The night air was cool and the full moon gleamed in the sky. Santa Carla was alive. As all nights, the boardwalk was teeming with people. They were different. They came from all walks of life. Some were lost. In a back alley, a haggard drunk collapsed on the dirty street in a pile of rubbish and torn missing persons posters. His eyes were bleary and heavily blood shot. Half dazed, he nearly passed out from his stupor. But then his eyes widened and he seemed to sober slightly. But it was only an unnatural product of his terror.
Zara walked alone. She liked to be alone. On the crowded boardwalk, she was jostled and shoved. She would usually ignore it, but not before sending a burning glare in the general direction.
She chose to be alone. Throughout her senior year, summer vacation had meant her last summer of being a kid. It was supposed to be her last chance for fun, before she had to grow up. Her parents had helped her and prodded her every step of the way in High School. They had insisted on perfect grades, a stuffed schedule of after school activities and community work. But what had it been for? Was it worth anything?
"No," she decided firmly. "There's nothing now."
Zara found herself in front of the Giant Dipper. The popular roller coaster seemed to tower over her as she peered up at it.
"It's really something, isn't it?"
Zara turned suddenly. A handsome young man smiled pleasantly down at her. He wore a cropped t shirt and ripped jeans. His bleached hair was spiked into a Mohawk. He stuck out his right hand. "I'm Josh."
Zara turned and ignored him. But Josh would not be put off, and just followed her around to her other side.
"And you are?" he persisted.
Zara raised an eyebrow. Then, she hesitantly took his hand.
"Zara," she said flatly.
"Zara," he repeated softly. "That's a beautiful name." He smiled again. Then, his eye was caught by the breathtaking lit coaster. "Do you want to go on?"
Zara thought for a moment.
"Alright," she said, putting on a slight smile.
He was drained, lifeless. The moon cast a ray across the drunk, revealing his drawn, ghostly white face. His expression was frozen in terror. Someone stood over the man. His clothes, a white muscle shirt and colorfully patched jacket, were torn, and blood smeared his chest and face. It clung to strands of his long, curly blond hair.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the alley wall. He breathed deeply. Then his eyes snapped open. He had heard a scream.