“The name says it all,” the man at the door says. “But once you go in, you’ll never want to come out. Don’t say you weren’t warned!”
You want to know exactly how wacky it is but he refuses to answer that.
“There is no measure of wackiness," he insists. “What may seem crazy to you might be par for the course for someone else.”
And you see the wisdom in his words, yet you feel the need to know exactly what you’re about to get into.
You walk towards the exit where the brave ones tumble down an invisible slide. You ask them what it was like inside. They take a look at you, as if trying to make sense of your words. But then they only shake their heads and say they don’t quite know how to describe or explain it, although it was one helluva ride, they grin, and promptly make their way back towards the entrance for another round.
You are impressed and terrified in equal measures, curious and cautious at the same time. All you want is a little clue, some indication of what lies in store, of what you’d find if you were to take the first step inside. A rolling drum? Moving shadows?
The man at the door watches you in amusement. You know better than to try and squeeze any answers out of him. And so you watch the others for a while, the ones that enter and disappear inside, then come tumbling out after a while, their faces lit up with delight, only to want to go straight back inside once more.
And you think it must be something special for why else would they all go into the shack over and over again?
So you tell yourself to lighten up for once, give yourself up to a little adventure. And you step forward and show your day pass to the man at the door, who waves his arm in a broad, sweeping gesture of welcome. As if he had known all along this is what you’d decide to do.
And you step in.
No one ever tells you that once you’re in, the shack won’t let go of you until it is turned off for the night.
But the man at the door did try to alert you in his own way. So don’t say you weren’t warned.