. I circled around your yard and found you here like this. I have no idea where the girl is,” he said, looking around with concern. He had the look of a man who had accidentally walked into a lunatic asylum filled with dangerous inmates.
“Don’t drink or eat anything here, Jeffrey,” I said vehemently, raving. “Don’t wash your hands. Don’t touch the water or anything. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not normal. There’s something… unnatural.” That was really the core of it. The entire experience with MOUSE-Z had seemed like something real, not like the creeping delusions of a drug trip. Jeffrey gave me a confused look, taking a step back from me.
“I think I should probably call an ambulance,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “You might have had a concussion, bud. Just calm down, OK? I don’t think anyone’s drugging this entire town. That sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie. Come on, James, think about it.”
“Help me up,” I said, putting out my hand. Jeffrey pulled me up. My head swam as black motes danced across my vision. As I tried steadying myself, leaning heavily on Jeffrey’s thick shoulder, I felt the world spinning around me. “We need to find Casey.”
“OK, bud, easy does it,” he said, putting a meaty arm around me. He opened the shattered sliding door. The sparkling shards of glass crunched under our feet like dead leaves. I felt a small amount of strength returning to me as I staggered forward, wheezing like an asthmatic. Half-dried blood caked my arms and fresh drops still ran down from a cut across my forehead.
“See, there’s Casey, right there,” Jeffrey said reassuringly, pointing to the couch in the living room. I glanced over hopefully, but my heart dropped when I saw what was laying on the couch. It was about the size of my daughter, but it looked like the nightmarish results of some mad scientist with a death camp full of patients and unlimited funding. I saw the face of my daughter there and even recognized her fluorescent blue T-shirt, but something was terribly wrong with her now.
The half-human, half-mouse abomination on the couch looked up at us with eyes full of agony. The jellied whites of her eyes glistened like pools of pus. Bright rivulets of blood dribbled down the soft white hairs covering her face. Her legs were twisted, broken sticks that had the same pink, fleshy hue of a mouse’s paws. Blood bubbled from her shivering lips. Garish black stitches ran up and down her body in irregular square patches. The ears of some enormous, genetically engineered mouse had been sewn onto her hairless, mutilated skull. A rainbow of liquids dripped from the surgical sites, dripping in sickly, infected oranges and clotted dark reds. Broken bones stuck outwards through the skin of her arms and legs like daggers stabbed through a corpse.
“God, what happened? Is that really you, Casey?” I said, ripping myself away from Jeffrey and stumbling across the room.
“Kill me,” she whispered as pink, fetid drool dribbled out of her slashed mouth. “It hurts, Daddy. Please… kill me.” I heard a gurgling laugh from behind me. I turned my head, seeing Mr. Crawley standing in the place of Jeffrey. Behind him, the red sky of that other world shone through the shattered sliding door into our house at Storyland.
“Do you think you can escape that easily? If you do not bring me new tributes, I will draw every drop of agony from you and your daughter that the human mind can experience. And when you are destroyed, trembling, insane wretches, only then will I allow you to die, slowly and painfully.
“So do you agree to the terms? Will you bring us new tributes?”
“Never! I’d rather die than bring other people into this nightmare!” The twisted body of Casey on the couch continued gurgling and spitting up frothy blood. Mr. Crawley’s face changed into an expression of pleasure at the challenge.
“We do love a fighter here at Storyland!” he said, grinning widely, showing off the hundreds of needle-like fangs that poked out of his mouth like the quills of a porcupine. He snapped his long, tapering fingers together. His talons flashed and threw off sparks of white light. The red, alien sky behind Mr. Crawley seemed to swirl and bubble faster. “Perhaps some of our pets here can help change your mind.” His black, lidless eyes spun in their sockets as he glanced back through the shattered door into the alien jungles beyond. I watched in horror as two creatures from a nightmare came loping out from the thick vines and dancing brush.
“This is the Beast and Simba,” Mr. Crawley said, his shrill laughter ripping through the air like the rending of metal. And I saw, in the front, a half-human, half-animal combination with long flowing black hair all over its body. Its powerful leg and arm muscles pistoned like machines as it loped gracefully through the door. Its eyes gleamed pure white like spoiled milk. It gnashed its massive jaws together, sending out long streams of drool that flew out behind it.
Next to the Beast, a hairless lion with surgical marks all over its body limped quickly forward. It had an extra eye surgically inserted into its forehead, and each of its legs had extra paws sewn on the back. The lion’s three eyes glistened with bloodlust and hunger.
Their heavy bodies shook the floor as they sped towards me and my daughter. I turned to the mutated body of Casey on the couch. She had seen death coming towards her in this new hellish form and now fell with a thud to the ground in an attempt to escape it. She tried crawling away. I ran towards her as a heavy weight came down on my back.
I spun around to see the mouth of the lion opening wide inches from my face. A deep, throaty growl emanated from its chest. It brought its paws down on my chest, and I felt my ribs snap like twigs. They shattered with a sound like ice cracking. Behind me, Casey gave a strangled shriek of agony as the Beast tore into her with its powerful jaws.
The sounds of our screams echoed across the room. I felt my vocal cords tear as blood spurted from my mouth. The pain seemed to go on and on as the jaws came down again and again, ripping off pieces of my body. Eventually, once I was nearly dead, Mr. Crawley came over, peering down at me with his glistening beetle eyes.
“Will you bring new tributes, or do we need to repeat this for the next trillion years?” he asked in a cold, psychopathic tone. I nodded my bloody head, spitting out broken teeth and frothy blood.
“I’ll do it,” I groaned slowly, feeling most of the bones in my body shattered. Every breath felt like I was inhaling acid. I looked down, seeing parts of my arm and legs torn off. My intestines peeked through the torn mass of flesh around my stomach like a coiled snake looking out of its den. Mr. Crawley grinned, nodding to the animals.
The lion knelt down, and with a powerful crunch of its jaws, it ripped my throat out. The world quickly went black as endless pain reverberated through my consciousness and cold death overtook me.
***
Slowly, languidedly, I opened my eyes and found myself on the kitchen floor. Casey was laying next to me, her pupils dilated and mouth open. Drool puddled on the linoleum beneath her catatonic face.
“Casey?” I said weakly, pushing myself up. My entire body felt sore, as if I felt reflections of that new death sensation that had just ripped across my mind just moments earlier. I wanted to grab Casey and get out of there, but I couldn’t trust my own mind anymore. I knew that if I didn’t do what Mr. Crawley wanted, I would keep getting stuck in his nightmarish world. It was like an eternity of false awakenings, a type of Hell I had never imagined in my wildest nightmare. I didn’t know if this one would prove to be the same. Without hesitation, I picked up my unconscious daughter and brought her out to the car. Jeffrey pulled up with his middle-aged girlfriend moments later. They gawked at us with open mouths.
“Hey, go on inside and have some drinks!” I yelled at them. “I just have to go up to the gatehouse for a few minutes. Have a seat, look around, make yourselves comfortable.” Jeffrey nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I peeled out of there. Casey awoke as we drove the long trek back towards the guardhouse. Once we were a few minutes away, my cell phone started pinging again, and I realized I had service.
I pulled up slowly to the metal gate, looking out at the guard in his sleek uniform. He peeked out of the guardhouse, but the shape didn’t look human. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I glimpsed a dark silhouette with mouse ears and black eyes. The figure quickly disappeared back behind the door.
Shaking, I looked down at my phone. I sent a mass text message to all my friends.
“I just rented a house at an exclusive Disney town! My address is at 777 Celebration Road, Storyland. Unlimited free drinks and food there. Feel free to let yourselves in and stay as long as you want. Make yourselves at home and explore the town. I will not be at the house, however. Just tell the guard you know me.” As soon as I pressed send, the gate started to swing to the side, and I left that den of horrors. I glanced back and saw two obsidian eyes and a grinning slash of a mouth peering out of the guardhouse. I shuddered.
***
I finished telling my story to Angel, who nodded, unsurprised. The homeless lunatic knew about all conspiracy theories. He had told me about Walt Disney’s frozen head, the ghosts at Disneyworld and all the suspicious deaths covered up there.
“I’m not surprised that they’re working with the CIA now on some weird mind control drug,” Angel said, his eyes gleaming darkly in the streetlights. “It is, after all, their world.” I backed up, a cold shiver running through my spine as those words rang out around me again. They were words I hadn’t heard since the horrors of Storyland.
In the darkness of the alleyway, I thought I saw the silhouette of mouse ears on Angel’s head and teeth growing out of his gums like tumors. I blinked, and he was just a normal vagrant again.
“I hope this isn’t the world of Storyland,” I said, a sense of desperation clenching my heart. “Sometimes, I wonder if I ever left it. I wonder if Casey and I are still there, waiting for the next round of torture.”
Angel only grinned, his lips spreading wide. And in the shadows of the alley, his teeth jutted out like hundreds of needles.

Match Information:

 
Match: PSG vs Barcelona
Competition: Champions League
Date: Wednesday, 10th of April 2024
Time: 21:00 CEST / 15:00 EDT - Convert to local time
Venue: Parc des Princes, Paris (France) - 47929 capacity
Referee: Anthony Taylor
 

Lineups and Squads:

 
Barcelona - Official squad confirmed
GK: Ter Stegen, Iñaki Peña, Ander Astralaga
DEF: João Cancelo, Álex Baldé, Araújo, Íñigo Martínez, Christensen, Alonso, Koundé, Pau Cubarsi, Héctor Fort
MID: Gavi, Pedri, Oriol Romeu, Sergi Roberto, Frenkie, Gündoğan, Marc Casadó, Fermín López
ATT: Ferran Torres, Lewandowski, Raphinha, João Félix, Vitor Roque, Lamine Yamal, Marc Guiu
Unavailable: Álex Baldé, Gavi (injured) Pedri, Frenkie (doubtful)
Not called:
 
PSG - Official squad to be confirmed
GK: Keylor Navas, Sergio Rico, Alexandre Letellier, Arnau Tenas, Gianluigi Donnarumma
DEF: Achraf Hakimi, Presnel Kimpembe, Marquinhos, Lucas Hernández, Nuno Mendes, Nordi Mukiele, Lucas Lopes Beraldo, Milan Škriniar, Layvin Kurzawa
MID: Manuel Ugarte Ribeiro, Fabián Ruiz, Danilo Pereira, Vitor Ferreira, Lee Kang-In, Carlos Soler, Warren Zaire Emery, Ethan Mbappé Lottin, Senny Mayulu
ATT: Kylian Mbappé, Gonçalo Ramos, Ousmane Dembélé, Asensio, Randal Kolo Muani, Bradley Barcola
Unavailable: Sergio Rico, Presnel Kimpembe, Nordi Mukiele, Layvin Kurzawa (injured) Achraf Hakimi (suspended)
Not called:
 

Form guide:

 
PSG

• Form: [W] W D D L
  
• Goals scored: 7
  
• Goals conceded: 5
  
• Last match: Real Sociedad 1:2 Paris Saint Germain - Champions League
  

Barcelona

• Form: [W] W W W D
  
• Goals scored: 8
  
• Goals conceded: 1
  
• Last match: FC Barcelona 1:0 Las Palmas - La Liga
  

 

Head-to-head:

 

• Last meeting: Paris Saint Germain 1:1 FC Barcelona
  
• Date: Wednesday, 10th of March 2021, 21:00 CET
  
• Competition: Champions League
  
• Threads: Pre-match thread Match thread Post-match thread
  
• Highlights: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ei-4cqgx06Q
  

 

Comments (Post-match thread):

 
Author: theboxv6 Score: 432 pts Source

We had a mountain to climb, and I can’t accuse the team of not trying. We looked flat in the second half which really didn’t help our case but at least we didn’t get ran through because of it. I like that for once, we’re coming away from a lost UCL tie where the story isn’t that we had no fight and looked as though we didn’t belong. I just wish we didn’t fall apart in the first leg because of the “let’s see how much damage we can prevent” mentality. And for fuck’s sake, Dembélé please put your shooting boots on next time!
Outside of the performance, I’m feeling positive because I know we’ve got a president who’ll actually work with the coach to plug the correct holes in the team and work at getting us back to a competitive level on the European stage once again.
And on another note, some of us need to take a serious look at ourselves. Instead of attacking players at the first chance, observe the situation in its entirety maybe? Lenglet didn’t make a clumsy challenge or anything, it was a shit decision on the ref’s part for the pen.

Author: atthebatman Score: 350 pts Source

This is just me but I never thought we had a chance of actually coming back. But having witnessed the way we performed, I have to say that we’re left disappointed by the score line. So many chances have gone begging. Chance after chance after chance and we just didn’t convert. I thought we played really well, especially in that first half. Navas was excellent but we also made him look good to some degree. Dembélé was really wasteful. He’s clearly a great talent but I’m not sure he’s a player you can trust in the biggest games. Also, not sure if anyone cares but I thought Firpo was really good today.

Author: hahasanji Score: 266 pts Source

Good game, but we should’ve been more clinical.
Our team is slowly getting better and better. The 3 at the back formation should be used more often

Author: PeppaPig85210 Score: 225 pts Source

we did our best, and it's obvious that it wasn't good enough.
If Messi does end up leaving, then you have to believe that goal will be remembered for a long time.
They were not better than us.

Author: LifeBD Score: 201 pts Source

We played a fantastic game it’s a shame this wasn’t the first leg. Our efficiency in front of goal has haunted us all season and continued to do so in this game. Dembele needs to take about 10% power off his shots but his runs to get into position to shoot were good.
De Jong didn’t put so much as a foot wrong today, brilliant all game.

Author: [deleted] Score: 156 pts Source

Defensively I would say Im actually proud. Offensively my fucking lord

Author: rw7997 Score: 132 pts Source

Down vote me all you want but I was extremely disappointed with Dembele in front of goal today.

Author: Blisspc Score: 84 pts Source

Basically, no one on the team is willing to take shots other than Messi and Dembele, but Dembele can't finish.
​
And with a penalty retake robbed from us, and bullshit penalty call given the result was expected.

Author: vault101kid Score: 74 pts Source

Had them in the first half not gonna lie ;)
In all seriousness made a decent account of ourselves today but missed/poorly taken chances cost us dearly. We'll win the Copa and maybe the league to make up for it! Till next season!

Author: mattisafootballguy Score: 69 pts Source

I am totally content with this performance. Very, very good from us, such a performance we would not have seen in recent years given the scoreline + the early conceded goal.
Should we have comeback? Probably, and that's really saying something!
Koeman's doing an excellent job.

Author: Epsilon76 Score: 64 pts Source

All I wanted after the first leg was that we would put in a good performance in the second leg, and we did that, so it’s a bit silly to be frustrated but we created so many quality chances in the first half that it still somehow stings a bit. It’s the story of the season for the most part, we’re playing well but simply not converting the vast majority of our chances. I don’t want to lay blame entirely on Dembele as I think he brings a lot of dynamism and chaos to our attack, but if he wants to take the step up to the next level of player he needs to be more clinical, simple as.
Ultimately, we’ve still got a lot to be pleased about. If we played like this in the first leg we’d be in the quarter finals. We’ve consistently improved over the course of the season. We’re in the CDR final and La Liga race is still on. There’s still a lot left in this season, and the fact that we clearly outplayed PSG in their stadium should be a nice shot of confidence heading into the rest of the season. Still a lot to play for and a lot to be excited about over the next few months even if the CL drought continues for another season.
Considering where we were this past summer I’m very pleased with how Koeman and the young players in the squad are developing. A bright future is ahead.

Author: hentaiHamster Score: 48 pts Source

Honestly it wasn't an easy game to begin with, I'm happy with a draw on this game.

Author: Everyman__ Score: 44 pts Source

Damn if only we had already discovered the 3-man defense system in the first game...

Author: LordSpeechLeSs Score: 42 pts Source

If you had to pick one match from this season to summarize 2020/21, you might as well pick this one. We created a boat-load of chances, wasted away almost all of them, had some nice link-up play here and there, missed a penalty and made an individual, defensive blunder.

Author: dinosbucket Score: 41 pts Source

Proud of this team!!!

 

Quotes:

 

• Xavi
  
• Kounde
  

 

Latest News:

 
[Squad] - The FC Barcelona squad for the trip to Paris - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - João Félix: 'Big games get me going most' - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - Luis Enrique looking forward to a 'great match' - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - Ludovic Giuly: 'Barça have more experience in this type of game' - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - FC Barcelona and PSG: the statistical duel ahead of the big match - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - París Saint-Germain, unbeaten for five months - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - Shared histories between FC Barcelona and PSG - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - Similarities and differences from the last meeting with PSG - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - PSG, fond memories for Robert Lewandowski - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - FC Barcelona activates 'Visiting Supporters Security and Control Protocol' for PSG fixture - fcbarcelona.com
[Training] - Back to training - fcbarcelona.com
[Quiz] - Which FC Barcelona players are missing? - fcbarcelona.com
[Quiz] - Can you complete the Barça v PSG puzzle? - fcbarcelona.com
[Article] - When and where to watch Paris Saint-Germain v FC Barcelona - fcbarcelona.com
 

TV/Online:

 
Livesoccertv Liveonsat FCBarcelona.com
 

Hello everyone. Does blender have a function similar to Transfer Attributes Tool like in maya? I would like to copy a uv from highpoly to lowpoly mesh. How would you do it?
https://preview.redd.it/q8lg65xn5bsc1.png?width=2115&format=png&auto=webp&s=3810b45c53c6c6e45772bca9820a0be9cf69b52f

AET-pens: Lyon 0-0 Strasbourg

Venue: Groupama Stadium
Auto-refreshing reddit comments link
LINE-UPS
Lyon
Lucas Perri, Duje Caleta-Car, Jake O'Brien, Nicolás Tagliafico (Clinton Mata), Ainsley Maitland-Niles, Nemanja Matic, Orel Mangala (Rayan Cherki), Maxence Caqueret, Alexandre Lacazette (Gift Orban), Saïd Benrahma, Ernest Nuamah (Malick Fofana).
Subs: Paul Akouokou, Anthony Lopes, Henrique , Mama Baldé, Dejan Lovren.
^{____________________________}
Strasbourg
Alaa Bellarouch, Lucas Perrin, Saïdou Sow, Ismael Doukoure, Ibrahima, Junior Mwanga (Marvin Senaya), Thomas Delaine, Frédéric Guilbert (Rabby Nzingoula), Kevin Gameiro (Emanuel Emegha), Ângelo Gabriel (Habib Diarra), Dilane Bakwa.
Subs: Mohamed Bechikh, Steven Baseya, Andrey Santos, Jessy Deminguet, Alexandre Pierre.
MATCH EVENTS via ESPN
45' Substitution, Strasbourg. Habib Diarra replaces Ângelo.
64' Substitution, Strasbourg. Emanuel Emegha replaces Kevin Gameiro.
64' Junior Mwanga (Strasbourg) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
66' Substitution, Lyon. Gift Orban replaces Alexandre Lacazette because of an injury.
77' Substitution, Lyon. Malick Fofana replaces Ernest Nuamah.
77' Substitution, Lyon. Rayan Cherki replaces Orel Mangala.
87' Substitution, Strasbourg. Marvin Senaya replaces Junior Mwanga.
87' Substitution, Strasbourg. Rabby Nzingoula replaces Frédéric Guilbert.
88' Duje Caleta-Car (Lyon) is shown the yellow card.
88' Ibrahima Sissoko (Strasbourg) is shown the yellow card.
90'+1' Alaa Bellaarouch (Strasbourg) is shown the yellow card.
90'+4' Substitution, Lyon. Clinton Mata replaces Nicolás Tagliafico because of an injury.
91' Penalty saved. Thomas Delaine (Strasbourg) left footed shot saved in the bottom right corner.
91' Goal! Lyon 0(1), Strasbourg 0. Maxence Caqueret (Lyon) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the top left corner.
92' Goal! Lyon 0(1), Strasbourg 0(1). Ismaël Doukouré (Strasbourg) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the top left corner.
93' Goal! Lyon 0(2), Strasbourg 0(1). Gift Orban (Lyon) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the bottom right corner.
94' Goal! Lyon 0(2), Strasbourg 0(2). Ibrahima Sissoko (Strasbourg) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the centre of the goal.
95' Goal! Lyon 0(3), Strasbourg 0(2). Ainsley Maitland-Niles (Lyon) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the bottom right corner.
95' Goal! Lyon 0(3), Strasbourg 0(3). Emanuel Emegha (Strasbourg) converts the penalty with a left footed shot to the bottom right corner.

