July 26, 2026
Written for Cremated Plastics by Chris Bishop
Edgar latched the lock on the door, the last of the guests finally gone for the night. He returned to the workroom and flipped the main switches. Fluorescent overhead bulbs flickered and buzzed as they came on, bathing the arcade in light.
Grabbing the spray bottle of unmarked cleaner and a rag yellowed with age and grime, Edgar set to work wiping down the machines.
Rick Ratt’s Fun Park had been in the area for years, serving as a...
