The Playground

On his way home from the train station, Mr. Charles Underhill would pass by this playground, paying no attention to it. So this morning, his opinion was blank when Mrs. Underhill announced that she was going to start bringing Jim to the park. So, on the way home from the train and four in the afternoon, he folded his newspaper so he would not read himself past the playground.

It was four-ten; he moved himself along the sidewalk and stood before the playground gate. As he examined the scene that was presented, he found himself terrified by it. There was screaming, children fighting, bleeding, children dashing; it was hell. Mr. Underhill thought to himself, ‘Why do children insist on making their life miserable for each other? It’s nothing but torture to be a child.’

A gust of wind took his paper forward through the gate. Three steps and was able to retrieve it. He immediately retreated, with a pounding chest. He almost stumbled and fell when getting out of there. Someone called out to him and he turned to see the caller. What he found was a little boy that stood at the top of the slide, waving with a smile. Mr. Underhill stood there puzzled, having no idea who that young boy was. Mr. Underhill returned home and gave his thought on the park to his wife. He disapproved of the idea of letting her bring Jim to the park tomorrow. The park’s atmosphere, its smell and its look, were still vivid in his mind. The thought of kids with scabs, bloody noses and bruises kept on playing through his head. This just convinced Mr. Underhill more not to bring his son to that playground. The argument between him and his wife continued until dinner, then which they did not speak. After dinner Mr. Underhill decided to walk with his son, Jim. When they strolled past the playground, Jim suddenly wanted to go in. Mr. Underhill responded with a no. After Mr. Underhill ranted on from his no, Jim was left crying. Then suddenly the little boy from before called out “Charlie”, Mr. Underhill’s first name, and waved. Both Charlie and Jim paused, Jim stopped crying. The face of the boy then turned into the face of Thomas Marshall, an old business colleague. Charlie stood there with the same confused feeling he had the last time he encountered that young boy. Jim decided to cry again, so Charlie dragged him back home.

The next day it was about midnight when Mr. Underhill visited the park. Though the time of day, you could still see the park as it was lit by one great overhead lamp. He stood before it, his thoughts kept him occupied. The silence was then broken by a sudden sound; it was the strange young boy. Mr. Underhill awed over on how he looked so alike to Tom Marshall. After sharing a few words, the boy went straight to the point as if this was what he wanted to do all along. The boy knew how Mr. Underhill hated those monsters that were children. So to help him, the boy instructed Mr. Underhill to be at the park at 4 in the afternoon for the following day. The boy seemed pleased, and then released his real identity. The boy told Mr. Underhill that he was Tom Marshall, his old business colleague. At first Mr. Underhill looked back in disbelief, but then the boy just reminded him to be at the park at 4pm. They both departed; Mr. Underhill returning to his home.

On the following day Mr. Underhill phoned his wife at the office, informing her he was leaving early to meet at the playground. Walking from the train station, he met up with his wife and Jim, and then embraced them both. It had almost reached 4 and by this time Mr. Underhill’s chest was beating rapidly. That voice called for him, it was the Marshall boy. He was on the top slide, waving, but with no smile. Mr. Underhill took Jim’s arm and walked toward the playground. When they reached the end, both were standing frozen and where Mr. Underhill’s grasp on Jims arm was firm than ever.

Suddenly Mr. Underhill felt a hot pain within his body and was mouthing strange words. Both of his eyes were shut leaving him with no awareness of his surroundings. A voice called out to Jim, Mr. Underhill felt himself climbing a cold metal ladder, and eyes still shut. When his eyelids lifted, Mr. Underhill found himself at the top of the slide. The slide was gigantic, seemed as though it was a thousand feet high. Bemused, he looked down at his hands then looked out in front of him. A man in a black overcoat was walking toward the woman who stood at the entrance to the playground. They both then screamed, “Have a good time! Have a good time, Jim!” Mr. Underhill then came to a realization so terrifying, that he didn’t want to believe it. He was then overwhelmed with worry, he knew he was trapped.