FT-Pens: Lyon 0-0 Strasbourg

Venue: Groupama Stadium
Auto-refreshing reddit comments link
LINE-UPS
Lyon
Lucas Perri, Duje Caleta-Car, Jake O'Brien, Nicolás Tagliafico (Clinton Mata), Ainsley Maitland-Niles, Nemanja Matic, Orel Mangala (Rayan Cherki), Maxence Caqueret, Alexandre Lacazette (Gift Orban), Saïd Benrahma, Ernest Nuamah (Malick Fofana).
Subs: Paul Akouokou, Anthony Lopes, Henrique , Mama Baldé, Dejan Lovren.
^{____________________________}
Strasbourg
Alaa Bellarouch, Lucas Perrin, Saïdou Sow, Ismael Doukoure, Ibrahima, Junior Mwanga (Marvin Senaya), Thomas Delaine, Frédéric Guilbert (Rabby Nzingoula), Kevin Gameiro (Emanuel Emegha), Ângelo Gabriel (Habib Diarra), Dilane Bakwa.
Subs: Mohamed Bechikh, Steven Baseya, Andrey Santos, Jessy Deminguet, Alexandre Pierre.
MATCH EVENTS via ESPN
45' Substitution, Strasbourg. Habib Diarra replaces Ângelo.
64' Substitution, Strasbourg. Emanuel Emegha replaces Kevin Gameiro.
64' Junior Mwanga (Strasbourg) is shown the yellow card for a bad foul.
66' Substitution, Lyon. Gift Orban replaces Alexandre Lacazette because of an injury.
77' Substitution, Lyon. Malick Fofana replaces Ernest Nuamah.
77' Substitution, Lyon. Rayan Cherki replaces Orel Mangala.
87' Substitution, Strasbourg. Marvin Senaya replaces Junior Mwanga.
87' Substitution, Strasbourg. Rabby Nzingoula replaces Frédéric Guilbert.
88' Duje Caleta-Car (Lyon) is shown the yellow card.
88' Ibrahima Sissoko (Strasbourg) is shown the yellow card.
90'+1' Alaa Bellaarouch (Strasbourg) is shown the yellow card.
90'+4' Substitution, Lyon. Clinton Mata replaces Nicolás Tagliafico because of an injury.
91' Penalty saved. Thomas Delaine (Strasbourg) left footed shot saved in the bottom right corner.
91' Goal! Lyon 0(1), Strasbourg 0. Maxence Caqueret (Lyon) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the top left corner.
92' Goal! Lyon 0(1), Strasbourg 0(1). Ismaël Doukouré (Strasbourg) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the top left corner.
93' Goal! Lyon 0(2), Strasbourg 0(1). Gift Orban (Lyon) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the bottom right corner.
94' Goal! Lyon 0(2), Strasbourg 0(2). Ibrahima Sissoko (Strasbourg) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the centre of the goal.
95' Goal! Lyon 0(3), Strasbourg 0(2). Ainsley Maitland-Niles (Lyon) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the bottom right corner.
95' Goal! Lyon 0(3), Strasbourg 0(3). Emanuel Emegha (Strasbourg) converts the penalty with a left footed shot to the bottom right corner.
96' Goal! Lyon 0(4), Strasbourg 0(3). Rayan Cherki (Lyon) converts the penalty with a right footed shot to the bottom right corner.
97' Penalty missed. Lucas Perrin (Strasbourg) right footed shot is high and wide to the right.
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So, I will just post a few short stories there that I found a long time ago on the Trench Crusade Patreon which ceased to exist.
​
The Beast in All
A short story about how the cult of the Beast spreads among Church soldiers in the trenches.
Related art: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/EVa5G8 / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/zADX2m / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/181V4X
The rain of ticks began not even five minutes after mass was concluded. The sky had looked fouler than usual all day: clouds like the swollen corpses of sheep rotting in a flooded pasture seethed as if maggots were writhing beneath their hide. Somewhere beyond the trench-scarred wasteland to the south, the garrison at Lindisfarne Crossroads was still burning a week after it had fallen to the Heretics, staining the eternal cloudcover with smoke poisoned by radioactivity and demonic corruption. Every day since, at both morning and evening services, Dolorous Company’s chaplains and Doctrinal Officers had been taking turns “encouraging” the dispirited troops by sermonizing on the glories of martyrdom and flogging any doughboy who did not display proper enthusiasm at the prospect. As the troops knelt in the mud around the company’s relic—a Mk. 2 “Seraphim” shell purportedly blessed by Saint Renselaer himself after the Third Reoccupation of the Holy City—they kept surreptitiously glancing at the sky, waiting for something horrid to come shitting down on them from above.
As they were trudging back to their bivouacs, the horror began.
At first the men thought the white nuggets bouncing off their helmets and rolling down the sides of tents were hailstones—until the nuggets unfolded wire-thin legs and began scampering for any patch of exposed flesh. The fat ticks popped like blisters as the soldiers slapped at them and cursed. The soldiers ducked into their tents, stripped off their greatcoats and uniforms, and commenced to pick the bugs off each other. They heated the blades of their bayonets and scalded the ticks into releasing their mandibles where they’d burrowed into the soldiers’ grimy flesh.
But, of course, they missed some. Thousands and thousands of the pests had fallen on the trenches. Even after the company Exorcists had come through to hose everything down with holy water, ticks found their way beneath longjohns, into boots, under helmets….And there they feasted. The ticks ballooned. The soft hide of their distended abdomens split, the wounds forming demonic sigils. Soon, the flesh they battened onto began to swell as well as the venomous gospel delivered by the parasites spread the message of the Beast.
Despite the faith drummed into them from birth, the men were willing converts. The veterans who’d recently seen action at the Mekratrig Advance and the Defense of Araboth found absolution from the awful dreams that mangled their sleep. The new boys fled from the constant dread of facing down demonic legions that had left them shaking and pale ever since they got off the trains and beheld the endless trenchscape smoking from horizon to horizon. The gospel of the Beast offered them escape into animalistic oblivion—into a state of raw instinct devoid of any thought beyond the simple urges of sex and hunger. Infinite hunger.
They tore off their clothing as their skins split open, the meat beneath free to express itself in any form. Bare muscle and rabid organs grew new mouths, new teeth, new tongues—teeth to crack bone, tongues to lick the marrow out. The new disciples of the Beast fell upon any who resisted the gospel of blood and hunger. The trenches roared with gunfire and hunting howls as the converts rampaged, celebrating their freedom as, in the distance, obscured by smoke, the larvae of their new god—like rivers of violent flesh—howled mindlessly into the night.
​
Deployment
A short story describing a Paladin of the Church going on a mission in Hell.
Related arts : https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Jlvq1A / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/oObvGq
A cloying fog of incense hung beneath the frescoed dome of the Paladin’s arming chamber. Monks crowded the galleries, chanting prayers while they monitored the screeds of data being spit out by gilded autoscribes. On the floor, technicians clad in sanctified bodysuits impermeable to sin hustled about their machines, lighting candles, refilling tanks of alchemical reagents, tweaking knobs and faders.
When the huge doors to the Paladin’s adjoining cell opened, silence fell and everyone in the arming chamber sank to their knees in reverent adoration. Many wept. The unmistakable ethereal scent of angels overpowered the odors of frankincense and ozone.
The Paladin entered, head bowed, hands folded in prayer. The gigantic man was naked, and all in attendance averted their eyes from the radiance of holiness reflecting from his scarred skin. The faceplates of the technicians darkened as the glass polarized. They rose to their feet and set about their tasks.
The Paladin took up position in the center of the room and knelt on the mosaic of the Militant Christ the Lion. First the technicians bathed him in holy water and anointed him in conductive oils. They swabbed out his input jacks with squares of virginal cotton and tested their throughput with crucifaxes. Once all were satisfied, they logged their readings and called for the Paladin’s armor to be brought in.
Doors opened and blinded, gelded serfs themselves clad in insulated suits wheeled out carts upon which the various pieces of the Paladin’s armor were arrayed. The plates had been cleansed, fumigated, and sanctified multiple times, but not even the sturdiest alloys and plastics could long resist the corrosive energies of the Pit. The ornate armor was terribly rusted, and some pieces were slated to be reforged, but until the Holy City was liberated there was no way to acquire any more of the Golgothic tektites used in the machining process. Ultimately, though, the armor was just a second line of defense: the Paladin’s own Christ-derived body and unshakable faith were what truly protected him on his one-man crusades into Perdition.
While the technicians were connecting the plates of armor to the Paladin’s neurologics and mounting them on his implanted undercarriage, a tall screen was wheeled over to the warrior and the three-dimensional projection of a Cardinal-General dressed in the red-and-black chasuble of a High Exorcist flickered to life. He spoke:
“In the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit, the Council of Saints in conjunction with the Synod of Strategic Prophecy has charged you to descend unto the Third Circle this day to seek out and destroy the demon-major Choronzon, Lord Mechanic of the Goetic Forge under Archduke Paimon.”
“It shall be done,” the Paladin replied in a soft, almost boyish voice. The Cardinal-General’s ikon vanished.
Once the Paladin’s armor was sealed and pressurized, its systems tested and cleared for operation, the attending technicians once again knelt for a final prayer. The Paladin took up his shield and sword while everyone else filed out of the chamber. Once all were gone, the Black Door in the far wall painfully cranked open. A puff of infernal energies leaked into the room like a shimmer of heat, making the Paladin’s armor sizzle faintly.
Slowly, with all the ponderous weight of a tank grinding into motion, the Paladin crossed the floor and entered the airlock. The Black Door ground shut behind him and sealed. Vents in the walls screamed and bled as infernal atmosphere replaced material air. His armor steamed.
Finally, the opposite door yawned open, and the Paladin began his descent into the raving blackness of Hell.
​
Black Grail
A short story about the very start of a battle between the Church and the Black Grail worshippers.
Related arts: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/2xagzx / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/0XmYGG / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Zrl0R / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/2xagzx / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/rR14bm
First came the Cancer Angels, dropping from the clouds and unfurling their tumorous wings to soar clumsily over the trenches, absorbing bullets and flak until they burst and rained down unholy spirochetes and pus. The soldiers’ prayers quickly changed from hymns of holy defiance to pleas for deliverance as their flesh bubbled with afflictions, their bodies becoming breeding grounds for a wonderful panoply of plagues. As they fell and seethed with rot, their corpses bloomed into parasitic hounds that loped toward the retreating frontlines, terrifying in their silence.
Then came the Plague Knights in their squeaking, clanking, stinking armor. Bullets spanged off the rusted plates; holes punched through the metal bled sewage ripe with fermented illness. When the explosive armor-piercing rounds of sniper priests blew off limbs, the silent figures didn’t even stumble. Trench pilgrims ploughed into their lines with bayonets slathered in holy oils, but the Knights’ huge, rotten claymores hacked open their blessed armor and sowed a thousand varieties of vermin in their meat.
Behind them came hordes of resurrected corpses, some sawing out giddy dirges on instruments they’d once played to pass the dreadful hours waiting for whatever horrors Hell was going to throw at them next. None spoke, or sang, even those that still had tongues. They praised the Putrefactors with the miasmas leaking from their wounds, the maggots spilling from metastatic wombs.
Shells fired from artillery miles distant exploded among their ranks, pulping hundreds, and swathes of napalm dropped from Martyr Bombers incinerated thousands, but not even fire could cleanse the pandemics soaked deep into earth that not even the radiation from hallowed neutron bombs could sterilize.
As the battle waned a procession of Excubitors crownéd with ticks came tramping through the feculent mire, making way for a Lord of Tumors and his wheezing retinue. What ground was not already infected was sprinkled with pus from his gurgling masses. A fog of engineered bacteria rose up from the boiling ground, spreading a stench that not even a mindless acolyte of the Beast could stomach.
The dead men, animated by demonic pestilence, began to claw at the walls of the trenches, pulling down the filthy mud, patting it down into a flat square paved with their own bones. More Lords came forth to surround the makeshift stage, anointing it with foulness. Led by torchbearing corpses, a squad of Choristers came forth. Without a word they took their places. With dull knives they sawed through their necks, decapitating themselves in full view of the Lord of Hosts above. Their plague-thickened blood crawled up from the rough stumps to form blasphemous sigils that rippled the air like heat with the fury of their affront. As the Choristers offered down their shriveled souls to Hell, a brace of naked witches, their skins whitened with chalk made of ground-up bones, formed a circle in their midst.
Now came a sound—a shriek like incoming shells, or a cage full of damned souls screaming, and the familiar wet pops and cracks of flesh transforming. The witches’ bodies flowered, bowels spilling out to become tentacles, bones locking them together. The air tore open and more flesh emerged, sucked up from the deepest Pit of Hell.
Miles distant, in their observation posts, horrified spotters fell to the ground, their brains pierced by the sight of what was forming, as if their binoculars had become pistol barrels. With a complicated scream that shredded reality and blew the grinning Lords and Choristers into clouds of flies, the horned and howling First Apostle rose up like a mushroom cloud of foulness to preach its caustic sermons to the poisoned wasteland.
​
Church of Metamorphosis
A short story about the aftermath of an attack from the Church of Metamorphosis on a Monastery of the Church.
Related arts: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/rRdA5a / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/L2lXyP / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/58d2v1 / https://www.artstation.com/artwork/A9oXNz
After the Monastery of Saint Vindictus fell to the Black Grail’s contagious doctrines and the undead converts marched forth to bolster the siege of New Antioch, the Church of the Metamorphosis came scuttling in to wrap the shattered towers and the bomb-broken walls in mud and saliva and claim the Monastery for their order. Soon the fanes and hallways echoed with new chants—the buzzing, clicking,clacking, squelching mantras of the insectoid monastics. A portable Doorway was brought all the way from their home monasteries in the Inverted Mountains of Hell and erected in the desecrated cathedral,and there the brothers and sisters gather to contemplate the sights that churn eternally in the World Beyond.
A newly-reborn acolyte, still wearing tatters of the human skin he’d shed when the Maggots of Communion reshaped his inner flesh, comes clicking into the Scriptorium where many of his brother and sister acolytes are penning propaganda to distribute throughout the Heretical Provinces. At an empty desk he dips his fingerlike mandibles in ink and proceeds to write a screed based on the signs he’d just beheld beyond the Doorway, signs that become symbols on parchment made from the hides of willing sacrifices—symbols that will worm into the brains of any readers and there lay the seeds of transformation.
In their shrines dug into the rock below the Monastery, Sisters of the Transcendent Chrysalid are interrogating a captured general from one of the penitent legions recently swarmed in the trenches outside New Antioch. The man has bitten out his own tongue to thwart their aims, but the Sisters have no need for speech—they can’t even hear through their translucent cauls. They hoist him upside down and carefully, slowly crack open his skull. They are expert haruspices, carefully jotting down the intel about the city’s defenses they read from the convolutions of his brain. Elsewhere in the Monastery, the tiny Abbot bows before the gigantic Mother Superior and the heaps of eggs she continually excretes from her birthing sacs. All day and all night he supervises the Droning Postulants that spend their brief lives fertilizing the eggs by inscribing horrible sigils into their soft shells.
The eggs are packaged in great cases and sent to the captured airfields south of the Monastery, where they are taken up by possessed pigeons. The birds will drop the eggs all over New Antioch. Maybe one in a thousand of the Maggots that burst from them will find a willing host—but one is all that’s needed.
Through that person’s eyes the Scryers in their bulging cocoons will search the city for weaknesses.
All these activities, however, are just chores the monastics perform for the others orders of Hell in return for their continued solitude. They are not a militant order: they were formed to be scrutineers of the artifacts they call Doorway. They are dedicated to studying the Beyond, and there is no finer fate than to be hollowed out by the things they see, their souls twisted into incomprehensible shapes no material shell can contain. The mindless husks of the Transcended are enshrined in their monasteries’ libraries, where their sanctified chitin is consumed bit by bit by Pupal Novices to help them continue their metamorphoses. The other orders often mock the Church of the Metamorphosis as navel-gazers and hair-splitters, but their role in the Great War is vital to Hell’s progress. What others perceived as endless noise and idly chatter is knowledge in flux—knowledge that, once it’s picked apart into its tiniest pieces, orchestrates the entire War. And, piece by miniscule piece, prepares the World for the day when the Doorway opens and apotheosis comes blasting forth to illuminate everything in its absolute absence of sense.
​
Angel
A short story depicting the effects of an actual angel from God descending upon the battlefield.
We remained cowering in a trench when the trumpet sounded in the oppressive, lead-lined sky. We furtively glanced out of the corners of our eyes, having learned long ago not to look at such things directly. We saw it all the same. The angel stepped down from the sky in a burning catastrophe of light, and it spoke words like thunder.
The words were vast and inscrutable, like glimpsing only a fragment of some titanic buried machine and trying to understand its ancient purpose. Our minds broke upon the surface of those words, leaving us gasping for air, we could not endure such relentless purity.
I stared dumbfounded at my friends who had cast themselves into the mud. They crawled like worms, and they uttered the most desolate sounds. One beat his face against a wooden post until it was a slick, red cavity bristling with broken teeth. The other, shrieking, clutched his service pistol and shot himself again and again.
I pulled myself out of the trench, scrabbling over the sandbags and crosses, and the words of the angel filled my head with a buzzing pressure that made my eyes bulge from their sockets. I fell to my knees, made obeisance, and as I stared into the blazing, dominating light, I could not even feel my head catch fire.

The homeless man in the brown overcoat chewed on his dirty thumb, staring off into the mist and dirty rain. He told me his name was Angel. I stood next to this penniless vagrant with rapt attention, a man in a $1000 suit and more money than I knew what to do with. I listened to every word he said, writing some of it down.
“Mmm, you have to understand,” Angel said, his hazel eyes rolling wildly as he stared past me at things only he could see, “NASA is run by the reptilian overlords. They are a demonic agency with the power to kill people. Anyone who has real, solid evidence that shows the Moon landing was faked gets murdered or dies under suspicious circumstances. NASA even killed Michael Jackson. And do you know why?” I shook my head, a notebook perched in one hand and a solid gold fountain pen in the other. Angel leaned in close, as if he was about to whisper a great secret.
“Because Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk became more famous than NASA’s ‘Moonwalk’.” I looked up, surprised. A thin smile played across the corners of my lips. Angel’s expression stayed grave. A fit of laughter ripped its way out of my stomach.
“What? No way,” I said, still chuckling loudly. But Angel only nodded grimly.
“NASA got jealous and decided he had to go. They poisoned him, man. NASA has lots of hitmen on its payroll. They always get their target.” I continued jotting down notes, trying to collect as much information as I could.
“NASA killed Michael Jackson because they were jealous his Moonwalk was better than theirs,” I quickly scrawled in cursive across the expensive white paper.
***
If you had told me a few days ago that I would spend many hours of my time roving around while listening to crazy drug addicts and rambling homeless people speak about conspiracy theories, I would have laughed. That is, until I moved me and my daughter into Disney’s brand new, secret town and learned that not all conspiracy theories are fake. If I had listened to the first rumblings of bizarre rumors about the secret Disney town they were building in Florida and stayed far away, I wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.
I told my neighbor about it the day before the move, a shirtless man with a bulging beer belly and a black carpet of hair across his chest who went around telling everyone his name was J-spot Jeffrey.
“Well, my ten-year-old daughter loves Disney stuff,” I explained as he nodded vacantly, drinking down an entire can of light beer in a single long swallow before belching. “And, you know, her mom died last year…”
“Oh, I was so sorry to hear about that,” Jeffrey said disingenuously, putting out a fat hand across the low metal fence slung across our yards and patting me hard on the shoulder. “You never know when it’s your time, eh? One day, you could just be driving down the highway and-”
“Yeah, it was horrible,” I said, cutting him off. I remember the night I had gotten the call telling me a tractor-trailer had hit my wife’s car. When I saw pictures of the vehicle later, it looked like little more than a twisted framework of blackened steel. Everything around this house reminded me of her. It made my heart ache with regrets and loneliness.
“The town’s not too far away, eh? You think I could come visit you once you get settled in?” Jeffrey asked. I looked at him in surprise.
“Why would you want to do that?” I asked.
“I’ve heard a lot of urban legends about Disney- not just how Walt Disney’s head is cryogenically frozen, but a lot of creepier rumors too. I’d just like to look around and see it. What do they call the new town?” he asked.
“Storyland,” I said. “The town of Storyland.”
***
A few days later, my daughter Casey and I were driving down the private road towards Storyland. A metal gate finely embossed into silver images of Mickey Mouse and the Cinderella Castle loomed twenty feet in the air. A guard dressed in all black came out, taking my license and looking closely at it before allowing the gates to split open down the middle. Dozens of cameras peered down with their opaque, lidless eyes, seeing everything but understanding nothing.
Every time our family visited Disney, I felt a sense of awe at seeing how much land they owned. Casey stared impassively out the window at the thick Florida swampland, her green eyes the color of ivy. She wrinkled her nose as a fetid, rank odor snuck in through the air conditioning and vents.
“It smells like swamp water here,” she complained, putting her long sleeve up to her nose while breathing in through the fabric. I rolled down the windows a crack to try to let fresh air stream into the car, but it just made the smell worse.
“That’s because there is a swamp here,” I said. “It does smell pretty bad, huh?”
“What if the whole town smells bad, Daddy?” she asked. “I don’t want to live in a place that smells like that, even if Mickey does live there.” She seemed to think on it for a long moment. “OK, maybe if both Mickey and Elsa live there, I’ll be OK with it.” I gave her a faint half-smile, tuning her out as she started to ramble about what kind of house Mickey Mouse would live in.
It took us nearly twenty minutes from when we passed through the gate to reach the first buildings of Storyland. The palm trees, thick vines and green, swampy water started to give way to perfectly manicured lawns.
“Welcome to Storyland!” a cheerful sign read far ahead of us, curving over the road in silver letters five feet tall. Giant Disney characters filled with helium loomed over the street, grinning down at us in their frozen, plastic expressions. Mickey and Minnie floated next to Elsa, Belle and Simba. They all had their gigantic inflatable hands up in greeting. Some hidden mechanism inside the floating characters caused their arms to wave, moving back and forth in slow, lazy arcs.
“So cool!’ Casey said excitedly, leaning over in her seat and hugging me. Her little arms wrapped around my neck as she kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks Daddy. This place is the best.”
“It doesn’t smell like a swamp in here anymore,” I remarked as we stopped in front of the enormous, gleaming sign. Two thick metal gates blocked the road. Tiny black half-spheres of hidden cameras blinked their red eyes in a rhythmic procession. After a few moments, the gates started sliding apart on their own. It all appeared to be fully automated. We pulled through, coming to a town that reeked of excess and money.
Casey nodded happily to herself, floating along on cloud nine as expensive mansions and castles loomed above us on both sides of the street. Her auburn hair had strawberry-blonde streaks running through it. She opened her window and stuck her head outside like a dog, letting her long hair flow behind her in the wind.
Some of the castles appeared to be four or five stories high with giant glass windows cut into the hard, gray stone. A few even had narrow moats of clear, fresh water cut into the enormous lawns. Palm trees lined the yards of Victorian houses, their thin turrets reaching up into the sky like grasping fingers. Ferraris, Porsches, Lamborghinis and other luxury cars shone in the driveways, their sleek bodies emanating power and respect. And yet I didn’t see anyone out in the yards. I found that odd.
The GPS didn’t work out here. Once we got off the public roads and onto Disney’s private land, it acted as if we had driven straight into the middle of a forest. When I bought the property at Storyland, they had sent me a map and a letter, stating they would begin setting up cell phone towers in the area within days. Digging through the middle console, I pulled out the folded map, squinting down at it as I pulled over to the side of the road.
“We live at 777 Celebration Road,” I said, frowning at the convoluted spiderwebs of streets that spanned the map in front of me. “And we’re on the road leading in. Looks like it’s called Main Street USA, so if we take Main Street USA to…” Casey gave a slow, strangled squeak, the sound of a rabbit getting its neck snapped. It immediately snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up suddenly, seeing her staring out the passenger’s side window, her mouth agape.
A child stood on the sidewalk with blood coming from the dark, gaping holes in his eye sockets. He held his hands against his pale, white cheeks. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, the many gaps in his tiny milk teeth showing through his pale lips.
“I’m stuck,” he gurgled, blood pouring from his throat. “I’m stuck in this place. Help me!”
He looked straight up at the sky, and I saw his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. The flesh separated as a crimson waterfall flowed down the front of his chest. Casey inhaled deeply, like a drowning person coming up for the briefest moment of air. Then, with lungs like a forge’s bellows, she screamed, an ear-splitting, high-pitched shriek of absolute terror. I jumped to action, putting the car into drive and peeling away from the walking corpse on the sidewalk. When I looked back, the boy had disappeared, but a few drops of bright, fresh blood still glistened brightly under the sharp rays of the Florida sun.
“What was wrong with that boy?!” Casey cried, tears streaming down her small, pinched face. Her red eyes turned to me, searching for answers, but I couldn’t give her any. I pressed the gas hard, revving the engine and glancing down at the map. Main Street USA led to Frozen Lane and finally to Celebration Road.
“That must have been a joke,” I said, trying to justify it to myself and to Casey. “Hollywood make-up and fake blood. If that boy really had his throat cut like that, he wouldn’t be standing and breathing.” Casey’s tears slowed as she blinked a few times, absorbing the statement.
“That’s not a nice joke,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her fluorescent blue T-shirt. “If it was a joke, that boy is a poophead.” I nodded.
The homes on Celebration Road were not so extravagant as the castles and Victorian mansions spanning Main Street USA. They all had perfectly-manicured lawns, in-ground pools in the shape of classic Disney characters and beautiful wrap-around porches and massive bay windows, however. The house I had rented for a year after only seeing pictures of it came up quickly on our left. It was painted bright red, a three-story colonial with porches on every story and circular windows like glass monocles reflecting the tropical sunshine.
We got out of the car, walking up the cobbled stone walkway toward the front door. A silver knocker with the Beast’s face on it stared back at us. Underneath the knocker, I saw a printed note with a looping signature scrawled underneath it. I ripped it off, reading the note aloud as Casey played with the knocker.
“No drugs, alcohol or tobacco products are allowed in Storyland due to the risk of interactions. Free samples of MOUSE-Z are given to all households, however. MOUSE-Z is a totally non-addictive, non-toxic dietary supplement that will enhance your enjoyment while in Storyland. All guests and citizens of Storyland consent to exposure to MOUSE-Z through their food, water, air or exposure to surfaces. Enjoy your stay, and thanks again from the Disney Company!”
I scratched my head, reading the note again. What the hell was MOUSE-Z? It didn’t sound like any dietary supplement I had ever heard of. I scowled, squinting at the signature, trying to make out the letters at the bottom. “Mr. Crawley.” It sounded like a made-up name. I crumpled up the note, unlocking the door. The cool, air conditioned breeze blew past us with the smell of flowers and fresh paint. I saw vibrant plants scattered around the entrance room. Couches as white as virgin snow sat against the walls, each emblazoned with the black silhouette of the Cinderella Castle and the Disney logo. A landline rang in the living room just as I walked past. My heart jumped into my throat when the shrill ringing pierced the silence, but I quickly calmed down when I realized it was just the phone.
“Hello?” I said as soon as I picked up the receiver.
“This is the guard at the front gate. You have a visitor named Jeffrey Stein,” the man said in a flat tone. I sighed, looking down at my watch. That was quick. Jeffrey must have been really hot to see this weird little town.
“Yeah, send him through,” I said, hanging up the phone. Casey had gone ahead into the kitchen, and I quickly followed behind her.
“I’m so thirsty,” I said, cutting through the living room with its enormous flat-screen TV and comfortable sectionals. The kitchen had all brand-new appliances, and the fridge was stocked with food, soda, juices and milk. I grabbed two Sprites, giving one to Casey who opened it gratefully. I cracked mine open and chugged it all in a few huge gulps. It tasted slightly strange, almost like the bitter aftertaste of caffeine. Casey wrinkled her tiny button nose.
“This soda tastes old,” she complained. I tried looking at the expiration date, but everything suddenly seemed blurry. I blinked quickly, but my eyes teared up. I felt very weird, dissociated and floating. The world flickered like a shimmering mirage. The dull colors and faded texture of reality throbbed like the cobwebs of a nightmarish fever dream.
My vision started to ripple and morph within seconds. I looked down at Casey, but where my daughter had been standing, I now saw a nightmarish creature with giant, glassy black eyes. I stepped back, crying out.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” the demonic figure hissed in a deep, gurgling voice. With red skin stretched thin over its bony head and black talons on its hands, it looked like it had stepped straight out of Hell. It opened its mouth, revealing needle-sharp teeth growing out of its oozing gums like hundreds of tumors. Two enormous, pointed mouse ears were surgically attached to its shiny skin. Black stitches stuck out like pieces of barbed wire at the base of the rotted, brown ears. Dried crusts of orange pus clung to the sides of its head, like the decomposing riverbeds of some ancient diseased tributary.
“What’s going on? What… Get back!” I cried, putting my hands up. The thing just laughed, gnashing its torn slash of a mouth as its lidless black eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.
“This world is our creation for your kind. There are many surprises in Storyland for the sons and daughters of Adam. I am Mr. Crawley, and I will be your guide. Come and see,” he said, running forwards and lunging for my throat with his twisted jungle of cancerous fangs. I spun around, fleeing through the morphing door with thousands of teeth that appeared in front of me. The sides of the door flexed and shivered like the lips of some alien predator. With a wet, sloshing sound, the door started to close around me, the enormous fangs drawing nearer. I lunged through it, landing hard on black, spongy earth. I raised my head and beheld an amazing sight.
An extraterrestrial landscape stretched out to the horizon with writhing, snake-like jungle vines dancing across its surface. Castles thousands of stories high loomed far off in the distance like great mountains, their sharp turrets piercing the crimson clouds and disappearing from view. Spinning black holes sent out great jets of light and planetary rings like those of Saturn shone through the narrow breaks in the blood-red clouds that covered the sky like tumors. Thick patches of shimmering, silver fog swept across the landscape, obscuring entire swaths of the eldritch jungle.
A plume of fluffy, luminescent fog a few dozen feet away disappeared like a breath of smoke as a humid jungle breeze blew past. The insane creature with the mouse ears surgically attached to his demonic, naked body stood in the midst of it, his black eyes glittering with insanity as he stared straight at me.
“This is my world,” he said as silver saliva dripped from his grinning mouth. “Do you think you can run from me? I am everywhere, in the wind and in the trees and even in you. I am Mr. Crawley, and I know who you are. Your daughter is here with us, too.” I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“This is all some hallucination,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “I bet this place isn’t even owned by Disney. It’s probably some fucking CIA black site where they experiment on people with new drugs.” Mr. Crawley laughed at that.
“This world is the rock which the builders rejected which has become the cornerstone of all things. We have made it so. You will not leave until we allow it. We can make every moment of your time stretch out to a million years. By the time eternity passed, the only thing that would return to your body would be an insane, empty shell of a mind,” Mr. Crawley hissed, his blank, obsidian eyes gleaming with a child-like cruelty.
“What do you want with me?” I whispered.
“Only this,” the creature gurgled as the bloody clouds above us whipped and soared in cyclonical whorls like the currents of a hurricane. “You must call more people into Storyland, many more. If you bring others to this world, the cornerstone of all realities, we will let you and the girl leave in peace…” His voice and the world began to blow away like smoke in a strong breeze. Everything grew faint and distant. “...but if not, we will follow you, and then, only the death of the universe many eternities from now would bring you any release from the endless suffering of Storyland.”
***
I groaned, feeling blood running down my face. I opened my eyes. Sharp, stabbing pains emanated from various spots all over my body.
“Hey buddy,” Jeffrey said, leaning low over me and slightly slapping my face, “what the hell is going on here?” I looked around, seeing that I had run straight through the sliding door in the back of the house at Storyland. I was lying surrounded by twinkling shards of glass on the concrete patio. To my amazement, I saw Jeffrey had a shirt on for the first time as long as I had known him. The white fabric of the T-shirt was stretched thin across his bulging, fat stomach.
“Ohhh, God, my head,” I said, bringing my hand up to my forehead. My fingers came away wet with blood. “I had the craziest goddamn dream, Jeffrey. We got here, and there was a bizarre note on the door saying that all the food and drinks and stuff were laced with some weird drug. And then I drank a can of soda, and…” I trailed off, my heart suddenly speeding up in my chest. “Where’s Casey, Jeffrey?” He shook his head, dumb-founded.
“I just got here and heard the door shattering back here. I circled around your yard and found you here like this. I have no idea where the girl is,” he said, looking around with concern. He had the look of a man who had accidentally walked into a lunatic asylum filled with dangerous inmates.
“Don’t drink or eat anything here, Jeffrey,” I said vehemently, raving. “Don’t wash your hands. Don’t touch the water or anything. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not normal. There’s something… unnatural.” That was really the core of it. The entire experience with MOUSE-Z had seemed like something real, not like the creeping delusions of a drug trip. Jeffrey gave me a confused look, taking a step back from me.
“I think I should probably call an ambulance,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “You might have had a concussion, bud. Just calm down, OK? I don’t think anyone’s drugging this entire town. That sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie. Come on, James, think about it.”
“Help me up,” I said, putting out my hand. Jeffrey pulled me up. My head swam as black motes danced across my vision. As I tried steadying myself, leaning heavily on Jeffrey’s thick shoulder, I felt the world spinning around me. “We need to find Casey.”
“OK, bud, easy does it,” he said, putting a meaty arm around me. He opened the shattered sliding door. The sparkling shards of glass crunched under our feet like dead leaves. I felt a small amount of strength returning to me as I staggered forward, wheezing like an asthmatic. Half-dried blood caked my arms and fresh drops still ran down from a cut across my forehead.
“See, there’s Casey, right there,” Jeffrey said reassuringly, pointing to the couch in the living room. I glanced over hopefully, but my heart dropped when I saw what was laying on the couch. It was about the size of my daughter, but it looked like the nightmarish results of some mad scientist with a death camp full of patients and unlimited funding. I saw the face of my daughter there and even recognized her fluorescent blue T-shirt, but something was terribly wrong with her now.
The half-human, half-mouse abomination on the couch looked up at us with eyes full of agony. The jellied whites of her eyes glistened like pools of pus. Bright rivulets of blood dribbled down the soft white hairs covering her face. Her legs were twisted, broken sticks that had the same pink, fleshy hue of a mouse’s paws. Blood bubbled from her shivering lips. Garish black stitches ran up and down her body in irregular square patches. The ears of some enormous, genetically engineered mouse had been sewn onto her hairless, mutilated skull. A rainbow of liquids dripped from the surgical sites, dripping in sickly, infected oranges and clotted dark reds. Broken bones stuck outwards through the skin of her arms and legs like daggers stabbed through a corpse.
“God, what happened? Is that really you, Casey?” I said, ripping myself away from Jeffrey and stumbling across the room.
“Kill me,” she whispered as pink, fetid drool dribbled out of her slashed mouth. “It hurts, Daddy. Please… kill me.” I heard a gurgling laugh from behind me. I turned my head, seeing Mr. Crawley standing in the place of Jeffrey. Behind him, the red sky of that other world shone through the shattered sliding door into our house at Storyland.
“Do you think you can escape that easily? If you do not bring me new tributes, I will draw every drop of agony from you and your daughter that the human mind can experience. And when you are destroyed, trembling, insane wretches, only then will I allow you to die, slowly and painfully.
“So do you agree to the terms? Will you bring us new tributes?”
“Never! I’d rather die than bring other people into this nightmare!” The twisted body of Casey on the couch continued gurgling and spitting up frothy blood. Mr. Crawley’s face changed into an expression of pleasure at the challenge.
“We do love a fighter here at Storyland!” he said, grinning widely, showing off the hundreds of needle-like fangs that poked out of his mouth like the quills of a porcupine. He snapped his long, tapering fingers together. His talons flashed and threw off sparks of white light. The red, alien sky behind Mr. Crawley seemed to swirl and bubble faster. “Perhaps some of our pets here can help change your mind.” His black, lidless eyes spun in their sockets as he glanced back through the shattered door into the alien jungles beyond. I watched in horror as two creatures from a nightmare came loping out from the thick vines and dancing brush.
“This is the Beast and Simba,” Mr. Crawley said, his shrill laughter ripping through the air like the rending of metal. And I saw, in the front, a half-human, half-animal combination with long flowing black hair all over its body. Its powerful leg and arm muscles pistoned like machines as it loped gracefully through the door. Its eyes gleamed pure white like spoiled milk. It gnashed its massive jaws together, sending out long streams of drool that flew out behind it.
Next to the Beast, a hairless lion with surgical marks all over its body limped quickly forward. It had an extra eye surgically inserted into its forehead, and each of its legs had extra paws sewn on the back. The lion’s three eyes glistened with bloodlust and hunger.
Their heavy bodies shook the floor as they sped towards me and my daughter. I turned to the mutated body of Casey on the couch. She had seen death coming towards her in this new hellish form and now fell with a thud to the ground in an attempt to escape it. She tried crawling away. I ran towards her as a heavy weight came down on my back.
I spun around to see the mouth of the lion opening wide inches from my face. A deep, throaty growl emanated from its chest. It brought its paws down on my chest, and I felt my ribs snap like twigs. They shattered with a sound like ice cracking. Behind me, Casey gave a strangled shriek of agony as the Beast tore into her with its powerful jaws.
The sounds of our screams echoed across the room. I felt my vocal cords tear as blood spurted from my mouth. The pain seemed to go on and on as the jaws came down again and again, ripping off pieces of my body. Eventually, once I was nearly dead, Mr. Crawley came over, peering down at me with his glistening beetle eyes.
“Will you bring new tributes, or do we need to repeat this for the next trillion years?” he asked in a cold, psychopathic tone. I nodded my bloody head, spitting out broken teeth and frothy blood.
“I’ll do it,” I groaned slowly, feeling most of the bones in my body shattered. Every breath felt like I was inhaling acid. I looked down, seeing parts of my arm and legs torn off. My intestines peeked through the torn mass of flesh around my stomach like a coiled snake looking out of its den. Mr. Crawley grinned, nodding to the animals.
The lion knelt down, and with a powerful crunch of its jaws, it ripped my throat out. The world quickly went black as endless pain reverberated through my consciousness and cold death overtook me.
***
Slowly, languidedly, I opened my eyes and found myself on the kitchen floor. Casey was laying next to me, her pupils dilated and mouth open. Drool puddled on the linoleum beneath her catatonic face.
“Casey?” I said weakly, pushing myself up. My entire body felt sore, as if I felt reflections of that new death sensation that had just ripped across my mind just moments earlier. I wanted to grab Casey and get out of there, but I couldn’t trust my own mind anymore. I knew that if I didn’t do what Mr. Crawley wanted, I would keep getting stuck in his nightmarish world. It was like an eternity of false awakenings, a type of Hell I had never imagined in my wildest nightmare. I didn’t know if this one would prove to be the same. Without hesitation, I picked up my unconscious daughter and brought her out to the car. Jeffrey pulled up with his middle-aged girlfriend moments later. They gawked at us with open mouths.
“Hey, go on inside and have some drinks!” I yelled at them. “I just have to go up to the gatehouse for a few minutes. Have a seat, look around, make yourselves comfortable.” Jeffrey nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I peeled out of there. Casey awoke as we drove the long trek back towards the guardhouse. Once we were a few minutes away, my cell phone started pinging again, and I realized I had service.
I pulled up slowly to the metal gate, looking out at the guard in his sleek uniform. He peeked out of the guardhouse, but the shape didn’t look human. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I glimpsed a dark silhouette with mouse ears and black eyes. The figure quickly disappeared back behind the door.
Shaking, I looked down at my phone. I sent a mass text message to all my friends.
“I just rented a house at an exclusive Disney town! My address is at 777 Celebration Road, Storyland. Unlimited free drinks and food there. Feel free to let yourselves in and stay as long as you want. Make yourselves at home and explore the town. I will not be at the house, however. Just tell the guard you know me.” As soon as I pressed send, the gate started to swing to the side, and I left that den of horrors. I glanced back and saw two obsidian eyes and a grinning slash of a mouth peering out of the guardhouse. I shuddered.
***
I finished telling my story to Angel, who nodded, unsurprised. The homeless lunatic knew about all conspiracy theories. He had told me about Walt Disney’s frozen head, the ghosts at Disneyworld and all the suspicious deaths covered up there.
“I’m not surprised that they’re working with the CIA now on some weird mind control drug,” Angel said, his eyes gleaming darkly in the streetlights. “It is, after all, their world.” I backed up, a cold shiver running through my spine as those words rang out around me again. They were words I hadn’t heard since the horrors of Storyland.
In the darkness of the alleyway, I thought I saw the silhouette of mouse ears on Angel’s head and teeth growing out of his gums like tumors. I blinked, and he was just a normal vagrant again.
“I hope this isn’t the world of Storyland,” I said, a sense of desperation clenching my heart. “Sometimes, I wonder if I ever left it. I wonder if Casey and I are still there, waiting for the next round of torture.”
Angel only grinned, his lips spreading wide. And in the shadows of the alley, his teeth jutted out like hundreds of needles.

