Misadventure Playground

            by Sam Pardee

 

            “Mom’s here, thanks for waiting for me!” Bert cheerily ran over and got in to the car that had just pulled up.

John sighed. He hated when the last kid went home and he had to perform his nighttime ritual of going around and making sure everything was in order, picking up the loose tools, closing up the shed and locking the gate. Today was no worse than any other day, there were a lot of tools around, but that was the usual routine at Adventure Playground.

John picked up the last hammer and returned it to the big wheelbarrow full of tools. Emily, the other full-time playground worker had finished counting up the money and had put it in a deposit envelope with the amount written on the front.

“Ready to call it a day?” She asked, exhaustedly.

“Boy am I, it seemed like some of those kids were trying on purpose to be as rude and dangerous as possible.”

“Oh, that reminds me, there was a pack of boy playing over near the west structure for a long time, they had a lot of paint and I think they might have been writing swear words or something stupid on it. We should go check it out before we head out, it’d be a pain to have to deal with tomorrow morning.”
            John groaned, he was exhausted after waiting with Bert for his mom for over thirty minutes, but he knew that it was something that he really should check out. “It’s O.K. Em, I’ll go make sure they didn’t do anything, you can go on home.”

“Thanks John, I’ll get it next time. Be sure to lock up the gate, I heard there was someone snooping around earlier.”

John walked slowly over to the west structure, trying not to kick up even more dust than was already swirling around. He got there and saw what the kids had done, no harm, just a couple big splotches of red paint on the wall. John went over to the gate with a spring in his step; he would finally get to go home after his long long day.

As he approached the gate, he noticed an old homeless man trying hard to look invisible standing in the shadow of the big oak next to the sand pile. As John walked towards him, the man seemed to shrink back and avoid eye contact.

 “Sorry pal, you can’t stay here tonight,” John told him. It wasn’t all that strange for people to try to come in at night; in fact, John was surprised that he didn’t find people sleeping in the structures more often. There was a big hole under the fence that anyone who was really determined could easily fit under if they were so inclined.

“C’mon! I need a place to stay,” the homeless man complained in surprisingly clear English.

“Sorry chief, not my problem.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll go,” the man left without much of a fight surprisingly enough, although he was still grumbling to himself as he lay down on a bench in the neighboring marina.

            John padlocked the gate and walked to his car, whistling as he went. Even though he was dead tired and exhausted, all in all it had been a good day.

 

                        *                      *                      *                      *

 

            “Did you bring the potion?”

            “Of course, is the box finished?”

            “Ya, we’ll get Archie to eat it tomorrow. We’ll get that punk good.”

 

                        *                      *                      *                      *

           

            *Beep! Beep! Beep!* *CRASH!*

            John’s hand slammed down on his alarm clock, permanently silencing the machine and ripping through the cheap plastic. John groaned and rolled out of bed, this was the third alarm clock he’d destroyed in as many months. He didn’t care so much about replacing the clock, but it really hurt his hand. Surprisingly, it was fairly light outside, daylight’s saving had finally kicked in. John showered, threw some clothes on and grabbed a quick energy bar before leaving for work.

            John’s morning duties include setting out the tools for the kids, explaining the rules to the newcomers and basically babysitting the regulars like Bert while their moms went off to their beauty salons for hours on end.

            John noticed that the same group of kids that Emily had mentioned yesterday had turned in their collective twenty-five Mr. Dangerouses, the park’s standard currency; five to a tool. The kids had gotten four cans of red paint, some nails, and a hammer and headed over to the same area that they had been at before. (I know this sounds awkward, help!)

            The homeless man was back again today, but he seemed different somehow. Rather than trying to hide himself and not make eye contact, he actually seemed very confrontational, marching right past John and making a bee-line for the western structure where a few kids were playing.

            John cut him off, “Sorry bub, five dollar admission fee. I really can’t make any exceptions, it’s not fair to the others.” John felt bad about having to lock him out of the place, but he knew that it was his job to keep “questionable” people away from the kids.

            “Please man, I really need to get in there…” He had somehow become much less coherent than he had seemed the night before, devolving into the mumbling that homeless people are renowned for.

            “I’m sorry, I just can’t let you in sir.” John responded, trying to sound as professional as he could without letting on that he was pretty scared of this man.

            “No, you don’t… understand… need to get… please...” The man mumbled, all the while advancing somewhat menacingly.

            “Sir, if you don’t stop I’ll be forced to go get help, what do you want in there so badly anyway?” John’s words seemed to scare the man back into his old  non-threatening self. The homeless man wheeled around and stormed out of the park, mumbling to himself the whole time.

 

                        *                      *                      *                      *

 

            The day passed like any other for the most part. John even got a pleasant surprise when Bert’s mom arrived on time to pick him up, letting John and Emily begin their evening routine on time. Once again, John circled the park looking for tools that the kids had neglected to return. He stopped short when he saw the foot sticking out from the top of the little wooden structure, painted all red.

John ran over to see what was wrong and saw the kid, lying face down in a homemade wooden box in a puddle of dust and vomit. He took the pulse as he’d learned to do in his three-week first aid class, the kid was dead. The lack of a heartbeat seemed to jumpstart John’s shocked nervous system. In a smooth motion, he whipped out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. After a quick and harried conversation with the operator, he was told that an ambulance and a police car were on the way. John then ran over and got his clipboard, quickly double-checking the names of the kids who had been signed in on one page against the kids who had been signed out on another. There was one name on the “in” list that wasn’t on the “out” list, Zachary Thompson.

 

            *                      *                      *                      *

 

“So, this kid was one of your regulars, yet you didn’t recognize his body or notice that he hadn’t been checked out?”

Even though the cop was being rough with his questioning, John was glad that it was finally starting. He’d been waiting at the station for over two hours now; they’d taken a statement but hadn’t fed him yet.

            “Ya, I’m really sorry I can’t be more helpful, I was totally in shock and it had been a stressful day to begin with.”

            “Alright, we’ll be in touch if there’s anything more that we need. Are you sure that there isn’t something else, anything else that you could tell us to help us out?”

            Suddenly John remembered the homeless man, who had been trying to get in around the same time that Zach had checked in. “Well, I just thought of something. There was an old homeless man who had tried to get in twice before, he seemed kind of… creepy. He came around at prolly 10:30, right after Zach checked in.”

            “O.K., thank you sir. You’re free to go; we’ll be in touch if there’s anything else that we need.” The officer swung open the door to the questioning room, indicating that it was time for John to go. He bolted out quickly, surprisingly thinking of the dinner he was going to enjoy rather than the terrible events of his day.

 

                        *                      *                      *                      *

 

            The park was closed the next day, which was fortuanate because John had been up until three that morning, unable to fall asleep after the horrific experience of finding a child’s corpse and then, possibly worse, being subjected to a full police inquiry. He awoke the next day at around noon and stumbled outside to find the headline “Child killed at Adventure Playground”.

            He opened up the paper and began to read some of the horrific details. He hadn’t really gotten any of the facts of the case from the police when he was at the station, so much of the information was like new to him. Zach had been killed between one and two PM, by some sort of fast acting poison. The body had then been dumped in a type of casket, made with the everyday tools available at adventure playground.

            His heart sunk into his stomach as he read the next section, which outlined the suspects in the case. The list was pretty long, as there had only really been a preliminary investigation so far, but right at the top of the list was his name, John Knaply.

There was even a mention of the homeless man, who was according to the article, still at large.