The pier had seen better days, forty or so years ago.
Now it sat at one end of the beach like a half-forgotten seesaw.
People still went, mostly the elderly who remembered it in its heyday.
Groups of teenagers roamed along the boardwalks looking for anything to amuse them.
After all, seaside towns in England are always one of two things: dull or dilapidated.
In the unlucky instance of this, the town was both.
Today's fresh-out-of-school group were after something more than just the slot machines.
They ventured further then usual to the plastic monster of the haunted house ride.
The attendant couldn't have been much older than them, spotty-faced and irritated.
Its jerky animatronics, salt sprayed half to unrecognisable smiles, ushered them inside.
As the ride began, jolting and juddering at every corner, they found themselves being taken down.
The ride itself sat on the wooden planks of the pier, they wondered how far it could go.
As a third green-skinned witch leapt out at them, tinned cackling echoing, the ride stopped.
A voice boomed out crisp and clear as if it spoke from just beside them.
"Going down." Ending the sentence with a blood chilling laugh.
And so they did as the cart spun to face the direction they came from and descended sharply.
They emerged from under the haunted house ride and underneath the pier itself.
Still the tracks led down and further down, right into the sea.
They tried to get out, to climb up the tracks but the metal bar was on too tight.
One of them screamed as they saw the tracks end just underneath the waves.
The ride stopped as it touched the water, spinning once more before rising up the tracks.
From there the ride was as you'd expect, cheap jumps and plastic bones.
As they went to leave the ride the noticed that it was pitch black outside.
Somehow that brief ride had lasted three days and nights.
Now it sat at one end of the beach like a half-forgotten seesaw.
People still went, mostly the elderly who remembered it in its heyday.
Groups of teenagers roamed along the boardwalks looking for anything to amuse them.
After all, seaside towns in England are always one of two things: dull or dilapidated.
In the unlucky instance of this, the town was both.
Today's fresh-out-of-school group were after something more than just the slot machines.
They ventured further then usual to the plastic monster of the haunted house ride.
The attendant couldn't have been much older than them, spotty-faced and irritated.
Its jerky animatronics, salt sprayed half to unrecognisable smiles, ushered them inside.
As the ride began, jolting and juddering at every corner, they found themselves being taken down.
The ride itself sat on the wooden planks of the pier, they wondered how far it could go.
As a third green-skinned witch leapt out at them, tinned cackling echoing, the ride stopped.
A voice boomed out crisp and clear as if it spoke from just beside them.
"Going down." Ending the sentence with a blood chilling laugh.
And so they did as the cart spun to face the direction they came from and descended sharply.
They emerged from under the haunted house ride and underneath the pier itself.
Still the tracks led down and further down, right into the sea.
They tried to get out, to climb up the tracks but the metal bar was on too tight.
One of them screamed as they saw the tracks end just underneath the waves.
The ride stopped as it touched the water, spinning once more before rising up the tracks.
From there the ride was as you'd expect, cheap jumps and plastic bones.
As they went to leave the ride the noticed that it was pitch black outside.
Somehow that brief ride had lasted three days and nights.
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