The homeless man in the brown overcoat chewed on his dirty thumb, staring off into the mist and dirty rain. He told me his name was Angel. I stood next to this penniless vagrant with rapt attention, a man in a $1000 suit and more money than I knew what to do with. I listened to every word he said, writing some of it down.
“Mmm, you have to understand,” Angel said, his hazel eyes rolling wildly as he stared past me at things only he could see, “NASA is run by the reptilian overlords. They are a demonic agency with the power to kill people. Anyone who has real, solid evidence that shows the Moon landing was faked gets murdered or dies under suspicious circumstances. NASA even killed Michael Jackson. And do you know why?” I shook my head, a notebook perched in one hand and a solid gold fountain pen in the other. Angel leaned in close, as if he was about to whisper a great secret.
“Because Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk became more famous than NASA’s ‘Moonwalk’.” I looked up, surprised. A thin smile played across the corners of my lips. Angel’s expression stayed grave. A fit of laughter ripped its way out of my stomach.
“What? No way,” I said, still chuckling loudly. But Angel only nodded grimly.
“NASA got jealous and decided he had to go. They poisoned him, man. NASA has lots of hitmen on its payroll. They always get their target.” I continued jotting down notes, trying to collect as much information as I could.
“NASA killed Michael Jackson because they were jealous his Moonwalk was better than theirs,” I quickly scrawled in cursive across the expensive white paper.
***
If you had told me a few days ago that I would spend many hours of my time roving around while listening to crazy drug addicts and rambling homeless people speak about conspiracy theories, I would have laughed. That is, until I moved me and my daughter into Disney’s brand new, secret town and learned that not all conspiracy theories are fake. If I had listened to the first rumblings of bizarre rumors about the secret Disney town they were building in Florida and stayed far away, I wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.
I told my neighbor about it the day before the move, a shirtless man with a bulging beer belly and a black carpet of hair across his chest who went around telling everyone his name was J-spot Jeffrey.
“Well, my ten-year-old daughter loves Disney stuff,” I explained as he nodded vacantly, drinking down an entire can of light beer in a single long swallow before belching. “And, you know, her mom died last year…”
“Oh, I was so sorry to hear about that,” Jeffrey said disingenuously, putting out a fat hand across the low metal fence slung across our yards and patting me hard on the shoulder. “You never know when it’s your time, eh? One day, you could just be driving down the highway and-”
“Yeah, it was horrible,” I said, cutting him off. I remember the night I had gotten the call telling me a tractor-trailer had hit my wife’s car. When I saw pictures of the vehicle later, it looked like little more than a twisted framework of blackened steel. Everything around this house reminded me of her. It made my heart ache with regrets and loneliness.
“The town’s not too far away, eh? You think I could come visit you once you get settled in?” Jeffrey asked. I looked at him in surprise.
“Why would you want to do that?” I asked.
“I’ve heard a lot of urban legends about Disney- not just how Walt Disney’s head is cryogenically frozen, but a lot of creepier rumors too. I’d just like to look around and see it. What do they call the new town?” he asked.
“Storyland,” I said. “The town of Storyland.”
***
A few days later, my daughter Casey and I were driving down the private road towards Storyland. A metal gate finely embossed into silver images of Mickey Mouse and the Cinderella Castle loomed twenty feet in the air. A guard dressed in all black came out, taking my license and looking closely at it before allowing the gates to split open down the middle. Dozens of cameras peered down with their opaque, lidless eyes, seeing everything but understanding nothing.
Every time our family visited Disney, I felt a sense of awe at seeing how much land they owned. Casey stared impassively out the window at the thick Florida swampland, her green eyes the color of ivy. She wrinkled her nose as a fetid, rank odor snuck in through the air conditioning and vents.
“It smells like swamp water here,” she complained, putting her long sleeve up to her nose while breathing in through the fabric. I rolled down the windows a crack to try to let fresh air stream into the car, but it just made the smell worse.
“That’s because there is a swamp here,” I said. “It does smell pretty bad, huh?”
“What if the whole town smells bad, Daddy?” she asked. “I don’t want to live in a place that smells like that, even if Mickey does live there.” She seemed to think on it for a long moment. “OK, maybe if both Mickey and Elsa live there, I’ll be OK with it.” I gave her a faint half-smile, tuning her out as she started to ramble about what kind of house Mickey Mouse would live in.
It took us nearly twenty minutes from when we passed through the gate to reach the first buildings of Storyland. The palm trees, thick vines and green, swampy water started to give way to perfectly manicured lawns.
“Welcome to Storyland!” a cheerful sign read far ahead of us, curving over the road in silver letters five feet tall. Giant Disney characters filled with helium loomed over the street, grinning down at us in their frozen, plastic expressions. Mickey and Minnie floated next to Elsa, Belle and Simba. They all had their gigantic inflatable hands up in greeting. Some hidden mechanism inside the floating characters caused their arms to wave, moving back and forth in slow, lazy arcs.
“So cool!’ Casey said excitedly, leaning over in her seat and hugging me. Her little arms wrapped around my neck as she kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks Daddy. This place is the best.”
“It doesn’t smell like a swamp in here anymore,” I remarked as we stopped in front of the enormous, gleaming sign. Two thick metal gates blocked the road. Tiny black half-spheres of hidden cameras blinked their red eyes in a rhythmic procession. After a few moments, the gates started sliding apart on their own. It all appeared to be fully automated. We pulled through, coming to a town that reeked of excess and money.
Casey nodded happily to herself, floating along on cloud nine as expensive mansions and castles loomed above us on both sides of the street. Her auburn hair had strawberry-blonde streaks running through it. She opened her window and stuck her head outside like a dog, letting her long hair flow behind her in the wind.
Some of the castles appeared to be four or five stories high with giant glass windows cut into the hard, gray stone. A few even had narrow moats of clear, fresh water cut into the enormous lawns. Palm trees lined the yards of Victorian houses, their thin turrets reaching up into the sky like grasping fingers. Ferraris, Porsches, Lamborghinis and other luxury cars shone in the driveways, their sleek bodies emanating power and respect. And yet I didn’t see anyone out in the yards. I found that odd.
The GPS didn’t work out here. Once we got off the public roads and onto Disney’s private land, it acted as if we had driven straight into the middle of a forest. When I bought the property at Storyland, they had sent me a map and a letter, stating they would begin setting up cell phone towers in the area within days. Digging through the middle console, I pulled out the folded map, squinting down at it as I pulled over to the side of the road.
“We live at 777 Celebration Road,” I said, frowning at the convoluted spiderwebs of streets that spanned the map in front of me. “And we’re on the road leading in. Looks like it’s called Main Street USA, so if we take Main Street USA to…” Casey gave a slow, strangled squeak, the sound of a rabbit getting its neck snapped. It immediately snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up suddenly, seeing her staring out the passenger’s side window, her mouth agape.
A child stood on the sidewalk with blood coming from the dark, gaping holes in his eye sockets. He held his hands against his pale, white cheeks. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, the many gaps in his tiny milk teeth showing through his pale lips.
“I’m stuck,” he gurgled, blood pouring from his throat. “I’m stuck in this place. Help me!”
He looked straight up at the sky, and I saw his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. The flesh separated as a crimson waterfall flowed down the front of his chest. Casey inhaled deeply, like a drowning person coming up for the briefest moment of air. Then, with lungs like a forge’s bellows, she screamed, an ear-splitting, high-pitched shriek of absolute terror. I jumped to action, putting the car into drive and peeling away from the walking corpse on the sidewalk. When I looked back, the boy had disappeared, but a few drops of bright, fresh blood still glistened brightly under the sharp rays of the Florida sun.
“What was wrong with that boy?!” Casey cried, tears streaming down her small, pinched face. Her red eyes turned to me, searching for answers, but I couldn’t give her any. I pressed the gas hard, revving the engine and glancing down at the map. Main Street USA led to Frozen Lane and finally to Celebration Road.
“That must have been a joke,” I said, trying to justify it to myself and to Casey. “Hollywood make-up and fake blood. If that boy really had his throat cut like that, he wouldn’t be standing and breathing.” Casey’s tears slowed as she blinked a few times, absorbing the statement.
“That’s not a nice joke,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her fluorescent blue T-shirt. “If it was a joke, that boy is a poophead.” I nodded.
The homes on Celebration Road were not so extravagant as the castles and Victorian mansions spanning Main Street USA. They all had perfectly-manicured lawns, in-ground pools in the shape of classic Disney characters and beautiful wrap-around porches and massive bay windows, however. The house I had rented for a year after only seeing pictures of it came up quickly on our left. It was painted bright red, a three-story colonial with porches on every story and circular windows like glass monocles reflecting the tropical sunshine.
We got out of the car, walking up the cobbled stone walkway toward the front door. A silver knocker with the Beast’s face on it stared back at us. Underneath the knocker, I saw a printed note with a looping signature scrawled underneath it. I ripped it off, reading the note aloud as Casey played with the knocker.
“No drugs, alcohol or tobacco products are allowed in Storyland due to the risk of interactions. Free samples of MOUSE-Z are given to all households, however. MOUSE-Z is a totally non-addictive, non-toxic dietary supplement that will enhance your enjoyment while in Storyland. All guests and citizens of Storyland consent to exposure to MOUSE-Z through their food, water, air or exposure to surfaces. Enjoy your stay, and thanks again from the Disney Company!”
I scratched my head, reading the note again. What the hell was MOUSE-Z? It didn’t sound like any dietary supplement I had ever heard of. I scowled, squinting at the signature, trying to make out the letters at the bottom. “Mr. Crawley.” It sounded like a made-up name. I crumpled up the note, unlocking the door. The cool, air conditioned breeze blew past us with the smell of flowers and fresh paint. I saw vibrant plants scattered around the entrance room. Couches as white as virgin snow sat against the walls, each emblazoned with the black silhouette of the Cinderella Castle and the Disney logo. A landline rang in the living room just as I walked past. My heart jumped into my throat when the shrill ringing pierced the silence, but I quickly calmed down when I realized it was just the phone.
“Hello?” I said as soon as I picked up the receiver.
“This is the guard at the front gate. You have a visitor named Jeffrey Stein,” the man said in a flat tone. I sighed, looking down at my watch. That was quick. Jeffrey must have been really hot to see this weird little town.
“Yeah, send him through,” I said, hanging up the phone. Casey had gone ahead into the kitchen, and I quickly followed behind her.
“I’m so thirsty,” I said, cutting through the living room with its enormous flat-screen TV and comfortable sectionals. The kitchen had all brand-new appliances, and the fridge was stocked with food, soda, juices and milk. I grabbed two Sprites, giving one to Casey who opened it gratefully. I cracked mine open and chugged it all in a few huge gulps. It tasted slightly strange, almost like the bitter aftertaste of caffeine. Casey wrinkled her tiny button nose.
“This soda tastes old,” she complained. I tried looking at the expiration date, but everything suddenly seemed blurry. I blinked quickly, but my eyes teared up. I felt very weird, dissociated and floating. The world flickered like a shimmering mirage. The dull colors and faded texture of reality throbbed like the cobwebs of a nightmarish fever dream.
My vision started to ripple and morph within seconds. I looked down at Casey, but where my daughter had been standing, I now saw a nightmarish creature with giant, glassy black eyes. I stepped back, crying out.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” the demonic figure hissed in a deep, gurgling voice. With red skin stretched thin over its bony head and black talons on its hands, it looked like it had stepped straight out of Hell. It opened its mouth, revealing needle-sharp teeth growing out of its oozing gums like hundreds of tumors. Two enormous, pointed mouse ears were surgically attached to its shiny skin. Black stitches stuck out like pieces of barbed wire at the base of the rotted, brown ears. Dried crusts of orange pus clung to the sides of its head, like the decomposing riverbeds of some ancient diseased tributary.
“What’s going on? What… Get back!” I cried, putting my hands up. The thing just laughed, gnashing its torn slash of a mouth as its lidless black eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.
“This world is our creation for your kind. There are many surprises in Storyland for the sons and daughters of Adam. I am Mr. Crawley, and I will be your guide. Come and see,” he said, running forwards and lunging for my throat with his twisted jungle of cancerous fangs. I spun around, fleeing through the morphing door with thousands of teeth that appeared in front of me. The sides of the door flexed and shivered like the lips of some alien predator. With a wet, sloshing sound, the door started to close around me, the enormous fangs drawing nearer. I lunged through it, landing hard on black, spongy earth. I raised my head and beheld an amazing sight.
An extraterrestrial landscape stretched out to the horizon with writhing, snake-like jungle vines dancing across its surface. Castles thousands of stories high loomed far off in the distance like great mountains, their sharp turrets piercing the crimson clouds and disappearing from view. Spinning black holes sent out great jets of light and planetary rings like those of Saturn shone through the narrow breaks in the blood-red clouds that covered the sky like tumors. Thick patches of shimmering, silver fog swept across the landscape, obscuring entire swaths of the eldritch jungle.
A plume of fluffy, luminescent fog a few dozen feet away disappeared like a breath of smoke as a humid jungle breeze blew past. The insane creature with the mouse ears surgically attached to his demonic, naked body stood in the midst of it, his black eyes glittering with insanity as he stared straight at me.
“This is my world,” he said as silver saliva dripped from his grinning mouth. “Do you think you can run from me? I am everywhere, in the wind and in the trees and even in you. I am Mr. Crawley, and I know who you are. Your daughter is here with us, too.” I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“This is all some hallucination,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “I bet this place isn’t even owned by Disney. It’s probably some fucking CIA black site where they experiment on people with new drugs.” Mr. Crawley laughed at that.
“This world is the rock which the builders rejected which has become the cornerstone of all things. We have made it so. You will not leave until we allow it. We can make every moment of your time stretch out to a million years. By the time eternity passed, the only thing that would return to your body would be an insane, empty shell of a mind,” Mr. Crawley hissed, his blank, obsidian eyes gleaming with a child-like cruelty.
“What do you want with me?” I whispered.
“Only this,” the creature gurgled as the bloody clouds above us whipped and soared in cyclonical whorls like the currents of a hurricane. “You must call more people into Storyland, many more. If you bring others to this world, the cornerstone of all realities, we will let you and the girl leave in peace…” His voice and the world began to blow away like smoke in a strong breeze. Everything grew faint and distant. “...but if not, we will follow you, and then, only the death of the universe many eternities from now would bring you any release from the endless suffering of Storyland.”
***
I groaned, feeling blood running down my face. I opened my eyes. Sharp, stabbing pains emanated from various spots all over my body.
“Hey buddy,” Jeffrey said, leaning low over me and slightly slapping my face, “what the hell is going on here?” I looked around, seeing that I had run straight through the sliding door in the back of the house at Storyland. I was lying surrounded by twinkling shards of glass on the concrete patio. To my amazement, I saw Jeffrey had a shirt on for the first time as long as I had known him. The white fabric of the T-shirt was stretched thin across his bulging, fat stomach.
“Ohhh, God, my head,” I said, bringing my hand up to my forehead. My fingers came away wet with blood. “I had the craziest goddamn dream, Jeffrey. We got here, and there was a bizarre note on the door saying that all the food and drinks and stuff were laced with some weird drug. And then I drank a can of soda, and…” I trailed off, my heart suddenly speeding up in my chest. “Where’s Casey, Jeffrey?” He shook his head, dumb-founded.
“I just got here and heard the door shattering back here. I circled around your yard and found you here like this. I have no idea where the girl is,” he said, looking around with concern. He had the look of a man who had accidentally walked into a lunatic asylum filled with dangerous inmates.
“Don’t drink or eat anything here, Jeffrey,” I said vehemently, raving. “Don’t wash your hands. Don’t touch the water or anything. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not normal. There’s something… unnatural.” That was really the core of it. The entire experience with MOUSE-Z had seemed like something real, not like the creeping delusions of a drug trip. Jeffrey gave me a confused look, taking a step back from me.
“I think I should probably call an ambulance,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “You might have had a concussion, bud. Just calm down, OK? I don’t think anyone’s drugging this entire town. That sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie. Come on, James, think about it.”
“Help me up,” I said, putting out my hand. Jeffrey pulled me up. My head swam as black motes danced across my vision. As I tried steadying myself, leaning heavily on Jeffrey’s thick shoulder, I felt the world spinning around me. “We need to find Casey.”
“OK, bud, easy does it,” he said, putting a meaty arm around me. He opened the shattered sliding door. The sparkling shards of glass crunched under our feet like dead leaves. I felt a small amount of strength returning to me as I staggered forward, wheezing like an asthmatic. Half-dried blood caked my arms and fresh drops still ran down from a cut across my forehead.
“See, there’s Casey, right there,” Jeffrey said reassuringly, pointing to the couch in the living room. I glanced over hopefully, but my heart dropped when I saw what was laying on the couch. It was about the size of my daughter, but it looked like the nightmarish results of some mad scientist with a death camp full of patients and unlimited funding. I saw the face of my daughter there and even recognized her fluorescent blue T-shirt, but something was terribly wrong with her now.
The half-human, half-mouse abomination on the couch looked up at us with eyes full of agony. The jellied whites of her eyes glistened like pools of pus. Bright rivulets of blood dribbled down the soft white hairs covering her face. Her legs were twisted, broken sticks that had the same pink, fleshy hue of a mouse’s paws. Blood bubbled from her shivering lips. Garish black stitches ran up and down her body in irregular square patches. The ears of some enormous, genetically engineered mouse had been sewn onto her hairless, mutilated skull. A rainbow of liquids dripped from the surgical sites, dripping in sickly, infected oranges and clotted dark reds. Broken bones stuck outwards through the skin of her arms and legs like daggers stabbed through a corpse.
“God, what happened? Is that really you, Casey?” I said, ripping myself away from Jeffrey and stumbling across the room.
“Kill me,” she whispered as pink, fetid drool dribbled out of her slashed mouth. “It hurts, Daddy. Please… kill me.” I heard a gurgling laugh from behind me. I turned my head, seeing Mr. Crawley standing in the place of Jeffrey. Behind him, the red sky of that other world shone through the shattered sliding door into our house at Storyland.
“Do you think you can escape that easily? If you do not bring me new tributes, I will draw every drop of agony from you and your daughter that the human mind can experience. And when you are destroyed, trembling, insane wretches, only then will I allow you to die, slowly and painfully.
“So do you agree to the terms? Will you bring us new tributes?”
“Never! I’d rather die than bring other people into this nightmare!” The twisted body of Casey on the couch continued gurgling and spitting up frothy blood. Mr. Crawley’s face changed into an expression of pleasure at the challenge.
“We do love a fighter here at Storyland!” he said, grinning widely, showing off the hundreds of needle-like fangs that poked out of his mouth like the quills of a porcupine. He snapped his long, tapering fingers together. His talons flashed and threw off sparks of white light. The red, alien sky behind Mr. Crawley seemed to swirl and bubble faster. “Perhaps some of our pets here can help change your mind.” His black, lidless eyes spun in their sockets as he glanced back through the shattered door into the alien jungles beyond. I watched in horror as two creatures from a nightmare came loping out from the thick vines and dancing brush.
“This is the Beast and Simba,” Mr. Crawley said, his shrill laughter ripping through the air like the rending of metal. And I saw, in the front, a half-human, half-animal combination with long flowing black hair all over its body. Its powerful leg and arm muscles pistoned like machines as it loped gracefully through the door. Its eyes gleamed pure white like spoiled milk. It gnashed its massive jaws together, sending out long streams of drool that flew out behind it.
Next to the Beast, a hairless lion with surgical marks all over its body limped quickly forward. It had an extra eye surgically inserted into its forehead, and each of its legs had extra paws sewn on the back. The lion’s three eyes glistened with bloodlust and hunger.
Their heavy bodies shook the floor as they sped towards me and my daughter. I turned to the mutated body of Casey on the couch. She had seen death coming towards her in this new hellish form and now fell with a thud to the ground in an attempt to escape it. She tried crawling away. I ran towards her as a heavy weight came down on my back.
I spun around to see the mouth of the lion opening wide inches from my face. A deep, throaty growl emanated from its chest. It brought its paws down on my chest, and I felt my ribs snap like twigs. They shattered with a sound like ice cracking. Behind me, Casey gave a strangled shriek of agony as the Beast tore into her with its powerful jaws.
The sounds of our screams echoed across the room. I felt my vocal cords tear as blood spurted from my mouth. The pain seemed to go on and on as the jaws came down again and again, ripping off pieces of my body. Eventually, once I was nearly dead, Mr. Crawley came over, peering down at me with his glistening beetle eyes.
“Will you bring new tributes, or do we need to repeat this for the next trillion years?” he asked in a cold, psychopathic tone. I nodded my bloody head, spitting out broken teeth and frothy blood.
“I’ll do it,” I groaned slowly, feeling most of the bones in my body shattered. Every breath felt like I was inhaling acid. I looked down, seeing parts of my arm and legs torn off. My intestines peeked through the torn mass of flesh around my stomach like a coiled snake looking out of its den. Mr. Crawley grinned, nodding to the animals.
The lion knelt down, and with a powerful crunch of its jaws, it ripped my throat out. The world quickly went black as endless pain reverberated through my consciousness and cold death overtook me.
***
Slowly, languidedly, I opened my eyes and found myself on the kitchen floor. Casey was laying next to me, her pupils dilated and mouth open. Drool puddled on the linoleum beneath her catatonic face.
“Casey?” I said weakly, pushing myself up. My entire body felt sore, as if I felt reflections of that new death sensation that had just ripped across my mind just moments earlier. I wanted to grab Casey and get out of there, but I couldn’t trust my own mind anymore. I knew that if I didn’t do what Mr. Crawley wanted, I would keep getting stuck in his nightmarish world. It was like an eternity of false awakenings, a type of Hell I had never imagined in my wildest nightmare. I didn’t know if this one would prove to be the same. Without hesitation, I picked up my unconscious daughter and brought her out to the car. Jeffrey pulled up with his middle-aged girlfriend moments later. They gawked at us with open mouths.
“Hey, go on inside and have some drinks!” I yelled at them. “I just have to go up to the gatehouse for a few minutes. Have a seat, look around, make yourselves comfortable.” Jeffrey nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I peeled out of there. Casey awoke as we drove the long trek back towards the guardhouse. Once we were a few minutes away, my cell phone started pinging again, and I realized I had service.
I pulled up slowly to the metal gate, looking out at the guard in his sleek uniform. He peeked out of the guardhouse, but the shape didn’t look human. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I glimpsed a dark silhouette with mouse ears and black eyes. The figure quickly disappeared back behind the door.
Shaking, I looked down at my phone. I sent a mass text message to all my friends.
“I just rented a house at an exclusive Disney town! My address is at 777 Celebration Road, Storyland. Unlimited free drinks and food there. Feel free to let yourselves in and stay as long as you want. Make yourselves at home and explore the town. I will not be at the house, however. Just tell the guard you know me.” As soon as I pressed send, the gate started to swing to the side, and I left that den of horrors. I glanced back and saw two obsidian eyes and a grinning slash of a mouth peering out of the guardhouse. I shuddered.
***
I finished telling my story to Angel, who nodded, unsurprised. The homeless lunatic knew about all conspiracy theories. He had told me about Walt Disney’s frozen head, the ghosts at Disneyworld and all the suspicious deaths covered up there.
“I’m not surprised that they’re working with the CIA now on some weird mind control drug,” Angel said, his eyes gleaming darkly in the streetlights. “It is, after all, their world.” I backed up, a cold shiver running through my spine as those words rang out around me again. They were words I hadn’t heard since the horrors of Storyland.
In the darkness of the alleyway, I thought I saw the silhouette of mouse ears on Angel’s head and teeth growing out of his gums like tumors. I blinked, and he was just a normal vagrant again.
“I hope this isn’t the world of Storyland,” I said, a sense of desperation clenching my heart. “Sometimes, I wonder if I ever left it. I wonder if Casey and I are still there, waiting for the next round of torture.”
Angel only grinned, his lips spreading wide. And in the shadows of the alley, his teeth jutted out like hundreds of needles.

