Disney after Dark

The theatergoers exited into daylight. Fi

Then silence.

Fi

He got to his feet, gathered his courage, and called out, “Hello?” prepared to invent some excuse if he raised anyone.

Nothing.

He pushed through the doors and walked back into the main gallery. He tried once more:

“Hello?” If discovered, he’d claim he had fallen asleep during the film.

Nothing.

A few lights had been left on, but the ones inside the displays were all off. Fi

Next, he returned to the display of Walt Disney’s original office. There on the desk, both a mug and a cork globe held an abundance of pens and pencils. A dozen or more. My first pen.

Fi

He didn’t want to steal anything. He reminded himself that this had been Wayne’s idea, not his. They were borrowing the pens. Nothing more. Wayne could return them. No harm.

But how to get inside the glassed-in display? Fi

He searched for a possible access door into the back of the displays, assuming there was a hallway behind the various windows. The only door he found, toward the main entrance, was not only locked but far away from the office display.

He backtracked, passing all the displays again. He found no door. No way back there. But there had to be a way! Some way to move furniture, dust, clean, change lightbulbs.

Only as he passed a blue poster for the third time did he happen to notice a small floor-to-ceiling gap. The poster was a sketch of the earth with Mickey Mouse ears. The earth was crying.

The small description explained that this drawing had been a newspaper cartoon that ran following Disney’s death. It depicted the world mourning his loss.

Fi

Just as he stepped into relative darkness behind the door, Fi

A moment later he stood absolutely still as he identified deep voices nearby. Just through the wall. Two men talking. Inside the attraction.

“You say it was an anonymous call?” One guard speaking to another.

“A girl. Young girl at that,” the other said. “That’s what Ma

“Then we check it out.”

“Got that right.”

Fi

“Thing is,” the second guard said, “the front door was locked good and tight. We check the other doors and we got nothing to worry about. No way someone’s in here if all the doors are tight.

False alarm. Plain and simple. Am I right?”

“You’re right.”

“Okay, then let’s get some coffee.”

“I’m all over that.”

Fi

If they were caught now, their attempt to stop Maleficent would be thwarted. The park would eventually fall under her control. Worse, if she took her powers outside the park, who knew what would happen? Who knew what would become of the five kids who had once been DHIs?

One anonymous call had nearly ruined everything.

Now he heard a distant sound: five dull beats, like a fist on glass. The signal.

His eyes adjusted to what little light was available in this back hallway. He turned left toward the office display and soon reached a door marked: WD’s OFFICE.

Fi

On the walla tiny red light began flashing. A sensor of some kind, though an alarm did not sound. An environmental sensor perhaps, measuring heat and humidity for the sake of the display’s contents. Fi

He quickly snatched up all the pens and pencils from both the black coffee mug and the cork globe. He was nearly out the office door when he saw a scroll of architectural plans leaning up against the desk. Walt had told Wayne that he “had plans for this place.” Fi

He heard three loud thuds on the gallery’s outer door—another signal from Willa. Someone was coming. Again.

Fi

But where to go? he wondered.

He saw an exit sign at either end of the hallway. Which way?

He looked left, looked right, but was frozen by indecision.

He headed right, away from Willa’s warning.

Down the narrow hall, a jog left, he faced a metal exit door with a panic bar. He hesitated, for at that very second an icy frost splintered and cracked the inside surface of the door. Something — someone—was just on the other side, and it wasn’t security guards.

The frosty image slowly took the shape of a human hand. Fi

He turned to run, but could not move his legs. He teetered, ready to fall. The frost on the inside of the door spread from the thin fingers of the hand like a web. Fi

He put out his hands to stop himself, but they stuck to the door. That force continued to pull him. Now his body glued itself to the door. Inch by inch his head was pulled until his cheek froze to the metal. Pulled against the door’s panic bar, he feared the door might come open. Whoever, whatever, was on the other side wanted the pens and pencils in his pocket. The Overtakers.

The plans squirted out from under his arm and came unrolled as they hit the floor. Fi

The panic bar inched ahead and, as it did, the mechanism drew the bolt of the lock away from the lip of metal that secured the door shut.

Behind him, the voices inside the gallery grew louder as the security guards drew closer.

“Hey, Ma