We received an invitation in the mail some time last week. The invitation went like this:

🎉🎉**Welcome to the world of fun!**🎉🎉

You are invited to Caubyland, where fun never stops! Follow the directions on the map behind to reach the most magical paradise on Earth!

See you there!

P.S You WON’T regret it!

The back of the invitation had a map with directions to drive there. No direct bus, no way to get there via public transport. In fact, it was located pretty far from civilisation.

My son, Ryan, was thrilled at the invitation, but I wasn’t so sure myself. After I sent Ryan off to bed, I spent the night researching. There was nothing about Caubyland. None. Nada. No reviews, no information—there wasn’t even a website. It was like Caubyland did not exist in the first place.

I then decided it really wasn’t worth it, and besides it could be a scam for all I know.

Ryan, on the other hand, was over the moon.

Over the next few days Caubyland was all Ryan would talk about. Day after day, night after night. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t think it was a good idea.

So in the end, I grabbed him, packed our suitcases and left at dawn.

---

The map led me to a large warehouse-like building situated in the middle of an empty field. We had travelled for two days and dawn had started to break again, yet most of the building was cloaked in shadow. I watched as the darkness peeled away to reveal a musty brown block. Three letters were haphazardly glued to the front—a ‘C’, an ‘A’ and a ‘Y’—the rest of the sign was missing.

It looked utterly unremarkable. I wanted to turn around and go back home, but Ryan was squealing like a little pig in the backseat.

I expected the building to be abandoned or empty, but inside was full of life. Kids were bouncing around, high on sugar and chased by tired staff and parents. The walls were painted with rainbows and unicorns, and funky pop music blasted out of hidden speakers. There were rides and roller coasters and stalls selling popcorn and cotton candy.

Ryan was ecstatic.

“Thank you for bringing me, Daddy!” he cried, enveloping me in a bear-like hug.

Then he skipped over to the ferris wheel, hi-fived the pink bears in charge, and joined the queue. I found a pastel pink bench, sat down and watched the wheel spin. I felt myself visibly relax.

I wondered why I doubted myself. This didn’t seem like a bad idea after all.

My eyes began to close.

“Mummy?”

A little boy with sandy hair was tugging on his mother’s hand. He was as loud as a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, yet no one else paid him any mind.

“C-can we go home? I’m tired.”

The boy’s lips trembled, his face as pale as white cloth. He looked more than just tired.

His mother fervently shook her head, sending blonde locks flying. She tried to smile, but the smile was breaking, like cracks on a porcelain mask beginning to show.

“You’re not tired, Billy,” she said.

Her voice sounded stiff. The mother’s eyes met mine and screamed for me to run before they got me too.

“You just didn’t have enough fun!” she said. “Why don’t you go on the Ferris wheel again? Don’t you like that?”

I heard the boy whine as she dragged him towards the Ferris wheel. There was something weird about that conversation that I couldn’t quite place. It sounded rehearsed in a way. Scripted.

Well, for the mother, at least.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the boy break free from his mother’s grasp and made a break for the door. The mother chased after him, but something got to him first. Something with a pink paw. One moment the boy was almost at the exit; the next he was gone.

The mother returned to the Ferris wheel. I expected her to be worried, or even show remorse, but she seemed strangely calm. Like she expected it to happen.

Then she turned, looked straight at me—and I swore I saw her give me a curt nod and smile.

Shivers ran up my spine.

“Daddy?”

I didn’t realise Ryan had alighted the ferris wheel. His face was flushed red with excitement and his eyes shone. I had never seen him this happy in years.

But I had enough. There was something wrong with Caubyland and we needed to get out.

Right now.

“Come on Ryan. Let’s go home.”

Ryan stared at me, puzzled, but he got the message after a stern glare. He trailed after me, his head hanging low, like he did something wrong. It was terrible seeing him like this—but it was to keep him safe.

It was to keep us safe.

We were nearly to the exit when we were stopped by a pink paw.

I looked up to see a pink bear smiling down at us. It had a beige belly, green eyes and long lashes. A strawberry was printed on its belly and it smiled sunnily at us like angels down from heaven.

The other pink fist clenched a lock of sandy hair.

Goosebumps prickled my spine.

“My name is Strawbeary!” it said by way of introduction, extending its empty paw down towards my son. Ryan shook it.

It laughed, joyfully like a thousand tinkling wind-chimes in a sunny garden. But I couldn’t help staring at that lock of sandy hair. My heart was turning ice-cold.

Strawbeary ruffled Ryan’s hair and he giggled.

“You’re a handsome boy,” it said, reaching deep into a hidden pocket.

“Would you like some sweets?”

Ryan, no!

Too late.

Ack ack ack

He was grasping his throat, his face turning increasingly green. The pink bear tried to hide it, but a slow smile crept across its face.

Ack ack ack

Then he collapsed on the floor.

Ack ack ack

I was frozen, my vocal chords stuck in a scream that would not come.

Ack ack ack

I watched helplessly as Ryan thrashed violently around like a fish out of water. I forced myself to draw my phone out of my pocket. My vision was blurry as I dialled 9-1-1.

A pink paw rested on my trembling shoulder.

“I’ll take it from here,” Strawbeary said solemnly. “I’ll take your boy to our infirmary.”

Its voice was flat. Empty. Strawbeary’s mouth was set in a thin, horizontal line, and its brows furrowed in a comforting way I did not find reassuring. I did not trust it one bit, but before I could protest, Strawbeary scooped Ryan up and walked away into the distance.

I tried to follow it, but I was stopped by more pink bears. All with the same strawberry insignia on their belly.