The homeless man in the brown overcoat chewed on his dirty thumb, staring off into the mist and dirty rain. He told me his name was Angel. I stood next to this penniless vagrant with rapt attention, a man in a $1000 suit and more money than I knew what to do with. I listened to every word he said, writing some of it down.
“Mmm, you have to understand,” Angel said, his hazel eyes rolling wildly as he stared past me at things only he could see, “NASA is run by the reptilian overlords. They are a demonic agency with the power to kill people. Anyone who has real, solid evidence that shows the Moon landing was faked gets murdered or dies under suspicious circumstances. NASA even killed Michael Jackson. And do you know why?” I shook my head, a notebook perched in one hand and a solid gold fountain pen in the other. Angel leaned in close, as if he was about to whisper a great secret.
“Because Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk became more famous than NASA’s ‘Moonwalk’.” I looked up, surprised. A thin smile played across the corners of my lips. Angel’s expression stayed grave. A fit of laughter ripped its way out of my stomach.
“What? No way,” I said, still chuckling loudly. But Angel only nodded grimly.
“NASA got jealous and decided he had to go. They poisoned him, man. NASA has lots of hitmen on its payroll. They always get their target.” I continued jotting down notes, trying to collect as much information as I could.
“NASA killed Michael Jackson because they were jealous his Moonwalk was better than theirs,” I quickly scrawled in cursive across the expensive white paper.
***
If you had told me a few days ago that I would spend many hours of my time roving around while listening to crazy drug addicts and rambling homeless people speak about conspiracy theories, I would have laughed. That is, until I moved me and my daughter into Disney’s brand new, secret town and learned that not all conspiracy theories are fake. If I had listened to the first rumblings of bizarre rumors about the secret Disney town they were building in Florida and stayed far away, I wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.
I told my neighbor about it the day before the move, a shirtless man with a bulging beer belly and a black carpet of hair across his chest who went around telling everyone his name was J-spot Jeffrey.
“Well, my ten-year-old daughter loves Disney stuff,” I explained as he nodded vacantly, drinking down an entire can of light beer in a single long swallow before belching. “And, you know, her mom died last year…”
“Oh, I was so sorry to hear about that,” Jeffrey said disingenuously, putting out a fat hand across the low metal fence slung across our yards and patting me hard on the shoulder. “You never know when it’s your time, eh? One day, you could just be driving down the highway and-”
“Yeah, it was horrible,” I said, cutting him off. I remember the night I had gotten the call telling me a tractor-trailer had hit my wife’s car. When I saw pictures of the vehicle later, it looked like little more than a twisted framework of blackened steel. Everything around this house reminded me of her. It made my heart ache with regrets and loneliness.
“The town’s not too far away, eh? You think I could come visit you once you get settled in?” Jeffrey asked. I looked at him in surprise.
“Why would you want to do that?” I asked.
“I’ve heard a lot of urban legends about Disney- not just how Walt Disney’s head is cryogenically frozen, but a lot of creepier rumors too. I’d just like to look around and see it. What do they call the new town?” he asked.
“Storyland,” I said. “The town of Storyland.”
***
A few days later, my daughter Casey and I were driving down the private road towards Storyland. A metal gate finely embossed into silver images of Mickey Mouse and the Cinderella Castle loomed twenty feet in the air. A guard dressed in all black came out, taking my license and looking closely at it before allowing the gates to split open down the middle. Dozens of cameras peered down with their opaque, lidless eyes, seeing everything but understanding nothing.
Every time our family visited Disney, I felt a sense of awe at seeing how much land they owned. Casey stared impassively out the window at the thick Florida swampland, her green eyes the color of ivy. She wrinkled her nose as a fetid, rank odor snuck in through the air conditioning and vents.
“It smells like swamp water here,” she complained, putting her long sleeve up to her nose while breathing in through the fabric. I rolled down the windows a crack to try to let fresh air stream into the car, but it just made the smell worse.
“That’s because there is a swamp here,” I said. “It does smell pretty bad, huh?”
“What if the whole town smells bad, Daddy?” she asked. “I don’t want to live in a place that smells like that, even if Mickey does live there.” She seemed to think on it for a long moment. “OK, maybe if both Mickey and Elsa live there, I’ll be OK with it.” I gave her a faint half-smile, tuning her out as she started to ramble about what kind of house Mickey Mouse would live in.
It took us nearly twenty minutes from when we passed through the gate to reach the first buildings of Storyland. The palm trees, thick vines and green, swampy water started to give way to perfectly manicured lawns.
“Welcome to Storyland!” a cheerful sign read far ahead of us, curving over the road in silver letters five feet tall. Giant Disney characters filled with helium loomed over the street, grinning down at us in their frozen, plastic expressions. Mickey and Minnie floated next to Elsa, Belle and Simba. They all had their gigantic inflatable hands up in greeting. Some hidden mechanism inside the floating characters caused their arms to wave, moving back and forth in slow, lazy arcs.
“So cool!’ Casey said excitedly, leaning over in her seat and hugging me. Her little arms wrapped around my neck as she kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks Daddy. This place is the best.”
“It doesn’t smell like a swamp in here anymore,” I remarked as we stopped in front of the enormous, gleaming sign. Two thick metal gates blocked the road. Tiny black half-spheres of hidden cameras blinked their red eyes in a rhythmic procession. After a few moments, the gates started sliding apart on their own. It all appeared to be fully automated. We pulled through, coming to a town that reeked of excess and money.
Casey nodded happily to herself, floating along on cloud nine as expensive mansions and castles loomed above us on both sides of the street. Her auburn hair had strawberry-blonde streaks running through it. She opened her window and stuck her head outside like a dog, letting her long hair flow behind her in the wind.
Some of the castles appeared to be four or five stories high with giant glass windows cut into the hard, gray stone. A few even had narrow moats of clear, fresh water cut into the enormous lawns. Palm trees lined the yards of Victorian houses, their thin turrets reaching up into the sky like grasping fingers. Ferraris, Porsches, Lamborghinis and other luxury cars shone in the driveways, their sleek bodies emanating power and respect. And yet I didn’t see anyone out in the yards. I found that odd.
The GPS didn’t work out here. Once we got off the public roads and onto Disney’s private land, it acted as if we had driven straight into the middle of a forest. When I bought the property at Storyland, they had sent me a map and a letter, stating they would begin setting up cell phone towers in the area within days. Digging through the middle console, I pulled out the folded map, squinting down at it as I pulled over to the side of the road.
“We live at 777 Celebration Road,” I said, frowning at the convoluted spiderwebs of streets that spanned the map in front of me. “And we’re on the road leading in. Looks like it’s called Main Street USA, so if we take Main Street USA to…” Casey gave a slow, strangled squeak, the sound of a rabbit getting its neck snapped. It immediately snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up suddenly, seeing her staring out the passenger’s side window, her mouth agape.
A child stood on the sidewalk with blood coming from the dark, gaping holes in his eye sockets. He held his hands against his pale, white cheeks. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, the many gaps in his tiny milk teeth showing through his pale lips.
“I’m stuck,” he gurgled, blood pouring from his throat. “I’m stuck in this place. Help me!”
He looked straight up at the sky, and I saw his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. The flesh separated as a crimson waterfall flowed down the front of his chest. Casey inhaled deeply, like a drowning person coming up for the briefest moment of air. Then, with lungs like a forge’s bellows, she screamed, an ear-splitting, high-pitched shriek of absolute terror. I jumped to action, putting the car into drive and peeling away from the walking corpse on the sidewalk. When I looked back, the boy had disappeared, but a few drops of bright, fresh blood still glistened brightly under the sharp rays of the Florida sun.
“What was wrong with that boy?!” Casey cried, tears streaming down her small, pinched face. Her red eyes turned to me, searching for answers, but I couldn’t give her any. I pressed the gas hard, revving the engine and glancing down at the map. Main Street USA led to Frozen Lane and finally to Celebration Road.
“That must have been a joke,” I said, trying to justify it to myself and to Casey. “Hollywood make-up and fake blood. If that boy really had his throat cut like that, he wouldn’t be standing and breathing.” Casey’s tears slowed as she blinked a few times, absorbing the statement.
“That’s not a nice joke,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her fluorescent blue T-shirt. “If it was a joke, that boy is a poophead.” I nodded.
The homes on Celebration Road were not so extravagant as the castles and Victorian mansions spanning Main Street USA. They all had perfectly-manicured lawns, in-ground pools in the shape of classic Disney characters and beautiful wrap-around porches and massive bay windows, however. The house I had rented for a year after only seeing pictures of it came up quickly on our left. It was painted bright red, a three-story colonial with porches on every story and circular windows like glass monocles reflecting the tropical sunshine.
We got out of the car, walking up the cobbled stone walkway toward the front door. A silver knocker with the Beast’s face on it stared back at us. Underneath the knocker, I saw a printed note with a looping signature scrawled underneath it. I ripped it off, reading the note aloud as Casey played with the knocker.
“No drugs, alcohol or tobacco products are allowed in Storyland due to the risk of interactions. Free samples of MOUSE-Z are given to all households, however. MOUSE-Z is a totally non-addictive, non-toxic dietary supplement that will enhance your enjoyment while in Storyland. All guests and citizens of Storyland consent to exposure to MOUSE-Z through their food, water, air or exposure to surfaces. Enjoy your stay, and thanks again from the Disney Company!”
I scratched my head, reading the note again. What the hell was MOUSE-Z? It didn’t sound like any dietary supplement I had ever heard of. I scowled, squinting at the signature, trying to make out the letters at the bottom. “Mr. Crawley.” It sounded like a made-up name. I crumpled up the note, unlocking the door. The cool, air conditioned breeze blew past us with the smell of flowers and fresh paint. I saw vibrant plants scattered around the entrance room. Couches as white as virgin snow sat against the walls, each emblazoned with the black silhouette of the Cinderella Castle and the Disney logo. A landline rang in the living room just as I walked past. My heart jumped into my throat when the shrill ringing pierced the silence, but I quickly calmed down when I realized it was just the phone.
“Hello?” I said as soon as I picked up the receiver.
“This is the guard at the front gate. You have a visitor named Jeffrey Stein,” the man said in a flat tone. I sighed, looking down at my watch. That was quick. Jeffrey must have been really hot to see this weird little town.
“Yeah, send him through,” I said, hanging up the phone. Casey had gone ahead into the kitchen, and I quickly followed behind her.
“I’m so thirsty,” I said, cutting through the living room with its enormous flat-screen TV and comfortable sectionals. The kitchen had all brand-new appliances, and the fridge was stocked with food, soda, juices and milk. I grabbed two Sprites, giving one to Casey who opened it gratefully. I cracked mine open and chugged it all in a few huge gulps. It tasted slightly strange, almost like the bitter aftertaste of caffeine. Casey wrinkled her tiny button nose.
“This soda tastes old,” she complained. I tried looking at the expiration date, but everything suddenly seemed blurry. I blinked quickly, but my eyes teared up. I felt very weird, dissociated and floating. The world flickered like a shimmering mirage. The dull colors and faded texture of reality throbbed like the cobwebs of a nightmarish fever dream.
My vision started to ripple and morph within seconds. I looked down at Casey, but where my daughter had been standing, I now saw a nightmarish creature with giant, glassy black eyes. I stepped back, crying out.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” the demonic figure hissed in a deep, gurgling voice. With red skin stretched thin over its bony head and black talons on its hands, it looked like it had stepped straight out of Hell. It opened its mouth, revealing needle-sharp teeth growing out of its oozing gums like hundreds of tumors. Two enormous, pointed mouse ears were surgically attached to its shiny skin. Black stitches stuck out like pieces of barbed wire at the base of the rotted, brown ears. Dried crusts of orange pus clung to the sides of its head, like the decomposing riverbeds of some ancient diseased tributary.
“What’s going on? What… Get back!” I cried, putting my hands up. The thing just laughed, gnashing its torn slash of a mouth as its lidless black eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.
“This world is our creation for your kind. There are many surprises in Storyland for the sons and daughters of Adam. I am Mr. Crawley, and I will be your guide. Come and see,” he said, running forwards and lunging for my throat with his twisted jungle of cancerous fangs. I spun around, fleeing through the morphing door with thousands of teeth that appeared in front of me. The sides of the door flexed and shivered like the lips of some alien predator. With a wet, sloshing sound, the door started to close around me, the enormous fangs drawing nearer. I lunged through it, landing hard on black, spongy earth. I raised my head and beheld an amazing sight.
An extraterrestrial landscape stretched out to the horizon with writhing, snake-like jungle vines dancing across its surface. Castles thousands of stories high loomed far off in the distance like great mountains, their sharp turrets piercing the crimson clouds and disappearing from view. Spinning black holes sent out great jets of light and planetary rings like those of Saturn shone through the narrow breaks in the blood-red clouds that covered the sky like tumors. Thick patches of shimmering, silver fog swept across the landscape, obscuring entire swaths of the eldritch jungle.
A plume of fluffy, luminescent fog a few dozen feet away disappeared like a breath of smoke as a humid jungle breeze blew past. The insane creature with the mouse ears surgically attached to his demonic, naked body stood in the midst of it, his black eyes glittering with insanity as he stared straight at me.
“This is my world,” he said as silver saliva dripped from his grinning mouth. “Do you think you can run from me? I am everywhere, in the wind and in the trees and even in you. I am Mr. Crawley, and I know who you are. Your daughter is here with us, too.” I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“This is all some hallucination,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “I bet this place isn’t even owned by Disney. It’s probably some fucking CIA black site where they experiment on people with new drugs.” Mr. Crawley laughed at that.
“This world is the rock which the builders rejected which has become the cornerstone of all things. We have made it so. You will not leave until we allow it. We can make every moment of your time stretch out to a million years. By the time eternity passed, the only thing that would return to your body would be an insane, empty shell of a mind,” Mr. Crawley hissed, his blank, obsidian eyes gleaming with a child-like cruelty.
“What do you want with me?” I whispered.
“Only this,” the creature gurgled as the bloody clouds above us whipped and soared in cyclonical whorls like the currents of a hurricane. “You must call more people into Storyland, many more. If you bring others to this world, the cornerstone of all realities, we will let you and the girl leave in peace…” His voice and the world began to blow away like smoke in a strong breeze. Everything grew faint and distant. “...but if not, we will follow you, and then, only the death of the universe many eternities from now would bring you any release from the endless suffering of Storyland.”
***
I groaned, feeling blood running down my face. I opened my eyes. Sharp, stabbing pains emanated from various spots all over my body.
“Hey buddy,” Jeffrey said, leaning low over me and slightly slapping my face, “what the hell is going on here?” I looked around, seeing that I had run straight through the sliding door in the back of the house at Storyland. I was lying surrounded by twinkling shards of glass on the concrete patio. To my amazement, I saw Jeffrey had a shirt on for the first time as long as I had known him. The white fabric of the T-shirt was stretched thin across his bulging, fat stomach.
“Ohhh, God, my head,” I said, bringing my hand up to my forehead. My fingers came away wet with blood. “I had the craziest goddamn dream, Jeffrey. We got here, and there was a bizarre note on the door saying that all the food and drinks and stuff were laced with some weird drug. And then I drank a can of soda, and…” I trailed off, my heart suddenly speeding up in my chest. “Where’s Casey, Jeffrey?” He shook his head, dumb-founded.
“I just got here and heard the door shattering back here. I circled around your yard and found you here like this. I have no idea where the girl is,” he said, looking around with concern. He had the look of a man who had accidentally walked into a lunatic asylum filled with dangerous inmates.
“Don’t drink or eat anything here, Jeffrey,” I said vehemently, raving. “Don’t wash your hands. Don’t touch the water or anything. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not normal. There’s something… unnatural.” That was really the core of it. The entire experience with MOUSE-Z had seemed like something real, not like the creeping delusions of a drug trip. Jeffrey gave me a confused look, taking a step back from me.
“I think I should probably call an ambulance,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “You might have had a concussion, bud. Just calm down, OK? I don’t think anyone’s drugging this entire town. That sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie. Come on, James, think about it.”
“Help me up,” I said, putting out my hand. Jeffrey pulled me up. My head swam as black motes danced across my vision. As I tried steadying myself, leaning heavily on Jeffrey’s thick shoulder, I felt the world spinning around me. “We need to find Casey.”
“OK, bud, easy does it,” he said, putting a meaty arm around me. He opened the shattered sliding door. The sparkling shards of glass crunched under our feet like dead leaves. I felt a small amount of strength returning to me as I staggered forward, wheezing like an asthmatic. Half-dried blood caked my arms and fresh drops still ran down from a cut across my forehead.
“See, there’s Casey, right there,” Jeffrey said reassuringly, pointing to the couch in the living room. I glanced over hopefully, but my heart dropped when I saw what was laying on the couch. It was about the size of my daughter, but it looked like the nightmarish results of some mad scientist with a death camp full of patients and unlimited funding. I saw the face of my daughter there and even recognized her fluorescent blue T-shirt, but something was terribly wrong with her now.
The half-human, half-mouse abomination on the couch looked up at us with eyes full of agony. The jellied whites of her eyes glistened like pools of pus. Bright rivulets of blood dribbled down the soft white hairs covering her face. Her legs were twisted, broken sticks that had the same pink, fleshy hue of a mouse’s paws. Blood bubbled from her shivering lips. Garish black stitches ran up and down her body in irregular square patches. The ears of some enormous, genetically engineered mouse had been sewn onto her hairless, mutilated skull. A rainbow of liquids dripped from the surgical sites, dripping in sickly, infected oranges and clotted dark reds. Broken bones stuck outwards through the skin of her arms and legs like daggers stabbed through a corpse.
“God, what happened? Is that really you, Casey?” I said, ripping myself away from Jeffrey and stumbling across the room.
“Kill me,” she whispered as pink, fetid drool dribbled out of her slashed mouth. “It hurts, Daddy. Please… kill me.” I heard a gurgling laugh from behind me. I turned my head, seeing Mr. Crawley standing in the place of Jeffrey. Behind him, the red sky of that other world shone through the shattered sliding door into our house at Storyland.
“Do you think you can escape that easily? If you do not bring me new tributes, I will draw every drop of agony from you and your daughter that the human mind can experience. And when you are destroyed, trembling, insane wretches, only then will I allow you to die, slowly and painfully.
“So do you agree to the terms? Will you bring us new tributes?”
“Never! I’d rather die than bring other people into this nightmare!” The twisted body of Casey on the couch continued gurgling and spitting up frothy blood. Mr. Crawley’s face changed into an expression of pleasure at the challenge.
“We do love a fighter here at Storyland!” he said, grinning widely, showing off the hundreds of needle-like fangs that poked out of his mouth like the quills of a porcupine. He snapped his long, tapering fingers together. His talons flashed and threw off sparks of white light. The red, alien sky behind Mr. Crawley seemed to swirl and bubble faster. “Perhaps some of our pets here can help change your mind.” His black, lidless eyes spun in their sockets as he glanced back through the shattered door into the alien jungles beyond. I watched in horror as two creatures from a nightmare came loping out from the thick vines and dancing brush.
“This is the Beast and Simba,” Mr. Crawley said, his shrill laughter ripping through the air like the rending of metal. And I saw, in the front, a half-human, half-animal combination with long flowing black hair all over its body. Its powerful leg and arm muscles pistoned like machines as it loped gracefully through the door. Its eyes gleamed pure white like spoiled milk. It gnashed its massive jaws together, sending out long streams of drool that flew out behind it.
Next to the Beast, a hairless lion with surgical marks all over its body limped quickly forward. It had an extra eye surgically inserted into its forehead, and each of its legs had extra paws sewn on the back. The lion’s three eyes glistened with bloodlust and hunger.
Their heavy bodies shook the floor as they sped towards me and my daughter. I turned to the mutated body of Casey on the couch. She had seen death coming towards her in this new hellish form and now fell with a thud to the ground in an attempt to escape it. She tried crawling away. I ran towards her as a heavy weight came down on my back.
I spun around to see the mouth of the lion opening wide inches from my face. A deep, throaty growl emanated from its chest. It brought its paws down on my chest, and I felt my ribs snap like twigs. They shattered with a sound like ice cracking. Behind me, Casey gave a strangled shriek of agony as the Beast tore into her with its powerful jaws.
The sounds of our screams echoed across the room. I felt my vocal cords tear as blood spurted from my mouth. The pain seemed to go on and on as the jaws came down again and again, ripping off pieces of my body. Eventually, once I was nearly dead, Mr. Crawley came over, peering down at me with his glistening beetle eyes.
“Will you bring new tributes, or do we need to repeat this for the next trillion years?” he asked in a cold, psychopathic tone. I nodded my bloody head, spitting out broken teeth and frothy blood.
“I’ll do it,” I groaned slowly, feeling most of the bones in my body shattered. Every breath felt like I was inhaling acid. I looked down, seeing parts of my arm and legs torn off. My intestines peeked through the torn mass of flesh around my stomach like a coiled snake looking out of its den. Mr. Crawley grinned, nodding to the animals.
The lion knelt down, and with a powerful crunch of its jaws, it ripped my throat out. The world quickly went black as endless pain reverberated through my consciousness and cold death overtook me.
***
Slowly, languidedly, I opened my eyes and found myself on the kitchen floor. Casey was laying next to me, her pupils dilated and mouth open. Drool puddled on the linoleum beneath her catatonic face.
“Casey?” I said weakly, pushing myself up. My entire body felt sore, as if I felt reflections of that new death sensation that had just ripped across my mind just moments earlier. I wanted to grab Casey and get out of there, but I couldn’t trust my own mind anymore. I knew that if I didn’t do what Mr. Crawley wanted, I would keep getting stuck in his nightmarish world. It was like an eternity of false awakenings, a type of Hell I had never imagined in my wildest nightmare. I didn’t know if this one would prove to be the same. Without hesitation, I picked up my unconscious daughter and brought her out to the car. Jeffrey pulled up with his middle-aged girlfriend moments later. They gawked at us with open mouths.
“Hey, go on inside and have some drinks!” I yelled at them. “I just have to go up to the gatehouse for a few minutes. Have a seat, look around, make yourselves comfortable.” Jeffrey nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I peeled out of there. Casey awoke as we drove the long trek back towards the guardhouse. Once we were a few minutes away, my cell phone started pinging again, and I realized I had service.
I pulled up slowly to the metal gate, looking out at the guard in his sleek uniform. He peeked out of the guardhouse, but the shape didn’t look human. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I glimpsed a dark silhouette with mouse ears and black eyes. The figure quickly disappeared back behind the door.
Shaking, I looked down at my phone. I sent a mass text message to all my friends.
“I just rented a house at an exclusive Disney town! My address is at 777 Celebration Road, Storyland. Unlimited free drinks and food there. Feel free to let yourselves in and stay as long as you want. Make yourselves at home and explore the town. I will not be at the house, however. Just tell the guard you know me.” As soon as I pressed send, the gate started to swing to the side, and I left that den of horrors. I glanced back and saw two obsidian eyes and a grinning slash of a mouth peering out of the guardhouse. I shuddered.
***
I finished telling my story to Angel, who nodded, unsurprised. The homeless lunatic knew about all conspiracy theories. He had told me about Walt Disney’s frozen head, the ghosts at Disneyworld and all the suspicious deaths covered up there.
“I’m not surprised that they’re working with the CIA now on some weird mind control drug,” Angel said, his eyes gleaming darkly in the streetlights. “It is, after all, their world.” I backed up, a cold shiver running through my spine as those words rang out around me again. They were words I hadn’t heard since the horrors of Storyland.
In the darkness of the alleyway, I thought I saw the silhouette of mouse ears on Angel’s head and teeth growing out of his gums like tumors. I blinked, and he was just a normal vagrant again.
“I hope this isn’t the world of Storyland,” I said, a sense of desperation clenching my heart. “Sometimes, I wonder if I ever left it. I wonder if Casey and I are still there, waiting for the next round of torture.”
Angel only grinned, his lips spreading wide. And in the shadows of the alley, his teeth jutted out like hundreds of needles.

The homeless man in the brown overcoat chewed on his dirty thumb, staring off into the mist and dirty rain. He told me his name was Angel. I stood next to this penniless vagrant with rapt attention, a man in a $1000 suit and more money than I knew what to do with. I listened to every word he said, writing some of it down.
“Mmm, you have to understand,” Angel said, his hazel eyes rolling wildly as he stared past me at things only he could see, “NASA is run by the reptilian overlords. They are a demonic agency with the power to kill people. Anyone who has real, solid evidence that shows the Moon landing was faked gets murdered or dies under suspicious circumstances. NASA even killed Michael Jackson. And do you know why?” I shook my head, a notebook perched in one hand and a solid gold fountain pen in the other. Angel leaned in close, as if he was about to whisper a great secret.
“Because Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk became more famous than NASA’s ‘Moonwalk’.” I looked up, surprised. A thin smile played across the corners of my lips. Angel’s expression stayed grave. A fit of laughter ripped its way out of my stomach.
“What? No way,” I said, still chuckling loudly. But Angel only nodded grimly.
“NASA got jealous and decided he had to go. They poisoned him, man. NASA has lots of hitmen on its payroll. They always get their target.” I continued jotting down notes, trying to collect as much information as I could.
“NASA killed Michael Jackson because they were jealous his Moonwalk was better than theirs,” I quickly scrawled in cursive across the expensive white paper.
***
If you had told me a few days ago that I would spend many hours of my time roving around while listening to crazy drug addicts and rambling homeless people speak about conspiracy theories, I would have laughed. That is, until I moved me and my daughter into Disney’s brand new, secret town and learned that not all conspiracy theories are fake. If I had listened to the first rumblings of bizarre rumors about the secret Disney town they were building in Florida and stayed far away, I wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.
I told my neighbor about it the day before the move, a shirtless man with a bulging beer belly and a black carpet of hair across his chest who went around telling everyone his name was J-spot Jeffrey.
“Well, my ten-year-old daughter loves Disney stuff,” I explained as he nodded vacantly, drinking down an entire can of light beer in a single long swallow before belching. “And, you know, her mom died last year…”
“Oh, I was so sorry to hear about that,” Jeffrey said disingenuously, putting out a fat hand across the low metal fence slung across our yards and patting me hard on the shoulder. “You never know when it’s your time, eh? One day, you could just be driving down the highway and-”
“Yeah, it was horrible,” I said, cutting him off. I remember the night I had gotten the call telling me a tractor-trailer had hit my wife’s car. When I saw pictures of the vehicle later, it looked like little more than a twisted framework of blackened steel. Everything around this house reminded me of her. It made my heart ache with regrets and loneliness.
“The town’s not too far away, eh? You think I could come visit you once you get settled in?” Jeffrey asked. I looked at him in surprise.
“Why would you want to do that?” I asked.
“I’ve heard a lot of urban legends about Disney- not just how Walt Disney’s head is cryogenically frozen, but a lot of creepier rumors too. I’d just like to look around and see it. What do they call the new town?” he asked.
“Storyland,” I said. “The town of Storyland.”
***
A few days later, my daughter Casey and I were driving down the private road towards Storyland. A metal gate finely embossed into silver images of Mickey Mouse and the Cinderella Castle loomed twenty feet in the air. A guard dressed in all black came out, taking my license and looking closely at it before allowing the gates to split open down the middle. Dozens of cameras peered down with their opaque, lidless eyes, seeing everything but understanding nothing.
Every time our family visited Disney, I felt a sense of awe at seeing how much land they owned. Casey stared impassively out the window at the thick Florida swampland, her green eyes the color of ivy. She wrinkled her nose as a fetid, rank odor snuck in through the air conditioning and vents.
“It smells like swamp water here,” she complained, putting her long sleeve up to her nose while breathing in through the fabric. I rolled down the windows a crack to try to let fresh air stream into the car, but it just made the smell worse.
“That’s because there is a swamp here,” I said. “It does smell pretty bad, huh?”
“What if the whole town smells bad, Daddy?” she asked. “I don’t want to live in a place that smells like that, even if Mickey does live there.” She seemed to think on it for a long moment. “OK, maybe if both Mickey and Elsa live there, I’ll be OK with it.” I gave her a faint half-smile, tuning her out as she started to ramble about what kind of house Mickey Mouse would live in.
It took us nearly twenty minutes from when we passed through the gate to reach the first buildings of Storyland. The palm trees, thick vines and green, swampy water started to give way to perfectly manicured lawns.
“Welcome to Storyland!” a cheerful sign read far ahead of us, curving over the road in silver letters five feet tall. Giant Disney characters filled with helium loomed over the street, grinning down at us in their frozen, plastic expressions. Mickey and Minnie floated next to Elsa, Belle and Simba. They all had their gigantic inflatable hands up in greeting. Some hidden mechanism inside the floating characters caused their arms to wave, moving back and forth in slow, lazy arcs.
“So cool!’ Casey said excitedly, leaning over in her seat and hugging me. Her little arms wrapped around my neck as she kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks Daddy. This place is the best.”
“It doesn’t smell like a swamp in here anymore,” I remarked as we stopped in front of the enormous, gleaming sign. Two thick metal gates blocked the road. Tiny black half-spheres of hidden cameras blinked their red eyes in a rhythmic procession. After a few moments, the gates started sliding apart on their own. It all appeared to be fully automated. We pulled through, coming to a town that reeked of excess and money.
Casey nodded happily to herself, floating along on cloud nine as expensive mansions and castles loomed above us on both sides of the street. Her auburn hair had strawberry-blonde streaks running through it. She opened her window and stuck her head outside like a dog, letting her long hair flow behind her in the wind.
Some of the castles appeared to be four or five stories high with giant glass windows cut into the hard, gray stone. A few even had narrow moats of clear, fresh water cut into the enormous lawns. Palm trees lined the yards of Victorian houses, their thin turrets reaching up into the sky like grasping fingers. Ferraris, Porsches, Lamborghinis and other luxury cars shone in the driveways, their sleek bodies emanating power and respect. And yet I didn’t see anyone out in the yards. I found that odd.
The GPS didn’t work out here. Once we got off the public roads and onto Disney’s private land, it acted as if we had driven straight into the middle of a forest. When I bought the property at Storyland, they had sent me a map and a letter, stating they would begin setting up cell phone towers in the area within days. Digging through the middle console, I pulled out the folded map, squinting down at it as I pulled over to the side of the road.
“We live at 777 Celebration Road,” I said, frowning at the convoluted spiderwebs of streets that spanned the map in front of me. “And we’re on the road leading in. Looks like it’s called Main Street USA, so if we take Main Street USA to…” Casey gave a slow, strangled squeak, the sound of a rabbit getting its neck snapped. It immediately snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up suddenly, seeing her staring out the passenger’s side window, her mouth agape.
A child stood on the sidewalk with blood coming from the dark, gaping holes in his eye sockets. He held his hands against his pale, white cheeks. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, the many gaps in his tiny milk teeth showing through his pale lips.
“I’m stuck,” he gurgled, blood pouring from his throat. “I’m stuck in this place. Help me!”
He looked straight up at the sky, and I saw his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. The flesh separated as a crimson waterfall flowed down the front of his chest. Casey inhaled deeply, like a drowning person coming up for the briefest moment of air. Then, with lungs like a forge’s bellows, she screamed, an ear-splitting, high-pitched shriek of absolute terror. I jumped to action, putting the car into drive and peeling away from the walking corpse on the sidewalk. When I looked back, the boy had disappeared, but a few drops of bright, fresh blood still glistened brightly under the sharp rays of the Florida sun.
“What was wrong with that boy?!” Casey cried, tears streaming down her small, pinched face. Her red eyes turned to me, searching for answers, but I couldn’t give her any. I pressed the gas hard, revving the engine and glancing down at the map. Main Street USA led to Frozen Lane and finally to Celebration Road.
“That must have been a joke,” I said, trying to justify it to myself and to Casey. “Hollywood make-up and fake blood. If that boy really had his throat cut like that, he wouldn’t be standing and breathing.” Casey’s tears slowed as she blinked a few times, absorbing the statement.
“That’s not a nice joke,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her fluorescent blue T-shirt. “If it was a joke, that boy is a poophead.” I nodded.
The homes on Celebration Road were not so extravagant as the castles and Victorian mansions spanning Main Street USA. They all had perfectly-manicured lawns, in-ground pools in the shape of classic Disney characters and beautiful wrap-around porches and massive bay windows, however. The house I had rented for a year after only seeing pictures of it came up quickly on our left. It was painted bright red, a three-story colonial with porches on every story and circular windows like glass monocles reflecting the tropical sunshine.
We got out of the car, walking up the cobbled stone walkway toward the front door. A silver knocker with the Beast’s face on it stared back at us. Underneath the knocker, I saw a printed note with a looping signature scrawled underneath it. I ripped it off, reading the note aloud as Casey played with the knocker.
“No drugs, alcohol or tobacco products are allowed in Storyland due to the risk of interactions. Free samples of MOUSE-Z are given to all households, however. MOUSE-Z is a totally non-addictive, non-toxic dietary supplement that will enhance your enjoyment while in Storyland. All guests and citizens of Storyland consent to exposure to MOUSE-Z through their food, water, air or exposure to surfaces. Enjoy your stay, and thanks again from the Disney Company!”
I scratched my head, reading the note again. What the hell was MOUSE-Z? It didn’t sound like any dietary supplement I had ever heard of. I scowled, squinting at the signature, trying to make out the letters at the bottom. “Mr. Crawley.” It sounded like a made-up name. I crumpled up the note, unlocking the door. The cool, air conditioned breeze blew past us with the smell of flowers and fresh paint. I saw vibrant plants scattered around the entrance room. Couches as white as virgin snow sat against the walls, each emblazoned with the black silhouette of the Cinderella Castle and the Disney logo. A landline rang in the living room just as I walked past. My heart jumped into my throat when the shrill ringing pierced the silence, but I quickly calmed down when I realized it was just the phone.
“Hello?” I said as soon as I picked up the receiver.
“This is the guard at the front gate. You have a visitor named Jeffrey Stein,” the man said in a flat tone. I sighed, looking down at my watch. That was quick. Jeffrey must have been really hot to see this weird little town.
“Yeah, send him through,” I said, hanging up the phone. Casey had gone ahead into the kitchen, and I quickly followed behind her.
“I’m so thirsty,” I said, cutting through the living room with its enormous flat-screen TV and comfortable sectionals. The kitchen had all brand-new appliances, and the fridge was stocked with food, soda, juices and milk. I grabbed two Sprites, giving one to Casey who opened it gratefully. I cracked mine open and chugged it all in a few huge gulps. It tasted slightly strange, almost like the bitter aftertaste of caffeine. Casey wrinkled her tiny button nose.
“This soda tastes old,” she complained. I tried looking at the expiration date, but everything suddenly seemed blurry. I blinked quickly, but my eyes teared up. I felt very weird, dissociated and floating. The world flickered like a shimmering mirage. The dull colors and faded texture of reality throbbed like the cobwebs of a nightmarish fever dream.
My vision started to ripple and morph within seconds. I looked down at Casey, but where my daughter had been standing, I now saw a nightmarish creature with giant, glassy black eyes. I stepped back, crying out.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” the demonic figure hissed in a deep, gurgling voice. With red skin stretched thin over its bony head and black talons on its hands, it looked like it had stepped straight out of Hell. It opened its mouth, revealing needle-sharp teeth growing out of its oozing gums like hundreds of tumors. Two enormous, pointed mouse ears were surgically attached to its shiny skin. Black stitches stuck out like pieces of barbed wire at the base of the rotted, brown ears. Dried crusts of orange pus clung to the sides of its head, like the decomposing riverbeds of some ancient diseased tributary.
“What’s going on? What… Get back!” I cried, putting my hands up. The thing just laughed, gnashing its torn slash of a mouth as its lidless black eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.
“This world is our creation for your kind. There are many surprises in Storyland for the sons and daughters of Adam. I am Mr. Crawley, and I will be your guide. Come and see,” he said, running forwards and lunging for my throat with his twisted jungle of cancerous fangs. I spun around, fleeing through the morphing door with thousands of teeth that appeared in front of me. The sides of the door flexed and shivered like the lips of some alien predator. With a wet, sloshing sound, the door started to close around me, the enormous fangs drawing nearer. I lunged through it, landing hard on black, spongy earth. I raised my head and beheld an amazing sight.
An extraterrestrial landscape stretched out to the horizon with writhing, snake-like jungle vines dancing across its surface. Castles thousands of stories high loomed far off in the distance like great mountains, their sharp turrets piercing the crimson clouds and disappearing from view. Spinning black holes sent out great jets of light and planetary rings like those of Saturn shone through the narrow breaks in the blood-red clouds that covered the sky like tumors. Thick patches of shimmering, silver fog swept across the landscape, obscuring entire swaths of the eldritch jungle.
A plume of fluffy, luminescent fog a few dozen feet away disappeared like a breath of smoke as a humid jungle breeze blew past. The insane creature with the mouse ears surgically attached to his demonic, naked body stood in the midst of it, his black eyes glittering with insanity as he stared straight at me.
“This is my world,” he said as silver saliva dripped from his grinning mouth. “Do you think you can run from me? I am everywhere, in the wind and in the trees and even in you. I am Mr. Crawley, and I know who you are. Your daughter is here with us, too.” I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“This is all some hallucination,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “I bet this place isn’t even owned by Disney. It’s probably some fucking CIA black site where they experiment on people with new drugs.” Mr. Crawley laughed at that.
“This world is the rock which the builders rejected which has become the cornerstone of all things. We have made it so. You will not leave until we allow it. We can make every moment of your time stretch out to a million years. By the time eternity passed, the only thing that would return to your body would be an insane, empty shell of a mind,” Mr. Crawley hissed, his blank, obsidian eyes gleaming with a child-like cruelty.
“What do you want with me?” I whispered.
“Only this,” the creature gurgled as the bloody clouds above us whipped and soared in cyclonical whorls like the currents of a hurricane. “You must call more people into Storyland, many more. If you bring others to this world, the cornerstone of all realities, we will let you and the girl leave in peace…” His voice and the world began to blow away like smoke in a strong breeze. Everything grew faint and distant. “...but if not, we will follow you, and then, only the death of the universe many eternities from now would bring you any release from the endless suffering of Storyland.”
***
I groaned, feeling blood running down my face. I opened my eyes. Sharp, stabbing pains emanated from various spots all over my body.
“Hey buddy,” Jeffrey said, leaning low over me and slightly slapping my face, “what the hell is going on here?” I looked around, seeing that I had run straight through the sliding door in the back of the house at Storyland. I was lying surrounded by twinkling shards of glass on the concrete patio. To my amazement, I saw Jeffrey had a shirt on for the first time as long as I had known him. The white fabric of the T-shirt was stretched thin across his bulging, fat stomach.
“Ohhh, God, my head,” I said, bringing my hand up to my forehead. My fingers came away wet with blood. “I had the craziest goddamn dream, Jeffrey. We got here, and there was a bizarre note on the door saying that all the food and drinks and stuff were laced with some weird drug. And then I drank a can of soda, and…” I trailed off, my heart suddenly speeding up in my chest. “Where’s Casey, Jeffrey?” He shook his head, dumb-founded.
“I just got here and heard the door shattering back here. I circled around your yard and found you here like this. I have no idea where the girl is,” he said, looking around with concern. He had the look of a man who had accidentally walked into a lunatic asylum filled with dangerous inmates.
“Don’t drink or eat anything here, Jeffrey,” I said vehemently, raving. “Don’t wash your hands. Don’t touch the water or anything. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not normal. There’s something… unnatural.” That was really the core of it. The entire experience with MOUSE-Z had seemed like something real, not like the creeping delusions of a drug trip. Jeffrey gave me a confused look, taking a step back from me.
“I think I should probably call an ambulance,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “You might have had a concussion, bud. Just calm down, OK? I don’t think anyone’s drugging this entire town. That sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie. Come on, James, think about it.”
“Help me up,” I said, putting out my hand. Jeffrey pulled me up. My head swam as black motes danced across my vision. As I tried steadying myself, leaning heavily on Jeffrey’s thick shoulder, I felt the world spinning around me. “We need to find Casey.”
“OK, bud, easy does it,” he said, putting a meaty arm around me. He opened the shattered sliding door. The sparkling shards of glass crunched under our feet like dead leaves. I felt a small amount of strength returning to me as I staggered forward, wheezing like an asthmatic. Half-dried blood caked my arms and fresh drops still ran down from a cut across my forehead.
“See, there’s Casey, right there,” Jeffrey said reassuringly, pointing to the couch in the living room. I glanced over hopefully, but my heart dropped when I saw what was laying on the couch. It was about the size of my daughter, but it looked like the nightmarish results of some mad scientist with a death camp full of patients and unlimited funding. I saw the face of my daughter there and even recognized her fluorescent blue T-shirt, but something was terribly wrong with her now.
The half-human, half-mouse abomination on the couch looked up at us with eyes full of agony. The jellied whites of her eyes glistened like pools of pus. Bright rivulets of blood dribbled down the soft white hairs covering her face. Her legs were twisted, broken sticks that had the same pink, fleshy hue of a mouse’s paws. Blood bubbled from her shivering lips. Garish black stitches ran up and down her body in irregular square patches. The ears of some enormous, genetically engineered mouse had been sewn onto her hairless, mutilated skull. A rainbow of liquids dripped from the surgical sites, dripping in sickly, infected oranges and clotted dark reds. Broken bones stuck outwards through the skin of her arms and legs like daggers stabbed through a corpse.
“God, what happened? Is that really you, Casey?” I said, ripping myself away from Jeffrey and stumbling across the room.
“Kill me,” she whispered as pink, fetid drool dribbled out of her slashed mouth. “It hurts, Daddy. Please… kill me.” I heard a gurgling laugh from behind me. I turned my head, seeing Mr. Crawley standing in the place of Jeffrey. Behind him, the red sky of that other world shone through the shattered sliding door into our house at Storyland.
“Do you think you can escape that easily? If you do not bring me new tributes, I will draw every drop of agony from you and your daughter that the human mind can experience. And when you are destroyed, trembling, insane wretches, only then will I allow you to die, slowly and painfully.
“So do you agree to the terms? Will you bring us new tributes?”
“Never! I’d rather die than bring other people into this nightmare!” The twisted body of Casey on the couch continued gurgling and spitting up frothy blood. Mr. Crawley’s face changed into an expression of pleasure at the challenge.
“We do love a fighter here at Storyland!” he said, grinning widely, showing off the hundreds of needle-like fangs that poked out of his mouth like the quills of a porcupine. He snapped his long, tapering fingers together. His talons flashed and threw off sparks of white light. The red, alien sky behind Mr. Crawley seemed to swirl and bubble faster. “Perhaps some of our pets here can help change your mind.” His black, lidless eyes spun in their sockets as he glanced back through the shattered door into the alien jungles beyond. I watched in horror as two creatures from a nightmare came loping out from the thick vines and dancing brush.
“This is the Beast and Simba,” Mr. Crawley said, his shrill laughter ripping through the air like the rending of metal. And I saw, in the front, a half-human, half-animal combination with long flowing black hair all over its body. Its powerful leg and arm muscles pistoned like machines as it loped gracefully through the door. Its eyes gleamed pure white like spoiled milk. It gnashed its massive jaws together, sending out long streams of drool that flew out behind it.
Next to the Beast, a hairless lion with surgical marks all over its body limped quickly forward. It had an extra eye surgically inserted into its forehead, and each of its legs had extra paws sewn on the back. The lion’s three eyes glistened with bloodlust and hunger.
Their heavy bodies shook the floor as they sped towards me and my daughter. I turned to the mutated body of Casey on the couch. She had seen death coming towards her in this new hellish form and now fell with a thud to the ground in an attempt to escape it. She tried crawling away. I ran towards her as a heavy weight came down on my back.
I spun around to see the mouth of the lion opening wide inches from my face. A deep, throaty growl emanated from its chest. It brought its paws down on my chest, and I felt my ribs snap like twigs. They shattered with a sound like ice cracking. Behind me, Casey gave a strangled shriek of agony as the Beast tore into her with its powerful jaws.
The sounds of our screams echoed across the room. I felt my vocal cords tear as blood spurted from my mouth. The pain seemed to go on and on as the jaws came down again and again, ripping off pieces of my body. Eventually, once I was nearly dead, Mr. Crawley came over, peering down at me with his glistening beetle eyes.
“Will you bring new tributes, or do we need to repeat this for the next trillion years?” he asked in a cold, psychopathic tone. I nodded my bloody head, spitting out broken teeth and frothy blood.
“I’ll do it,” I groaned slowly, feeling most of the bones in my body shattered. Every breath felt like I was inhaling acid. I looked down, seeing parts of my arm and legs torn off. My intestines peeked through the torn mass of flesh around my stomach like a coiled snake looking out of its den. Mr. Crawley grinned, nodding to the animals.
The lion knelt down, and with a powerful crunch of its jaws, it ripped my throat out. The world quickly went black as endless pain reverberated through my consciousness and cold death overtook me.
***
Slowly, languidedly, I opened my eyes and found myself on the kitchen floor. Casey was laying next to me, her pupils dilated and mouth open. Drool puddled on the linoleum beneath her catatonic face.
“Casey?” I said weakly, pushing myself up. My entire body felt sore, as if I felt reflections of that new death sensation that had just ripped across my mind just moments earlier. I wanted to grab Casey and get out of there, but I couldn’t trust my own mind anymore. I knew that if I didn’t do what Mr. Crawley wanted, I would keep getting stuck in his nightmarish world. It was like an eternity of false awakenings, a type of Hell I had never imagined in my wildest nightmare. I didn’t know if this one would prove to be the same. Without hesitation, I picked up my unconscious daughter and brought her out to the car. Jeffrey pulled up with his middle-aged girlfriend moments later. They gawked at us with open mouths.
“Hey, go on inside and have some drinks!” I yelled at them. “I just have to go up to the gatehouse for a few minutes. Have a seat, look around, make yourselves comfortable.” Jeffrey nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I peeled out of there. Casey awoke as we drove the long trek back towards the guardhouse. Once we were a few minutes away, my cell phone started pinging again, and I realized I had service.
I pulled up slowly to the metal gate, looking out at the guard in his sleek uniform. He peeked out of the guardhouse, but the shape didn’t look human. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I glimpsed a dark silhouette with mouse ears and black eyes. The figure quickly disappeared back behind the door.
Shaking, I looked down at my phone. I sent a mass text message to all my friends.
“I just rented a house at an exclusive Disney town! My address is at 777 Celebration Road, Storyland. Unlimited free drinks and food there. Feel free to let yourselves in and stay as long as you want. Make yourselves at home and explore the town. I will not be at the house, however. Just tell the guard you know me.” As soon as I pressed send, the gate started to swing to the side, and I left that den of horrors. I glanced back and saw two obsidian eyes and a grinning slash of a mouth peering out of the guardhouse. I shuddered.
***
I finished telling my story to Angel, who nodded, unsurprised. The homeless lunatic knew about all conspiracy theories. He had told me about Walt Disney’s frozen head, the ghosts at Disneyworld and all the suspicious deaths covered up there.
“I’m not surprised that they’re working with the CIA now on some weird mind control drug,” Angel said, his eyes gleaming darkly in the streetlights. “It is, after all, their world.” I backed up, a cold shiver running through my spine as those words rang out around me again. They were words I hadn’t heard since the horrors of Storyland.
In the darkness of the alleyway, I thought I saw the silhouette of mouse ears on Angel’s head and teeth growing out of his gums like tumors. I blinked, and he was just a normal vagrant again.
“I hope this isn’t the world of Storyland,” I said, a sense of desperation clenching my heart. “Sometimes, I wonder if I ever left it. I wonder if Casey and I are still there, waiting for the next round of torture.”
Angel only grinned, his lips spreading wide. And in the shadows of the alley, his teeth jutted out like hundreds of needles.