“He knows what he’s doing,” they whispered, with that same, slow smile that sent shivers up my spine. “Just wait a while.”

They led me to the bench near the Ferris wheel and took turns to sit with me.

Then we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I was numb. All around me was a sea of screaming children, chasing each other around, climbing on rides, and stuffing their faces with junk food. But in every laughing face I saw my boy; and when one of the bears brought me a bag of popcorn to eat his face blossomed amongst the kernels and I burst into tears.

It patted my back.

“There, there.”

I flinched. I tried eating the popcorn again but my stomach was twisting itself into knots.

I felt sick.

“Bathroom,” I muttered.

They insisted on escorting me there. Although their faces betrayed nothing, I had a sinking feeling they did not trust me to go anywhere in Caubyland on my own. They stood guard at the entrance like a tin soldier to allow me some privacy.

The first thing I did was to vomit my guts out in the toilet.

The second thing I did was look for a way out of here.

In my mind I imagined escaping like one of those spy-action movies: climbing through the toilet window, chiseling through the bathroom tiles. I imagined running free like a bird through the streets and then bulldozing back with full force with the SWAT team behind me.

Looking back, I think this place is starting to mess with my head.

Reality shot down those dreams though.

Because there simply was no way out.

Then I heard it. Another child screaming.

Then a soft pattering of paws. The child coughing—that horrible ack ack ack sound that was ringing in my ears.

And finally that dreaded silence.

I feared the worst.

The pink bears seemed to have left their post, so I dared to peek outside. Two of them were heading in my direction, carrying a little girl limp on a stretcher. Her hand hung down, pale as chalk.

The wall next to the toilet slid open and the pink bears disappeared inside.

Someone was crying within the walls. The voice of a young child. I prayed that meant Ryan was still alive, somehow.

Hardly daring to breathe, I squeezed through the gap as the door slid shut.

Inside the cavern was as dark as night, except for some flickering torches that were spread out every few meters. The walls were decorated with tons of tiny skulls.

My breath caught in my throat. Some of the skulls were yellowed with age; some shining white, as if being placed there recently by careful paws. Scores of them.

Generations of them.

How many children have passed through here? Even before my dear Ryan?

The pink bears marched on ahead, effortlessly balancing the stretcher between them, navigating this murky labyrinth like they knew exactly where they were at all times. I followed them closely, my heart hammering in my chest. I was terrified one of them would look behind them and see me standing there—but luckily no one did.

We were going deeper underground, and as the road sloped downwards, the air grew chillier. The pink bears didn’t seem to mind though. They were like machines, their eyes fixated on the eternal darkness, treading a well-travelled road.

At last we came to a larger room that seemed to glow in the dark. Orange light slipped through the cracks, illuminating the ghastly scene before me. There was a table, set with white cloth, and both Ryan and the boy with sandy hair were sitting together, tied up like a bunch of asparagus. They were screaming and wailing and crying, tears streaking down their shaking faces.

The pink bears dumped the girl on the table and quickly tied her up with the boys.

So much was running through my head. I wanted to rescue them. I wanted to run back and call for help. Anything. But I was shackled to the darkness by my own fear, and all I could do was watch with tears in my eyes.

Thump

I pressed back against the wall. My pants were wet.

Thump

It’s coming. The biggest pink bear of all. Its name somehow poked into my brain amidst all the chaos.

Strawbeary.

Its shadow loomed over me, and I felt its synthetic pink fur brush against my bristling skin. Strawbeary approached the children, rubbing his paws. It turned around and I saw its fur was matted with blood, and its eyes glowed scarlet.

It motioned to one of its juniors—who was sprouting a suspicious wig of sandy hair—and it brought forth three bear costumes. Or I hoped they were costumes. Under the flickering torchlight they looked incredibly real, like they were skinned off a live bear and dyed pink.

The bear with sandy hair pulled each costume over each child. I screamed inside as the fake fur closed around my son’s tiny head.

The next thing Strawbeary asked for was a knife.

My heart turned into ice.

I couldn’t watch. I turned away, running as the howls of each child on the altar exploded behind me, as the maze rumbled and creaked. Stones rained down around me, and when I looked up, I saw three new skulls growing amongst the torches like roses in a field.

One for the little girl.

One for the boy with sandy hair.

And one for my son, Ryan.

I kept on running. I couldn’t feel my legs any more. I didn’t know which way I was going. I was twisting and turning in this impossible maze, running left, right, left, right. The road grew steadily deeper downwards and I swore at myself when I realised I was getting lost.

Shadows followed me through, dancing on the walls, seeping through the cracks, morphing and twisting into my nightmares.

Finally the worst happened.

I reached a dead end.

Or was it a dead end? It technically was not. I had run straight into a large cavern, completely bare save a white table with two items that sent chills up and down my spine.

A rusty, blood-crusted knife.

And a freshly ironed pink bear suit.

I suddenly started to shiver, the cool breeze slicing into my skin like a knife. I looked down and found I was completely naked. The clothes I was wearing had magically vanished.

Somehow I understood. The instructions shone bright in my mind.

And I don’t want to do it. Not in a million years. My hand keeps on wriggling towards the knife and costume like it has a mind of its own. I’m pulling it back as hard as I can. Resisting.

I’m stalling, writing this down. But my mind is overcome with desire and the voice of my son. Sometimes I look up and I see his soul, floating around the cavern, and sometimes he will speak to me.

Every word makes my skin crawl.

“Father,” he’ll say.

Ryan has never called me Father before.

“Caubyland is fun. I don’t want to leave. Ever.”

“Will you please stay with me forever?”

SK