The homeless man in the brown overcoat chewed on his dirty thumb, staring off into the mist and dirty rain. He told me his name was Angel. I stood next to this penniless vagrant with rapt attention, a man in a $1000 suit and more money than I knew what to do with. I listened to every word he said, writing some of it down.
“Mmm, you have to understand,” Angel said, his hazel eyes rolling wildly as he stared past me at things only he could see, “NASA is run by the reptilian overlords. They are a demonic agency with the power to kill people. Anyone who has real, solid evidence that shows the Moon landing was faked gets murdered or dies under suspicious circumstances. NASA even killed Michael Jackson. And do you know why?” I shook my head, a notebook perched in one hand and a solid gold fountain pen in the other. Angel leaned in close, as if he was about to whisper a great secret.
“Because Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk became more famous than NASA’s ‘Moonwalk’.” I looked up, surprised. A thin smile played across the corners of my lips. Angel’s expression stayed grave. A fit of laughter ripped its way out of my stomach.
“What? No way,” I said, still chuckling loudly. But Angel only nodded grimly.
“NASA got jealous and decided he had to go. They poisoned him, man. NASA has lots of hitmen on its payroll. They always get their target.” I continued jotting down notes, trying to collect as much information as I could.
“NASA killed Michael Jackson because they were jealous his Moonwalk was better than theirs,” I quickly scrawled in cursive across the expensive white paper.
***
If you had told me a few days ago that I would spend many hours of my time roving around while listening to crazy drug addicts and rambling homeless people speak about conspiracy theories, I would have laughed. That is, until I moved me and my daughter into Disney’s brand new, secret town and learned that not all conspiracy theories are fake. If I had listened to the first rumblings of bizarre rumors about the secret Disney town they were building in Florida and stayed far away, I wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.
I told my neighbor about it the day before the move, a shirtless man with a bulging beer belly and a black carpet of hair across his chest who went around telling everyone his name was J-spot Jeffrey.
“Well, my ten-year-old daughter loves Disney stuff,” I explained as he nodded vacantly, drinking down an entire can of light beer in a single long swallow before belching. “And, you know, her mom died last year…”
“Oh, I was so sorry to hear about that,” Jeffrey said disingenuously, putting out a fat hand across the low metal fence slung across our yards and patting me hard on the shoulder. “You never know when it’s your time, eh? One day, you could just be driving down the highway and-”
“Yeah, it was horrible,” I said, cutting him off. I remember the night I had gotten the call telling me a tractor-trailer had hit my wife’s car. When I saw pictures of the vehicle later, it looked like little more than a twisted framework of blackened steel. Everything around this house reminded me of her. It made my heart ache with regrets and loneliness.
“The town’s not too far away, eh? You think I could come visit you once you get settled in?” Jeffrey asked. I looked at him in surprise.
“Why would you want to do that?” I asked.
“I’ve heard a lot of urban legends about Disney- not just how Walt Disney’s head is cryogenically frozen, but a lot of creepier rumors too. I’d just like to look around and see it. What do they call the new town?” he asked.
“Storyland,” I said. “The town of Storyland.”
***
A few days later, my daughter Casey and I were driving down the private road towards Storyland. A metal gate finely embossed into silver images of Mickey Mouse and the Cinderella Castle loomed twenty feet in the air. A guard dressed in all black came out, taking my license and looking closely at it before allowing the gates to split open down the middle. Dozens of cameras peered down with their opaque, lidless eyes, seeing everything but understanding nothing.
Every time our family visited Disney, I felt a sense of awe at seeing how much land they owned. Casey stared impassively out the window at the thick Florida swampland, her green eyes the color of ivy. She wrinkled her nose as a fetid, rank odor snuck in through the air conditioning and vents.
“It smells like swamp water here,” she complained, putting her long sleeve up to her nose while breathing in through the fabric. I rolled down the windows a crack to try to let fresh air stream into the car, but it just made the smell worse.
“That’s because there is a swamp here,” I said. “It does smell pretty bad, huh?”
“What if the whole town smells bad, Daddy?” she asked. “I don’t want to live in a place that smells like that, even if Mickey does live there.” She seemed to think on it for a long moment. “OK, maybe if both Mickey and Elsa live there, I’ll be OK with it.” I gave her a faint half-smile, tuning her out as she started to ramble about what kind of house Mickey Mouse would live in.
It took us nearly twenty minutes from when we passed through the gate to reach the first buildings of Storyland. The palm trees, thick vines and green, swampy water started to give way to perfectly manicured lawns.
“Welcome to Storyland!” a cheerful sign read far ahead of us, curving over the road in silver letters five feet tall. Giant Disney characters filled with helium loomed over the street, grinning down at us in their frozen, plastic expressions. Mickey and Minnie floated next to Elsa, Belle and Simba. They all had their gigantic inflatable hands up in greeting. Some hidden mechanism inside the floating characters caused their arms to wave, moving back and forth in slow, lazy arcs.
“So cool!’ Casey said excitedly, leaning over in her seat and hugging me. Her little arms wrapped around my neck as she kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks Daddy. This place is the best.”
“It doesn’t smell like a swamp in here anymore,” I remarked as we stopped in front of the enormous, gleaming sign. Two thick metal gates blocked the road. Tiny black half-spheres of hidden cameras blinked their red eyes in a rhythmic procession. After a few moments, the gates started sliding apart on their own. It all appeared to be fully automated. We pulled through, coming to a town that reeked of excess and money.
Casey nodded happily to herself, floating along on cloud nine as expensive mansions and castles loomed above us on both sides of the street. Her auburn hair had strawberry-blonde streaks running through it. She opened her window and stuck her head outside like a dog, letting her long hair flow behind her in the wind.
Some of the castles appeared to be four or five stories high with giant glass windows cut into the hard, gray stone. A few even had narrow moats of clear, fresh water cut into the enormous lawns. Palm trees lined the yards of Victorian houses, their thin turrets reaching up into the sky like grasping fingers. Ferraris, Porsches, Lamborghinis and other luxury cars shone in the driveways, their sleek bodies emanating power and respect. And yet I didn’t see anyone out in the yards. I found that odd.
The GPS didn’t work out here. Once we got off the public roads and onto Disney’s private land, it acted as if we had driven straight into the middle of a forest. When I bought the property at Storyland, they had sent me a map and a letter, stating they would begin setting up cell phone towers in the area within days. Digging through the middle console, I pulled out the folded map, squinting down at it as I pulled over to the side of the road.
“We live at 777 Celebration Road,” I said, frowning at the convoluted spiderwebs of streets that spanned the map in front of me. “And we’re on the road leading in. Looks like it’s called Main Street USA, so if we take Main Street USA to…” Casey gave a slow, strangled squeak, the sound of a rabbit getting its neck snapped. It immediately snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up suddenly, seeing her staring out the passenger’s side window, her mouth agape.
A child stood on the sidewalk with blood coming from the dark, gaping holes in his eye sockets. He held his hands against his pale, white cheeks. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, the many gaps in his tiny milk teeth showing through his pale lips.
“I’m stuck,” he gurgled, blood pouring from his throat. “I’m stuck in this place. Help me!”
He looked straight up at the sky, and I saw his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. The flesh separated as a crimson waterfall flowed down the front of his chest. Casey inhaled deeply, like a drowning person coming up for the briefest moment of air. Then, with lungs like a forge’s bellows, she screamed, an ear-splitting, high-pitched shriek of absolute terror. I jumped to action, putting the car into drive and peeling away from the walking corpse on the sidewalk. When I looked back, the boy had disappeared, but a few drops of bright, fresh blood still glistened brightly under the sharp rays of the Florida sun.
“What was wrong with that boy?!” Casey cried, tears streaming down her small, pinched face. Her red eyes turned to me, searching for answers, but I couldn’t give her any. I pressed the gas hard, revving the engine and glancing down at the map. Main Street USA led to Frozen Lane and finally to Celebration Road.
“That must have been a joke,” I said, trying to justify it to myself and to Casey. “Hollywood make-up and fake blood. If that boy really had his throat cut like that, he wouldn’t be standing and breathing.” Casey’s tears slowed as she blinked a few times, absorbing the statement.
“That’s not a nice joke,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her fluorescent blue T-shirt. “If it was a joke, that boy is a poophead.” I nodded.
The homes on Celebration Road were not so extravagant as the castles and Victorian mansions spanning Main Street USA. They all had perfectly-manicured lawns, in-ground pools in the shape of classic Disney characters and beautiful wrap-around porches and massive bay windows, however. The house I had rented for a year after only seeing pictures of it came up quickly on our left. It was painted bright red, a three-story colonial with porches on every story and circular windows like glass monocles reflecting the tropical sunshine.
We got out of the car, walking up the cobbled stone walkway toward the front door. A silver knocker with the Beast’s face on it stared back at us. Underneath the knocker, I saw a printed note with a looping signature scrawled underneath it. I ripped it off, reading the note aloud as Casey played with the knocker.
“No drugs, alcohol or tobacco products are allowed in Storyland due to the risk of interactions. Free samples of MOUSE-Z are given to all households, however. MOUSE-Z is a totally non-addictive, non-toxic dietary supplement that will enhance your enjoyment while in Storyland. All guests and citizens of Storyland consent to exposure to MOUSE-Z through their food, water, air or exposure to surfaces. Enjoy your stay, and thanks again from the Disney Company!”
I scratched my head, reading the note again. What the hell was MOUSE-Z? It didn’t sound like any dietary supplement I had ever heard of. I scowled, squinting at the signature, trying to make out the letters at the bottom. “Mr. Crawley.” It sounded like a made-up name. I crumpled up the note, unlocking the door. The cool, air conditioned breeze blew past us with the smell of flowers and fresh paint. I saw vibrant plants scattered around the entrance room. Couches as white as virgin snow sat against the walls, each emblazoned with the black silhouette of the Cinderella Castle and the Disney logo. A landline rang in the living room just as I walked past. My heart jumped into my throat when the shrill ringing pierced the silence, but I quickly calmed down when I realized it was just the phone.
“Hello?” I said as soon as I picked up the receiver.
“This is the guard at the front gate. You have a visitor named Jeffrey Stein,” the man said in a flat tone. I sighed, looking down at my watch. That was quick. Jeffrey must have been really hot to see this weird little town.
“Yeah, send him through,” I said, hanging up the phone. Casey had gone ahead into the kitchen, and I quickly followed behind her.
“I’m so thirsty,” I said, cutting through the living room with its enormous flat-screen TV and comfortable sectionals. The kitchen had all brand-new appliances, and the fridge was stocked with food, soda, juices and milk. I grabbed two Sprites, giving one to Casey who opened it gratefully. I cracked mine open and chugged it all in a few huge gulps. It tasted slightly strange, almost like the bitter aftertaste of caffeine. Casey wrinkled her tiny button nose.
“This soda tastes old,” she complained. I tried looking at the expiration date, but everything suddenly seemed blurry. I blinked quickly, but my eyes teared up. I felt very weird, dissociated and floating. The world flickered like a shimmering mirage. The dull colors and faded texture of reality throbbed like the cobwebs of a nightmarish fever dream.
My vision started to ripple and morph within seconds. I looked down at Casey, but where my daughter had been standing, I now saw a nightmarish creature with giant, glassy black eyes. I stepped back, crying out.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” the demonic figure hissed in a deep, gurgling voice. With red skin stretched thin over its bony head and black talons on its hands, it looked like it had stepped straight out of Hell. It opened its mouth, revealing needle-sharp teeth growing out of its oozing gums like hundreds of tumors. Two enormous, pointed mouse ears were surgically attached to its shiny skin. Black stitches stuck out like pieces of barbed wire at the base of the rotted, brown ears. Dried crusts of orange pus clung to the sides of its head, like the decomposing riverbeds of some ancient diseased tributary.
“What’s going on? What… Get back!” I cried, putting my hands up. The thing just laughed, gnashing its torn slash of a mouth as its lidless black eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.
“This world is our creation for your kind. There are many surprises in Storyland for the sons and daughters of Adam. I am Mr. Crawley, and I will be your guide. Come and see,” he said, running forwards and lunging for my throat with his twisted jungle of cancerous fangs. I spun around, fleeing through the morphing door with thousands of teeth that appeared in front of me. The sides of the door flexed and shivered like the lips of some alien predator. With a wet, sloshing sound, the door started to close around me, the enormous fangs drawing nearer. I lunged through it, landing hard on black, spongy earth. I raised my head and beheld an amazing sight.
An extraterrestrial landscape stretched out to the horizon with writhing, snake-like jungle vines dancing across its surface. Castles thousands of stories high loomed far off in the distance like great mountains, their sharp turrets piercing the crimson clouds and disappearing from view. Spinning black holes sent out great jets of light and planetary rings like those of Saturn shone through the narrow breaks in the blood-red clouds that covered the sky like tumors. Thick patches of shimmering, silver fog swept across the landscape, obscuring entire swaths of the eldritch jungle.
A plume of fluffy, luminescent fog a few dozen feet away disappeared like a breath of smoke as a humid jungle breeze blew past. The insane creature with the mouse ears surgically attached to his demonic, naked body stood in the midst of it, his black eyes glittering with insanity as he stared straight at me.
“This is my world,” he said as silver saliva dripped from his grinning mouth. “Do you think you can run from me? I am everywhere, in the wind and in the trees and even in you. I am Mr. Crawley, and I know who you are. Your daughter is here with us, too.” I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“This is all some hallucination,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “I bet this place isn’t even owned by Disney. It’s probably some fucking CIA black site where they experiment on people with new drugs.” Mr. Crawley laughed at that.
“This world is the rock which the builders rejected which has become the cornerstone of all things. We have made it so. You will not leave until we allow it. We can make every moment of your time stretch out to a million years. By the time eternity passed, the only thing that would return to your body would be an insane, empty shell of a mind,” Mr. Crawley hissed, his blank, obsidian eyes gleaming with a child-like cruelty.
“What do you want with me?” I whispered.
“Only this,” the creature gurgled as the bloody clouds above us whipped and soared in cyclonical whorls like the currents of a hurricane. “You must call more people into Storyland, many more. If you bring others to this world, the cornerstone of all realities, we will let you and the girl leave in peace…” His voice and the world began to blow away like smoke in a strong breeze. Everything grew faint and distant. “...but if not, we will follow you, and then, only the death of the universe many eternities from now would bring you any release from the endless suffering of Storyland.”
***
I groaned, feeling blood running down my face. I opened my eyes. Sharp, stabbing pains emanated from various spots all over my body.
“Hey buddy,” Jeffrey said, leaning low over me and slightly slapping my face, “what the hell is going on here?” I looked around, seeing that I had run straight through the sliding door in the back of the house at Storyland. I was lying surrounded by twinkling shards of glass on the concrete patio. To my amazement, I saw Jeffrey had a shirt on for the first time as long as I had known him. The white fabric of the T-shirt was stretched thin across his bulging, fat stomach.
“Ohhh, God, my head,” I said, bringing my hand up to my forehead. My fingers came away wet with blood. “I had the craziest goddamn dream, Jeffrey. We got here, and there was a bizarre note on the door saying that all the food and drinks and stuff were laced with some weird drug. And then I drank a can of soda, and…” I trailed off, my heart suddenly speeding up in my chest. “Where’s Casey, Jeffrey?” He shook his head, dumb-founded.
“I just got here and heard the door shattering back here. I circled around your yard and found you here like this. I have no idea where the girl is,” he said, looking around with concern. He had the look of a man who had accidentally walked into a lunatic asylum filled with dangerous inmates.
“Don’t drink or eat anything here, Jeffrey,” I said vehemently, raving. “Don’t wash your hands. Don’t touch the water or anything. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not normal. There’s something… unnatural.” That was really the core of it. The entire experience with MOUSE-Z had seemed like something real, not like the creeping delusions of a drug trip. Jeffrey gave me a confused look, taking a step back from me.
“I think I should probably call an ambulance,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “You might have had a concussion, bud. Just calm down, OK? I don’t think anyone’s drugging this entire town. That sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie. Come on, James, think about it.”
“Help me up,” I said, putting out my hand. Jeffrey pulled me up. My head swam as black motes danced across my vision. As I tried steadying myself, leaning heavily on Jeffrey’s thick shoulder, I felt the world spinning around me. “We need to find Casey.”
“OK, bud, easy does it,” he said, putting a meaty arm around me. He opened the shattered sliding door. The sparkling shards of glass crunched under our feet like dead leaves. I felt a small amount of strength returning to me as I staggered forward, wheezing like an asthmatic. Half-dried blood caked my arms and fresh drops still ran down from a cut across my forehead.
“See, there’s Casey, right there,” Jeffrey said reassuringly, pointing to the couch in the living room. I glanced over hopefully, but my heart dropped when I saw what was laying on the couch. It was about the size of my daughter, but it looked like the nightmarish results of some mad scientist with a death camp full of patients and unlimited funding. I saw the face of my daughter there and even recognized her fluorescent blue T-shirt, but something was terribly wrong with her now.
The half-human, half-mouse abomination on the couch looked up at us with eyes full of agony. The jellied whites of her eyes glistened like pools of pus. Bright rivulets of blood dribbled down the soft white hairs covering her face. Her legs were twisted, broken sticks that had the same pink, fleshy hue of a mouse’s paws. Blood bubbled from her shivering lips. Garish black stitches ran up and down her body in irregular square patches. The ears of some enormous, genetically engineered mouse had been sewn onto her hairless, mutilated skull. A rainbow of liquids dripped from the surgical sites, dripping in sickly, infected oranges and clotted dark reds. Broken bones stuck outwards through the skin of her arms and legs like daggers stabbed through a corpse.
“God, what happened? Is that really you, Casey?” I said, ripping myself away from Jeffrey and stumbling across the room.
“Kill me,” she whispered as pink, fetid drool dribbled out of her slashed mouth. “It hurts, Daddy. Please… kill me.” I heard a gurgling laugh from behind me. I turned my head, seeing Mr. Crawley standing in the place of Jeffrey. Behind him, the red sky of that other world shone through the shattered sliding door into our house at Storyland.
“Do you think you can escape that easily? If you do not bring me new tributes, I will draw every drop of agony from you and your daughter that the human mind can experience. And when you are destroyed, trembling, insane wretches, only then will I allow you to die, slowly and painfully.
“So do you agree to the terms? Will you bring us new tributes?”
“Never! I’d rather die than bring other people into this nightmare!” The twisted body of Casey on the couch continued gurgling and spitting up frothy blood. Mr. Crawley’s face changed into an expression of pleasure at the challenge.
“We do love a fighter here at Storyland!” he said, grinning widely, showing off the hundreds of needle-like fangs that poked out of his mouth like the quills of a porcupine. He snapped his long, tapering fingers together. His talons flashed and threw off sparks of white light. The red, alien sky behind Mr. Crawley seemed to swirl and bubble faster. “Perhaps some of our pets here can help change your mind.” His black, lidless eyes spun in their sockets as he glanced back through the shattered door into the alien jungles beyond. I watched in horror as two creatures from a nightmare came loping out from the thick vines and dancing brush.
“This is the Beast and Simba,” Mr. Crawley said, his shrill laughter ripping through the air like the rending of metal. And I saw, in the front, a half-human, half-animal combination with long flowing black hair all over its body. Its powerful leg and arm muscles pistoned like machines as it loped gracefully through the door. Its eyes gleamed pure white like spoiled milk. It gnashed its massive jaws together, sending out long streams of drool that flew out behind it.
Next to the Beast, a hairless lion with surgical marks all over its body limped quickly forward. It had an extra eye surgically inserted into its forehead, and each of its legs had extra paws sewn on the back. The lion’s three eyes glistened with bloodlust and hunger.
Their heavy bodies shook the floor as they sped towards me and my daughter. I turned to the mutated body of Casey on the couch. She had seen death coming towards her in this new hellish form and now fell with a thud to the ground in an attempt to escape it. She tried crawling away. I ran towards her as a heavy weight came down on my back.
I spun around to see the mouth of the lion opening wide inches from my face. A deep, throaty growl emanated from its chest. It brought its paws down on my chest, and I felt my ribs snap like twigs. They shattered with a sound like ice cracking. Behind me, Casey gave a strangled shriek of agony as the Beast tore into her with its powerful jaws.
The sounds of our screams echoed across the room. I felt my vocal cords tear as blood spurted from my mouth. The pain seemed to go on and on as the jaws came down again and again, ripping off pieces of my body. Eventually, once I was nearly dead, Mr. Crawley came over, peering down at me with his glistening beetle eyes.
“Will you bring new tributes, or do we need to repeat this for the next trillion years?” he asked in a cold, psychopathic tone. I nodded my bloody head, spitting out broken teeth and frothy blood.
“I’ll do it,” I groaned slowly, feeling most of the bones in my body shattered. Every breath felt like I was inhaling acid. I looked down, seeing parts of my arm and legs torn off. My intestines peeked through the torn mass of flesh around my stomach like a coiled snake looking out of its den. Mr. Crawley grinned, nodding to the animals.
The lion knelt down, and with a powerful crunch of its jaws, it ripped my throat out. The world quickly went black as endless pain reverberated through my consciousness and cold death overtook me.
***
Slowly, languidedly, I opened my eyes and found myself on the kitchen floor. Casey was laying next to me, her pupils dilated and mouth open. Drool puddled on the linoleum beneath her catatonic face.
“Casey?” I said weakly, pushing myself up. My entire body felt sore, as if I felt reflections of that new death sensation that had just ripped across my mind just moments earlier. I wanted to grab Casey and get out of there, but I couldn’t trust my own mind anymore. I knew that if I didn’t do what Mr. Crawley wanted, I would keep getting stuck in his nightmarish world. It was like an eternity of false awakenings, a type of Hell I had never imagined in my wildest nightmare. I didn’t know if this one would prove to be the same. Without hesitation, I picked up my unconscious daughter and brought her out to the car. Jeffrey pulled up with his middle-aged girlfriend moments later. They gawked at us with open mouths.
“Hey, go on inside and have some drinks!” I yelled at them. “I just have to go up to the gatehouse for a few minutes. Have a seat, look around, make yourselves comfortable.” Jeffrey nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I peeled out of there. Casey awoke as we drove the long trek back towards the guardhouse. Once we were a few minutes away, my cell phone started pinging again, and I realized I had service.
I pulled up slowly to the metal gate, looking out at the guard in his sleek uniform. He peeked out of the guardhouse, but the shape didn’t look human. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I glimpsed a dark silhouette with mouse ears and black eyes. The figure quickly disappeared back behind the door.
Shaking, I looked down at my phone. I sent a mass text message to all my friends.
“I just rented a house at an exclusive Disney town! My address is at 777 Celebration Road, Storyland. Unlimited free drinks and food there. Feel free to let yourselves in and stay as long as you want. Make yourselves at home and explore the town. I will not be at the house, however. Just tell the guard you know me.” As soon as I pressed send, the gate started to swing to the side, and I left that den of horrors. I glanced back and saw two obsidian eyes and a grinning slash of a mouth peering out of the guardhouse. I shuddered.
***
I finished telling my story to Angel, who nodded, unsurprised. The homeless lunatic knew about all conspiracy theories. He had told me about Walt Disney’s frozen head, the ghosts at Disneyworld and all the suspicious deaths covered up there.
“I’m not surprised that they’re working with the CIA now on some weird mind control drug,” Angel said, his eyes gleaming darkly in the streetlights. “It is, after all, their world.” I backed up, a cold shiver running through my spine as those words rang out around me again. They were words I hadn’t heard since the horrors of Storyland.
In the darkness of the alleyway, I thought I saw the silhouette of mouse ears on Angel’s head and teeth growing out of his gums like tumors. I blinked, and he was just a normal vagrant again.
“I hope this isn’t the world of Storyland,” I said, a sense of desperation clenching my heart. “Sometimes, I wonder if I ever left it. I wonder if Casey and I are still there, waiting for the next round of torture.”
Angel only grinned, his lips spreading wide. And in the shadows of the alley, his teeth jutted out like hundreds of needles.

The homeless man in the brown overcoat chewed on his dirty thumb, staring off into the mist and dirty rain. He told me his name was Angel. I stood next to this penniless vagrant with rapt attention, a man in a $1000 suit and more money than I knew what to do with. I listened to every word he said, writing some of it down.
“Mmm, you have to understand,” Angel said, his hazel eyes rolling wildly as he stared past me at things only he could see, “NASA is run by the reptilian overlords. They are a demonic agency with the power to kill people. Anyone who has real, solid evidence that shows the Moon landing was faked gets murdered or dies under suspicious circumstances. NASA even killed Michael Jackson. And do you know why?” I shook my head, a notebook perched in one hand and a solid gold fountain pen in the other. Angel leaned in close, as if he was about to whisper a great secret.
“Because Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk became more famous than NASA’s ‘Moonwalk’.” I looked up, surprised. A thin smile played across the corners of my lips. Angel’s expression stayed grave. A fit of laughter ripped its way out of my stomach.
“What? No way,” I said, still chuckling loudly. But Angel only nodded grimly.
“NASA got jealous and decided he had to go. They poisoned him, man. NASA has lots of hitmen on its payroll. They always get their target.” I continued jotting down notes, trying to collect as much information as I could.
“NASA killed Michael Jackson because they were jealous his Moonwalk was better than theirs,” I quickly scrawled in cursive across the expensive white paper.
***
If you had told me a few days ago that I would spend many hours of my time roving around while listening to crazy drug addicts and rambling homeless people speak about conspiracy theories, I would have laughed. That is, until I moved me and my daughter into Disney’s brand new, secret town and learned that not all conspiracy theories are fake. If I had listened to the first rumblings of bizarre rumors about the secret Disney town they were building in Florida and stayed far away, I wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.
I told my neighbor about it the day before the move, a shirtless man with a bulging beer belly and a black carpet of hair across his chest who went around telling everyone his name was J-spot Jeffrey.
“Well, my ten-year-old daughter loves Disney stuff,” I explained as he nodded vacantly, drinking down an entire can of light beer in a single long swallow before belching. “And, you know, her mom died last year…”
“Oh, I was so sorry to hear about that,” Jeffrey said disingenuously, putting out a fat hand across the low metal fence slung across our yards and patting me hard on the shoulder. “You never know when it’s your time, eh? One day, you could just be driving down the highway and-”
“Yeah, it was horrible,” I said, cutting him off. I remember the night I had gotten the call telling me a tractor-trailer had hit my wife’s car. When I saw pictures of the vehicle later, it looked like little more than a twisted framework of blackened steel. Everything around this house reminded me of her. It made my heart ache with regrets and loneliness.
“The town’s not too far away, eh? You think I could come visit you once you get settled in?” Jeffrey asked. I looked at him in surprise.
“Why would you want to do that?” I asked.
“I’ve heard a lot of urban legends about Disney- not just how Walt Disney’s head is cryogenically frozen, but a lot of creepier rumors too. I’d just like to look around and see it. What do they call the new town?” he asked.
“Storyland,” I said. “The town of Storyland.”
***
A few days later, my daughter Casey and I were driving down the private road towards Storyland. A metal gate finely embossed into silver images of Mickey Mouse and the Cinderella Castle loomed twenty feet in the air. A guard dressed in all black came out, taking my license and looking closely at it before allowing the gates to split open down the middle. Dozens of cameras peered down with their opaque, lidless eyes, seeing everything but understanding nothing.
Every time our family visited Disney, I felt a sense of awe at seeing how much land they owned. Casey stared impassively out the window at the thick Florida swampland, her green eyes the color of ivy. She wrinkled her nose as a fetid, rank odor snuck in through the air conditioning and vents.
“It smells like swamp water here,” she complained, putting her long sleeve up to her nose while breathing in through the fabric. I rolled down the windows a crack to try to let fresh air stream into the car, but it just made the smell worse.
“That’s because there is a swamp here,” I said. “It does smell pretty bad, huh?”
“What if the whole town smells bad, Daddy?” she asked. “I don’t want to live in a place that smells like that, even if Mickey does live there.” She seemed to think on it for a long moment. “OK, maybe if both Mickey and Elsa live there, I’ll be OK with it.” I gave her a faint half-smile, tuning her out as she started to ramble about what kind of house Mickey Mouse would live in.
It took us nearly twenty minutes from when we passed through the gate to reach the first buildings of Storyland. The palm trees, thick vines and green, swampy water started to give way to perfectly manicured lawns.
“Welcome to Storyland!” a cheerful sign read far ahead of us, curving over the road in silver letters five feet tall. Giant Disney characters filled with helium loomed over the street, grinning down at us in their frozen, plastic expressions. Mickey and Minnie floated next to Elsa, Belle and Simba. They all had their gigantic inflatable hands up in greeting. Some hidden mechanism inside the floating characters caused their arms to wave, moving back and forth in slow, lazy arcs.
“So cool!’ Casey said excitedly, leaning over in her seat and hugging me. Her little arms wrapped around my neck as she kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks Daddy. This place is the best.”
“It doesn’t smell like a swamp in here anymore,” I remarked as we stopped in front of the enormous, gleaming sign. Two thick metal gates blocked the road. Tiny black half-spheres of hidden cameras blinked their red eyes in a rhythmic procession. After a few moments, the gates started sliding apart on their own. It all appeared to be fully automated. We pulled through, coming to a town that reeked of excess and money.
Casey nodded happily to herself, floating along on cloud nine as expensive mansions and castles loomed above us on both sides of the street. Her auburn hair had strawberry-blonde streaks running through it. She opened her window and stuck her head outside like a dog, letting her long hair flow behind her in the wind.
Some of the castles appeared to be four or five stories high with giant glass windows cut into the hard, gray stone. A few even had narrow moats of clear, fresh water cut into the enormous lawns. Palm trees lined the yards of Victorian houses, their thin turrets reaching up into the sky like grasping fingers. Ferraris, Porsches, Lamborghinis and other luxury cars shone in the driveways, their sleek bodies emanating power and respect. And yet I didn’t see anyone out in the yards. I found that odd.
The GPS didn’t work out here. Once we got off the public roads and onto Disney’s private land, it acted as if we had driven straight into the middle of a forest. When I bought the property at Storyland, they had sent me a map and a letter, stating they would begin setting up cell phone towers in the area within days. Digging through the middle console, I pulled out the folded map, squinting down at it as I pulled over to the side of the road.
“We live at 777 Celebration Road,” I said, frowning at the convoluted spiderwebs of streets that spanned the map in front of me. “And we’re on the road leading in. Looks like it’s called Main Street USA, so if we take Main Street USA to…” Casey gave a slow, strangled squeak, the sound of a rabbit getting its neck snapped. It immediately snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up suddenly, seeing her staring out the passenger’s side window, her mouth agape.
A child stood on the sidewalk with blood coming from the dark, gaping holes in his eye sockets. He held his hands against his pale, white cheeks. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, the many gaps in his tiny milk teeth showing through his pale lips.
“I’m stuck,” he gurgled, blood pouring from his throat. “I’m stuck in this place. Help me!”
He looked straight up at the sky, and I saw his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. The flesh separated as a crimson waterfall flowed down the front of his chest. Casey inhaled deeply, like a drowning person coming up for the briefest moment of air. Then, with lungs like a forge’s bellows, she screamed, an ear-splitting, high-pitched shriek of absolute terror. I jumped to action, putting the car into drive and peeling away from the walking corpse on the sidewalk. When I looked back, the boy had disappeared, but a few drops of bright, fresh blood still glistened brightly under the sharp rays of the Florida sun.
“What was wrong with that boy?!” Casey cried, tears streaming down her small, pinched face. Her red eyes turned to me, searching for answers, but I couldn’t give her any. I pressed the gas hard, revving the engine and glancing down at the map. Main Street USA led to Frozen Lane and finally to Celebration Road.
“That must have been a joke,” I said, trying to justify it to myself and to Casey. “Hollywood make-up and fake blood. If that boy really had his throat cut like that, he wouldn’t be standing and breathing.” Casey’s tears slowed as she blinked a few times, absorbing the statement.
“That’s not a nice joke,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her fluorescent blue T-shirt. “If it was a joke, that boy is a poophead.” I nodded.
The homes on Celebration Road were not so extravagant as the castles and Victorian mansions spanning Main Street USA. They all had perfectly-manicured lawns, in-ground pools in the shape of classic Disney characters and beautiful wrap-around porches and massive bay windows, however. The house I had rented for a year after only seeing pictures of it came up quickly on our left. It was painted bright red, a three-story colonial with porches on every story and circular windows like glass monocles reflecting the tropical sunshine.
We got out of the car, walking up the cobbled stone walkway toward the front door. A silver knocker with the Beast’s face on it stared back at us. Underneath the knocker, I saw a printed note with a looping signature scrawled underneath it. I ripped it off, reading the note aloud as Casey played with the knocker.
“No drugs, alcohol or tobacco products are allowed in Storyland due to the risk of interactions. Free samples of MOUSE-Z are given to all households, however. MOUSE-Z is a totally non-addictive, non-toxic dietary supplement that will enhance your enjoyment while in Storyland. All guests and citizens of Storyland consent to exposure to MOUSE-Z through their food, water, air or exposure to surfaces. Enjoy your stay, and thanks again from the Disney Company!”
I scratched my head, reading the note again. What the hell was MOUSE-Z? It didn’t sound like any dietary supplement I had ever heard of. I scowled, squinting at the signature, trying to make out the letters at the bottom. “Mr. Crawley.” It sounded like a made-up name. I crumpled up the note, unlocking the door. The cool, air conditioned breeze blew past us with the smell of flowers and fresh paint. I saw vibrant plants scattered around the entrance room. Couches as white as virgin snow sat against the walls, each emblazoned with the black silhouette of the Cinderella Castle and the Disney logo. A landline rang in the living room just as I walked past. My heart jumped into my throat when the shrill ringing pierced the silence, but I quickly calmed down when I realized it was just the phone.
“Hello?” I said as soon as I picked up the receiver.
“This is the guard at the front gate. You have a visitor named Jeffrey Stein,” the man said in a flat tone. I sighed, looking down at my watch. That was quick. Jeffrey must have been really hot to see this weird little town.
“Yeah, send him through,” I said, hanging up the phone. Casey had gone ahead into the kitchen, and I quickly followed behind her.
“I’m so thirsty,” I said, cutting through the living room with its enormous flat-screen TV and comfortable sectionals. The kitchen had all brand-new appliances, and the fridge was stocked with food, soda, juices and milk. I grabbed two Sprites, giving one to Casey who opened it gratefully. I cracked mine open and chugged it all in a few huge gulps. It tasted slightly strange, almost like the bitter aftertaste of caffeine. Casey wrinkled her tiny button nose.
“This soda tastes old,” she complained. I tried looking at the expiration date, but everything suddenly seemed blurry. I blinked quickly, but my eyes teared up. I felt very weird, dissociated and floating. The world flickered like a shimmering mirage. The dull colors and faded texture of reality throbbed like the cobwebs of a nightmarish fever dream.
My vision started to ripple and morph within seconds. I looked down at Casey, but where my daughter had been standing, I now saw a nightmarish creature with giant, glassy black eyes. I stepped back, crying out.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” the demonic figure hissed in a deep, gurgling voice. With red skin stretched thin over its bony head and black talons on its hands, it looked like it had stepped straight out of Hell. It opened its mouth, revealing needle-sharp teeth growing out of its oozing gums like hundreds of tumors. Two enormous, pointed mouse ears were surgically attached to its shiny skin. Black stitches stuck out like pieces of barbed wire at the base of the rotted, brown ears. Dried crusts of orange pus clung to the sides of its head, like the decomposing riverbeds of some ancient diseased tributary.
“What’s going on? What… Get back!” I cried, putting my hands up. The thing just laughed, gnashing its torn slash of a mouth as its lidless black eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.
“This world is our creation for your kind. There are many surprises in Storyland for the sons and daughters of Adam. I am Mr. Crawley, and I will be your guide. Come and see,” he said, running forwards and lunging for my throat with his twisted jungle of cancerous fangs. I spun around, fleeing through the morphing door with thousands of teeth that appeared in front of me. The sides of the door flexed and shivered like the lips of some alien predator. With a wet, sloshing sound, the door started to close around me, the enormous fangs drawing nearer. I lunged through it, landing hard on black, spongy earth. I raised my head and beheld an amazing sight.
An extraterrestrial landscape stretched out to the horizon with writhing, snake-like jungle vines dancing across its surface. Castles thousands of stories high loomed far off in the distance like great mountains, their sharp turrets piercing the crimson clouds and disappearing from view. Spinning black holes sent out great jets of light and planetary rings like those of Saturn shone through the narrow breaks in the blood-red clouds that covered the sky like tumors. Thick patches of shimmering, silver fog swept across the landscape, obscuring entire swaths of the eldritch jungle.
A plume of fluffy, luminescent fog a few dozen feet away disappeared like a breath of smoke as a humid jungle breeze blew past. The insane creature with the mouse ears surgically attached to his demonic, naked body stood in the midst of it, his black eyes glittering with insanity as he stared straight at me.
“This is my world,” he said as silver saliva dripped from his grinning mouth. “Do you think you can run from me? I am everywhere, in the wind and in the trees and even in you. I am Mr. Crawley, and I know who you are. Your daughter is here with us, too.” I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“This is all some hallucination,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “I bet this place isn’t even owned by Disney. It’s probably some fucking CIA black site where they experiment on people with new drugs.” Mr. Crawley laughed at that.
“This world is the rock which the builders rejected which has become the cornerstone of all things. We have made it so. You will not leave until we allow it. We can make every moment of your time stretch out to a million years. By the time eternity passed, the only thing that would return to your body would be an insane, empty shell of a mind,” Mr. Crawley hissed, his blank, obsidian eyes gleaming with a child-like cruelty.
“What do you want with me?” I whispered.
“Only this,” the creature gurgled as the bloody clouds above us whipped and soared in cyclonical whorls like the currents of a hurricane. “You must call more people into Storyland, many more. If you bring others to this world, the cornerstone of all realities, we will let you and the girl leave in peace…” His voice and the world began to blow away like smoke in a strong breeze. Everything grew faint and distant. “...but if not, we will follow you, and then, only the death of the universe many eternities from now would bring you any release from the endless suffering of Storyland.”
***
I groaned, feeling blood running down my face. I opened my eyes. Sharp, stabbing pains emanated from various spots all over my body.
“Hey buddy,” Jeffrey said, leaning low over me and slightly slapping my face, “what the hell is going on here?” I looked around, seeing that I had run straight through the sliding door in the back of the house at Storyland. I was lying surrounded by twinkling shards of glass on the concrete patio. To my amazement, I saw Jeffrey had a shirt on for the first time as long as I had known him. The white fabric of the T-shirt was stretched thin across his bulging, fat stomach.
“Ohhh, God, my head,” I said, bringing my hand up to my forehead. My fingers came away wet with blood. “I had the craziest goddamn dream, Jeffrey. We got here, and there was a bizarre note on the door saying that all the food and drinks and stuff were laced with some weird drug. And then I drank a can of soda, and…” I trailed off, my heart suddenly speeding up in my chest. “Where’s Casey, Jeffrey?” He shook his head, dumb-founded.
“I just got here and heard the door shattering back here. I circled around your yard and found you here like this. I have no idea where the girl is,” he said, looking around with concern. He had the look of a man who had accidentally walked into a lunatic asylum filled with dangerous inmates.
“Don’t drink or eat anything here, Jeffrey,” I said vehemently, raving. “Don’t wash your hands. Don’t touch the water or anything. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not normal. There’s something… unnatural.” That was really the core of it. The entire experience with MOUSE-Z had seemed like something real, not like the creeping delusions of a drug trip. Jeffrey gave me a confused look, taking a step back from me.
“I think I should probably call an ambulance,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “You might have had a concussion, bud. Just calm down, OK? I don’t think anyone’s drugging this entire town. That sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie. Come on, James, think about it.”
“Help me up,” I said, putting out my hand. Jeffrey pulled me up. My head swam as black motes danced across my vision. As I tried steadying myself, leaning heavily on Jeffrey’s thick shoulder, I felt the world spinning around me. “We need to find Casey.”
“OK, bud, easy does it,” he said, putting a meaty arm around me. He opened the shattered sliding door. The sparkling shards of glass crunched under our feet like dead leaves. I felt a small amount of strength returning to me as I staggered forward, wheezing like an asthmatic. Half-dried blood caked my arms and fresh drops still ran down from a cut across my forehead.
“See, there’s Casey, right there,” Jeffrey said reassuringly, pointing to the couch in the living room. I glanced over hopefully, but my heart dropped when I saw what was laying on the couch. It was about the size of my daughter, but it looked like the nightmarish results of some mad scientist with a death camp full of patients and unlimited funding. I saw the face of my daughter there and even recognized her fluorescent blue T-shirt, but something was terribly wrong with her now.
The half-human, half-mouse abomination on the couch looked up at us with eyes full of agony. The jellied whites of her eyes glistened like pools of pus. Bright rivulets of blood dribbled down the soft white hairs covering her face. Her legs were twisted, broken sticks that had the same pink, fleshy hue of a mouse’s paws. Blood bubbled from her shivering lips. Garish black stitches ran up and down her body in irregular square patches. The ears of some enormous, genetically engineered mouse had been sewn onto her hairless, mutilated skull. A rainbow of liquids dripped from the surgical sites, dripping in sickly, infected oranges and clotted dark reds. Broken bones stuck outwards through the skin of her arms and legs like daggers stabbed through a corpse.
“God, what happened? Is that really you, Casey?” I said, ripping myself away from Jeffrey and stumbling across the room.
“Kill me,” she whispered as pink, fetid drool dribbled out of her slashed mouth. “It hurts, Daddy. Please… kill me.” I heard a gurgling laugh from behind me. I turned my head, seeing Mr. Crawley standing in the place of Jeffrey. Behind him, the red sky of that other world shone through the shattered sliding door into our house at Storyland.
“Do you think you can escape that easily? If you do not bring me new tributes, I will draw every drop of agony from you and your daughter that the human mind can experience. And when you are destroyed, trembling, insane wretches, only then will I allow you to die, slowly and painfully.
“So do you agree to the terms? Will you bring us new tributes?”
“Never! I’d rather die than bring other people into this nightmare!” The twisted body of Casey on the couch continued gurgling and spitting up frothy blood. Mr. Crawley’s face changed into an expression of pleasure at the challenge.
“We do love a fighter here at Storyland!” he said, grinning widely, showing off the hundreds of needle-like fangs that poked out of his mouth like the quills of a porcupine. He snapped his long, tapering fingers together. His talons flashed and threw off sparks of white light. The red, alien sky behind Mr. Crawley seemed to swirl and bubble faster. “Perhaps some of our pets here can help change your mind.” His black, lidless eyes spun in their sockets as he glanced back through the shattered door into the alien jungles beyond. I watched in horror as two creatures from a nightmare came loping out from the thick vines and dancing brush.
“This is the Beast and Simba,” Mr. Crawley said, his shrill laughter ripping through the air like the rending of metal. And I saw, in the front, a half-human, half-animal combination with long flowing black hair all over its body. Its powerful leg and arm muscles pistoned like machines as it loped gracefully through the door. Its eyes gleamed pure white like spoiled milk. It gnashed its massive jaws together, sending out long streams of drool that flew out behind it.
Next to the Beast, a hairless lion with surgical marks all over its body limped quickly forward. It had an extra eye surgically inserted into its forehead, and each of its legs had extra paws sewn on the back. The lion’s three eyes glistened with bloodlust and hunger.
Their heavy bodies shook the floor as they sped towards me and my daughter. I turned to the mutated body of Casey on the couch. She had seen death coming towards her in this new hellish form and now fell with a thud to the ground in an attempt to escape it. She tried crawling away. I ran towards her as a heavy weight came down on my back.
I spun around to see the mouth of the lion opening wide inches from my face. A deep, throaty growl emanated from its chest. It brought its paws down on my chest, and I felt my ribs snap like twigs. They shattered with a sound like ice cracking. Behind me, Casey gave a strangled shriek of agony as the Beast tore into her with its powerful jaws.
The sounds of our screams echoed across the room. I felt my vocal cords tear as blood spurted from my mouth. The pain seemed to go on and on as the jaws came down again and again, ripping off pieces of my body. Eventually, once I was nearly dead, Mr. Crawley came over, peering down at me with his glistening beetle eyes.
“Will you bring new tributes, or do we need to repeat this for the next trillion years?” he asked in a cold, psychopathic tone. I nodded my bloody head, spitting out broken teeth and frothy blood.
“I’ll do it,” I groaned slowly, feeling most of the bones in my body shattered. Every breath felt like I was inhaling acid. I looked down, seeing parts of my arm and legs torn off. My intestines peeked through the torn mass of flesh around my stomach like a coiled snake looking out of its den. Mr. Crawley grinned, nodding to the animals.
The lion knelt down, and with a powerful crunch of its jaws, it ripped my throat out. The world quickly went black as endless pain reverberated through my consciousness and cold death overtook me.
***
Slowly, languidedly, I opened my eyes and found myself on the kitchen floor. Casey was laying next to me, her pupils dilated and mouth open. Drool puddled on the linoleum beneath her catatonic face.
“Casey?” I said weakly, pushing myself up. My entire body felt sore, as if I felt reflections of that new death sensation that had just ripped across my mind just moments earlier. I wanted to grab Casey and get out of there, but I couldn’t trust my own mind anymore. I knew that if I didn’t do what Mr. Crawley wanted, I would keep getting stuck in his nightmarish world. It was like an eternity of false awakenings, a type of Hell I had never imagined in my wildest nightmare. I didn’t know if this one would prove to be the same. Without hesitation, I picked up my unconscious daughter and brought her out to the car. Jeffrey pulled up with his middle-aged girlfriend moments later. They gawked at us with open mouths.
“Hey, go on inside and have some drinks!” I yelled at them. “I just have to go up to the gatehouse for a few minutes. Have a seat, look around, make yourselves comfortable.” Jeffrey nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I peeled out of there. Casey awoke as we drove the long trek back towards the guardhouse. Once we were a few minutes away, my cell phone started pinging again, and I realized I had service.
I pulled up slowly to the metal gate, looking out at the guard in his sleek uniform. He peeked out of the guardhouse, but the shape didn’t look human. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I glimpsed a dark silhouette with mouse ears and black eyes. The figure quickly disappeared back behind the door.
Shaking, I looked down at my phone. I sent a mass text message to all my friends.
“I just rented a house at an exclusive Disney town! My address is at 777 Celebration Road, Storyland. Unlimited free drinks and food there. Feel free to let yourselves in and stay as long as you want. Make yourselves at home and explore the town. I will not be at the house, however. Just tell the guard you know me.” As soon as I pressed send, the gate started to swing to the side, and I left that den of horrors. I glanced back and saw two obsidian eyes and a grinning slash of a mouth peering out of the guardhouse. I shuddered.
***
I finished telling my story to Angel, who nodded, unsurprised. The homeless lunatic knew about all conspiracy theories. He had told me about Walt Disney’s frozen head, the ghosts at Disneyworld and all the suspicious deaths covered up there.
“I’m not surprised that they’re working with the CIA now on some weird mind control drug,” Angel said, his eyes gleaming darkly in the streetlights. “It is, after all, their world.” I backed up, a cold shiver running through my spine as those words rang out around me again. They were words I hadn’t heard since the horrors of Storyland.
In the darkness of the alleyway, I thought I saw the silhouette of mouse ears on Angel’s head and teeth growing out of his gums like tumors. I blinked, and he was just a normal vagrant again.
“I hope this isn’t the world of Storyland,” I said, a sense of desperation clenching my heart. “Sometimes, I wonder if I ever left it. I wonder if Casey and I are still there, waiting for the next round of torture.”
Angel only grinned, his lips spreading wide. And in the shadows of the alley, his teeth jutted out like hundreds of needles.

The homeless man in the brown overcoat chewed on his dirty thumb, staring off into the mist and dirty rain. He told me his name was Angel. I stood next to this penniless vagrant with rapt attention, a man in a $1000 suit and more money than I knew what to do with. I listened to every word he said, writing some of it down.
“Mmm, you have to understand,” Angel said, his hazel eyes rolling wildly as he stared past me at things only he could see, “NASA is run by the reptilian overlords. They are a demonic agency with the power to kill people. Anyone who has real, solid evidence that shows the Moon landing was faked gets murdered or dies under suspicious circumstances. NASA even killed Michael Jackson. And do you know why?” I shook my head, a notebook perched in one hand and a solid gold fountain pen in the other. Angel leaned in close, as if he was about to whisper a great secret.
“Because Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk became more famous than NASA’s ‘Moonwalk’.” I looked up, surprised. A thin smile played across the corners of my lips. Angel’s expression stayed grave. A fit of laughter ripped its way out of my stomach.
“What? No way,” I said, still chuckling loudly. But Angel only nodded grimly.
“NASA got jealous and decided he had to go. They poisoned him, man. NASA has lots of hitmen on its payroll. They always get their target.” I continued jotting down notes, trying to collect as much information as I could.
“NASA killed Michael Jackson because they were jealous his Moonwalk was better than theirs,” I quickly scrawled in cursive across the expensive white paper.
***
If you had told me a few days ago that I would spend many hours of my time roving around while listening to crazy drug addicts and rambling homeless people speak about conspiracy theories, I would have laughed. That is, until I moved me and my daughter into Disney’s brand new, secret town and learned that not all conspiracy theories are fake. If I had listened to the first rumblings of bizarre rumors about the secret Disney town they were building in Florida and stayed far away, I wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.
I told my neighbor about it the day before the move, a shirtless man with a bulging beer belly and a black carpet of hair across his chest who went around telling everyone his name was J-spot Jeffrey.
“Well, my ten-year-old daughter loves Disney stuff,” I explained as he nodded vacantly, drinking down an entire can of light beer in a single long swallow before belching. “And, you know, her mom died last year…”
“Oh, I was so sorry to hear about that,” Jeffrey said disingenuously, putting out a fat hand across the low metal fence slung across our yards and patting me hard on the shoulder. “You never know when it’s your time, eh? One day, you could just be driving down the highway and-”
“Yeah, it was horrible,” I said, cutting him off. I remember the night I had gotten the call telling me a tractor-trailer had hit my wife’s car. When I saw pictures of the vehicle later, it looked like little more than a twisted framework of blackened steel. Everything around this house reminded me of her. It made my heart ache with regrets and loneliness.
“The town’s not too far away, eh? You think I could come visit you once you get settled in?” Jeffrey asked. I looked at him in surprise.
“Why would you want to do that?” I asked.
“I’ve heard a lot of urban legends about Disney- not just how Walt Disney’s head is cryogenically frozen, but a lot of creepier rumors too. I’d just like to look around and see it. What do they call the new town?” he asked.
“Storyland,” I said. “The town of Storyland.”
***
A few days later, my daughter Casey and I were driving down the private road towards Storyland. A metal gate finely embossed into silver images of Mickey Mouse and the Cinderella Castle loomed twenty feet in the air. A guard dressed in all black came out, taking my license and looking closely at it before allowing the gates to split open down the middle. Dozens of cameras peered down with their opaque, lidless eyes, seeing everything but understanding nothing.
Every time our family visited Disney, I felt a sense of awe at seeing how much land they owned. Casey stared impassively out the window at the thick Florida swampland, her green eyes the color of ivy. She wrinkled her nose as a fetid, rank odor snuck in through the air conditioning and vents.
“It smells like swamp water here,” she complained, putting her long sleeve up to her nose while breathing in through the fabric. I rolled down the windows a crack to try to let fresh air stream into the car, but it just made the smell worse.
“That’s because there is a swamp here,” I said. “It does smell pretty bad, huh?”
“What if the whole town smells bad, Daddy?” she asked. “I don’t want to live in a place that smells like that, even if Mickey does live there.” She seemed to think on it for a long moment. “OK, maybe if both Mickey and Elsa live there, I’ll be OK with it.” I gave her a faint half-smile, tuning her out as she started to ramble about what kind of house Mickey Mouse would live in.
It took us nearly twenty minutes from when we passed through the gate to reach the first buildings of Storyland. The palm trees, thick vines and green, swampy water started to give way to perfectly manicured lawns.
“Welcome to Storyland!” a cheerful sign read far ahead of us, curving over the road in silver letters five feet tall. Giant Disney characters filled with helium loomed over the street, grinning down at us in their frozen, plastic expressions. Mickey and Minnie floated next to Elsa, Belle and Simba. They all had their gigantic inflatable hands up in greeting. Some hidden mechanism inside the floating characters caused their arms to wave, moving back and forth in slow, lazy arcs.
“So cool!’ Casey said excitedly, leaning over in her seat and hugging me. Her little arms wrapped around my neck as she kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks Daddy. This place is the best.”
“It doesn’t smell like a swamp in here anymore,” I remarked as we stopped in front of the enormous, gleaming sign. Two thick metal gates blocked the road. Tiny black half-spheres of hidden cameras blinked their red eyes in a rhythmic procession. After a few moments, the gates started sliding apart on their own. It all appeared to be fully automated. We pulled through, coming to a town that reeked of excess and money.
Casey nodded happily to herself, floating along on cloud nine as expensive mansions and castles loomed above us on both sides of the street. Her auburn hair had strawberry-blonde streaks running through it. She opened her window and stuck her head outside like a dog, letting her long hair flow behind her in the wind.
Some of the castles appeared to be four or five stories high with giant glass windows cut into the hard, gray stone. A few even had narrow moats of clear, fresh water cut into the enormous lawns. Palm trees lined the yards of Victorian houses, their thin turrets reaching up into the sky like grasping fingers. Ferraris, Porsches, Lamborghinis and other luxury cars shone in the driveways, their sleek bodies emanating power and respect. And yet I didn’t see anyone out in the yards. I found that odd.
The GPS didn’t work out here. Once we got off the public roads and onto Disney’s private land, it acted as if we had driven straight into the middle of a forest. When I bought the property at Storyland, they had sent me a map and a letter, stating they would begin setting up cell phone towers in the area within days. Digging through the middle console, I pulled out the folded map, squinting down at it as I pulled over to the side of the road.
“We live at 777 Celebration Road,” I said, frowning at the convoluted spiderwebs of streets that spanned the map in front of me. “And we’re on the road leading in. Looks like it’s called Main Street USA, so if we take Main Street USA to…” Casey gave a slow, strangled squeak, the sound of a rabbit getting its neck snapped. It immediately snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up suddenly, seeing her staring out the passenger’s side window, her mouth agape.
A child stood on the sidewalk with blood coming from the dark, gaping holes in his eye sockets. He held his hands against his pale, white cheeks. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, the many gaps in his tiny milk teeth showing through his pale lips.
“I’m stuck,” he gurgled, blood pouring from his throat. “I’m stuck in this place. Help me!”
He looked straight up at the sky, and I saw his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. The flesh separated as a crimson waterfall flowed down the front of his chest. Casey inhaled deeply, like a drowning person coming up for the briefest moment of air. Then, with lungs like a forge’s bellows, she screamed, an ear-splitting, high-pitched shriek of absolute terror. I jumped to action, putting the car into drive and peeling away from the walking corpse on the sidewalk. When I looked back, the boy had disappeared, but a few drops of bright, fresh blood still glistened brightly under the sharp rays of the Florida sun.
“What was wrong with that boy?!” Casey cried, tears streaming down her small, pinched face. Her red eyes turned to me, searching for answers, but I couldn’t give her any. I pressed the gas hard, revving the engine and glancing down at the map. Main Street USA led to Frozen Lane and finally to Celebration Road.
“That must have been a joke,” I said, trying to justify it to myself and to Casey. “Hollywood make-up and fake blood. If that boy really had his throat cut like that, he wouldn’t be standing and breathing.” Casey’s tears slowed as she blinked a few times, absorbing the statement.
“That’s not a nice joke,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her fluorescent blue T-shirt. “If it was a joke, that boy is a poophead.” I nodded.
The homes on Celebration Road were not so extravagant as the castles and Victorian mansions spanning Main Street USA. They all had perfectly-manicured lawns, in-ground pools in the shape of classic Disney characters and beautiful wrap-around porches and massive bay windows, however. The house I had rented for a year after only seeing pictures of it came up quickly on our left. It was painted bright red, a three-story colonial with porches on every story and circular windows like glass monocles reflecting the tropical sunshine.
We got out of the car, walking up the cobbled stone walkway toward the front door. A silver knocker with the Beast’s face on it stared back at us. Underneath the knocker, I saw a printed note with a looping signature scrawled underneath it. I ripped it off, reading the note aloud as Casey played with the knocker.
“No drugs, alcohol or tobacco products are allowed in Storyland due to the risk of interactions. Free samples of MOUSE-Z are given to all households, however. MOUSE-Z is a totally non-addictive, non-toxic dietary supplement that will enhance your enjoyment while in Storyland. All guests and citizens of Storyland consent to exposure to MOUSE-Z through their food, water, air or exposure to surfaces. Enjoy your stay, and thanks again from the Disney Company!”
I scratched my head, reading the note again. What the hell was MOUSE-Z? It didn’t sound like any dietary supplement I had ever heard of. I scowled, squinting at the signature, trying to make out the letters at the bottom. “Mr. Crawley.” It sounded like a made-up name. I crumpled up the note, unlocking the door. The cool, air conditioned breeze blew past us with the smell of flowers and fresh paint. I saw vibrant plants scattered around the entrance room. Couches as white as virgin snow sat against the walls, each emblazoned with the black silhouette of the Cinderella Castle and the Disney logo. A landline rang in the living room just as I walked past. My heart jumped into my throat when the shrill ringing pierced the silence, but I quickly calmed down when I realized it was just the phone.
“Hello?” I said as soon as I picked up the receiver.
“This is the guard at the front gate. You have a visitor named Jeffrey Stein,” the man said in a flat tone. I sighed, looking down at my watch. That was quick. Jeffrey must have been really hot to see this weird little town.
“Yeah, send him through,” I said, hanging up the phone. Casey had gone ahead into the kitchen, and I quickly followed behind her.
“I’m so thirsty,” I said, cutting through the living room with its enormous flat-screen TV and comfortable sectionals. The kitchen had all brand-new appliances, and the fridge was stocked with food, soda, juices and milk. I grabbed two Sprites, giving one to Casey who opened it gratefully. I cracked mine open and chugged it all in a few huge gulps. It tasted slightly strange, almost like the bitter aftertaste of caffeine. Casey wrinkled her tiny button nose.
“This soda tastes old,” she complained. I tried looking at the expiration date, but everything suddenly seemed blurry. I blinked quickly, but my eyes teared up. I felt very weird, dissociated and floating. The world flickered like a shimmering mirage. The dull colors and faded texture of reality throbbed like the cobwebs of a nightmarish fever dream.
My vision started to ripple and morph within seconds. I looked down at Casey, but where my daughter had been standing, I now saw a nightmarish creature with giant, glassy black eyes. I stepped back, crying out.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” the demonic figure hissed in a deep, gurgling voice. With red skin stretched thin over its bony head and black talons on its hands, it looked like it had stepped straight out of Hell. It opened its mouth, revealing needle-sharp teeth growing out of its oozing gums like hundreds of tumors. Two enormous, pointed mouse ears were surgically attached to its shiny skin. Black stitches stuck out like pieces of barbed wire at the base of the rotted, brown ears. Dried crusts of orange pus clung to the sides of its head, like the decomposing riverbeds of some ancient diseased tributary.
“What’s going on? What… Get back!” I cried, putting my hands up. The thing just laughed, gnashing its torn slash of a mouth as its lidless black eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.
“This world is our creation for your kind. There are many surprises in Storyland for the sons and daughters of Adam. I am Mr. Crawley, and I will be your guide. Come and see,” he said, running forwards and lunging for my throat with his twisted jungle of cancerous fangs. I spun around, fleeing through the morphing door with thousands of teeth that appeared in front of me. The sides of the door flexed and shivered like the lips of some alien predator. With a wet, sloshing sound, the door started to close around me, the enormous fangs drawing nearer. I lunged through it, landing hard on black, spongy earth. I raised my head and beheld an amazing sight.
An extraterrestrial landscape stretched out to the horizon with writhing, snake-like jungle vines dancing across its surface. Castles thousands of stories high loomed far off in the distance like great mountains, their sharp turrets piercing the crimson clouds and disappearing from view. Spinning black holes sent out great jets of light and planetary rings like those of Saturn shone through the narrow breaks in the blood-red clouds that covered the sky like tumors. Thick patches of shimmering, silver fog swept across the landscape, obscuring entire swaths of the eldritch jungle.
A plume of fluffy, luminescent fog a few dozen feet away disappeared like a breath of smoke as a humid jungle breeze blew past. The insane creature with the mouse ears surgically attached to his demonic, naked body stood in the midst of it, his black eyes glittering with insanity as he stared straight at me.
“This is my world,” he said as silver saliva dripped from his grinning mouth. “Do you think you can run from me? I am everywhere, in the wind and in the trees and even in you. I am Mr. Crawley, and I know who you are. Your daughter is here with us, too.” I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“This is all some hallucination,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “I bet this place isn’t even owned by Disney. It’s probably some fucking CIA black site where they experiment on people with new drugs.” Mr. Crawley laughed at that.
“This world is the rock which the builders rejected which has become the cornerstone of all things. We have made it so. You will not leave until we allow it. We can make every moment of your time stretch out to a million years. By the time eternity passed, the only thing that would return to your body would be an insane, empty shell of a mind,” Mr. Crawley hissed, his blank, obsidian eyes gleaming with a child-like cruelty.
“What do you want with me?” I whispered.
“Only this,” the creature gurgled as the bloody clouds above us whipped and soared in cyclonical whorls like the currents of a hurricane. “You must call more people into Storyland, many more. If you bring others to this world, the cornerstone of all realities, we will let you and the girl leave in peace…” His voice and the world began to blow away like smoke in a strong breeze. Everything grew faint and distant. “...but if not, we will follow you, and then, only the death of the universe many eternities from now would bring you any release from the endless suffering of Storyland.”
***
I groaned, feeling blood running down my face. I opened my eyes. Sharp, stabbing pains emanated from various spots all over my body.
“Hey buddy,” Jeffrey said, leaning low over me and slightly slapping my face, “what the hell is going on here?” I looked around, seeing that I had run straight through the sliding door in the back of the house at Storyland. I was lying surrounded by twinkling shards of glass on the concrete patio. To my amazement, I saw Jeffrey had a shirt on for the first time as long as I had known him. The white fabric of the T-shirt was stretched thin across his bulging, fat stomach.
“Ohhh, God, my head,” I said, bringing my hand up to my forehead. My fingers came away wet with blood. “I had the craziest goddamn dream, Jeffrey. We got here, and there was a bizarre note on the door saying that all the food and drinks and stuff were laced with some weird drug. And then I drank a can of soda, and…” I trailed off, my heart suddenly speeding up in my chest. “Where’s Casey, Jeffrey?” He shook his head, dumb-founded.
“I just got here and heard the door shattering back here. I circled around your yard and found you here like this. I have no idea where the girl is,” he said, looking around with concern. He had the look of a man who had accidentally walked into a lunatic asylum filled with dangerous inmates.
“Don’t drink or eat anything here, Jeffrey,” I said vehemently, raving. “Don’t wash your hands. Don’t touch the water or anything. I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s not normal. There’s something… unnatural.” That was really the core of it. The entire experience with MOUSE-Z had seemed like something real, not like the creeping delusions of a drug trip. Jeffrey gave me a confused look, taking a step back from me.
“I think I should probably call an ambulance,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “You might have had a concussion, bud. Just calm down, OK? I don’t think anyone’s drugging this entire town. That sounds like something from a bad sci-fi movie. Come on, James, think about it.”
“Help me up,” I said, putting out my hand. Jeffrey pulled me up. My head swam as black motes danced across my vision. As I tried steadying myself, leaning heavily on Jeffrey’s thick shoulder, I felt the world spinning around me. “We need to find Casey.”
“OK, bud, easy does it,” he said, putting a meaty arm around me. He opened the shattered sliding door. The sparkling shards of glass crunched under our feet like dead leaves. I felt a small amount of strength returning to me as I staggered forward, wheezing like an asthmatic. Half-dried blood caked my arms and fresh drops still ran down from a cut across my forehead.
“See, there’s Casey, right there,” Jeffrey said reassuringly, pointing to the couch in the living room. I glanced over hopefully, but my heart dropped when I saw what was laying on the couch. It was about the size of my daughter, but it looked like the nightmarish results of some mad scientist with a death camp full of patients and unlimited funding. I saw the face of my daughter there and even recognized her fluorescent blue T-shirt, but something was terribly wrong with her now.
The half-human, half-mouse abomination on the couch looked up at us with eyes full of agony. The jellied whites of her eyes glistened like pools of pus. Bright rivulets of blood dribbled down the soft white hairs covering her face. Her legs were twisted, broken sticks that had the same pink, fleshy hue of a mouse’s paws. Blood bubbled from her shivering lips. Garish black stitches ran up and down her body in irregular square patches. The ears of some enormous, genetically engineered mouse had been sewn onto her hairless, mutilated skull. A rainbow of liquids dripped from the surgical sites, dripping in sickly, infected oranges and clotted dark reds. Broken bones stuck outwards through the skin of her arms and legs like daggers stabbed through a corpse.
“God, what happened? Is that really you, Casey?” I said, ripping myself away from Jeffrey and stumbling across the room.
“Kill me,” she whispered as pink, fetid drool dribbled out of her slashed mouth. “It hurts, Daddy. Please… kill me.” I heard a gurgling laugh from behind me. I turned my head, seeing Mr. Crawley standing in the place of Jeffrey. Behind him, the red sky of that other world shone through the shattered sliding door into our house at Storyland.
“Do you think you can escape that easily? If you do not bring me new tributes, I will draw every drop of agony from you and your daughter that the human mind can experience. And when you are destroyed, trembling, insane wretches, only then will I allow you to die, slowly and painfully.
“So do you agree to the terms? Will you bring us new tributes?”
“Never! I’d rather die than bring other people into this nightmare!” The twisted body of Casey on the couch continued gurgling and spitting up frothy blood. Mr. Crawley’s face changed into an expression of pleasure at the challenge.
“We do love a fighter here at Storyland!” he said, grinning widely, showing off the hundreds of needle-like fangs that poked out of his mouth like the quills of a porcupine. He snapped his long, tapering fingers together. His talons flashed and threw off sparks of white light. The red, alien sky behind Mr. Crawley seemed to swirl and bubble faster. “Perhaps some of our pets here can help change your mind.” His black, lidless eyes spun in their sockets as he glanced back through the shattered door into the alien jungles beyond. I watched in horror as two creatures from a nightmare came loping out from the thick vines and dancing brush.
“This is the Beast and Simba,” Mr. Crawley said, his shrill laughter ripping through the air like the rending of metal. And I saw, in the front, a half-human, half-animal combination with long flowing black hair all over its body. Its powerful leg and arm muscles pistoned like machines as it loped gracefully through the door. Its eyes gleamed pure white like spoiled milk. It gnashed its massive jaws together, sending out long streams of drool that flew out behind it.
Next to the Beast, a hairless lion with surgical marks all over its body limped quickly forward. It had an extra eye surgically inserted into its forehead, and each of its legs had extra paws sewn on the back. The lion’s three eyes glistened with bloodlust and hunger.
Their heavy bodies shook the floor as they sped towards me and my daughter. I turned to the mutated body of Casey on the couch. She had seen death coming towards her in this new hellish form and now fell with a thud to the ground in an attempt to escape it. She tried crawling away. I ran towards her as a heavy weight came down on my back.
I spun around to see the mouth of the lion opening wide inches from my face. A deep, throaty growl emanated from its chest. It brought its paws down on my chest, and I felt my ribs snap like twigs. They shattered with a sound like ice cracking. Behind me, Casey gave a strangled shriek of agony as the Beast tore into her with its powerful jaws.
The sounds of our screams echoed across the room. I felt my vocal cords tear as blood spurted from my mouth. The pain seemed to go on and on as the jaws came down again and again, ripping off pieces of my body. Eventually, once I was nearly dead, Mr. Crawley came over, peering down at me with his glistening beetle eyes.
“Will you bring new tributes, or do we need to repeat this for the next trillion years?” he asked in a cold, psychopathic tone. I nodded my bloody head, spitting out broken teeth and frothy blood.
“I’ll do it,” I groaned slowly, feeling most of the bones in my body shattered. Every breath felt like I was inhaling acid. I looked down, seeing parts of my arm and legs torn off. My intestines peeked through the torn mass of flesh around my stomach like a coiled snake looking out of its den. Mr. Crawley grinned, nodding to the animals.
The lion knelt down, and with a powerful crunch of its jaws, it ripped my throat out. The world quickly went black as endless pain reverberated through my consciousness and cold death overtook me.
***
Slowly, languidedly, I opened my eyes and found myself on the kitchen floor. Casey was laying next to me, her pupils dilated and mouth open. Drool puddled on the linoleum beneath her catatonic face.
“Casey?” I said weakly, pushing myself up. My entire body felt sore, as if I felt reflections of that new death sensation that had just ripped across my mind just moments earlier. I wanted to grab Casey and get out of there, but I couldn’t trust my own mind anymore. I knew that if I didn’t do what Mr. Crawley wanted, I would keep getting stuck in his nightmarish world. It was like an eternity of false awakenings, a type of Hell I had never imagined in my wildest nightmare. I didn’t know if this one would prove to be the same. Without hesitation, I picked up my unconscious daughter and brought her out to the car. Jeffrey pulled up with his middle-aged girlfriend moments later. They gawked at us with open mouths.
“Hey, go on inside and have some drinks!” I yelled at them. “I just have to go up to the gatehouse for a few minutes. Have a seat, look around, make yourselves comfortable.” Jeffrey nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I peeled out of there. Casey awoke as we drove the long trek back towards the guardhouse. Once we were a few minutes away, my cell phone started pinging again, and I realized I had service.
I pulled up slowly to the metal gate, looking out at the guard in his sleek uniform. He peeked out of the guardhouse, but the shape didn’t look human. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I glimpsed a dark silhouette with mouse ears and black eyes. The figure quickly disappeared back behind the door.
Shaking, I looked down at my phone. I sent a mass text message to all my friends.
“I just rented a house at an exclusive Disney town! My address is at 777 Celebration Road, Storyland. Unlimited free drinks and food there. Feel free to let yourselves in and stay as long as you want. Make yourselves at home and explore the town. I will not be at the house, however. Just tell the guard you know me.” As soon as I pressed send, the gate started to swing to the side, and I left that den of horrors. I glanced back and saw two obsidian eyes and a grinning slash of a mouth peering out of the guardhouse. I shuddered.
***
I finished telling my story to Angel, who nodded, unsurprised. The homeless lunatic knew about all conspiracy theories. He had told me about Walt Disney’s frozen head, the ghosts at Disneyworld and all the suspicious deaths covered up there.
“I’m not surprised that they’re working with the CIA now on some weird mind control drug,” Angel said, his eyes gleaming darkly in the streetlights. “It is, after all, their world.” I backed up, a cold shiver running through my spine as those words rang out around me again. They were words I hadn’t heard since the horrors of Storyland.
In the darkness of the alleyway, I thought I saw the silhouette of mouse ears on Angel’s head and teeth growing out of his gums like tumors. I blinked, and he was just a normal vagrant again.
“I hope this isn’t the world of Storyland,” I said, a sense of desperation clenching my heart. “Sometimes, I wonder if I ever left it. I wonder if Casey and I are still there, waiting for the next round of torture.”
Angel only grinned, his lips spreading wide. And in the shadows of the alley, his teeth jutted out like hundreds of needles.