Chapter 1
Doyle Flanders lifted his arms in the air and roared. “Arrgh!”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, my!” She clutched her daughter’s shoulders and bent closer to the child’s ear. “What do you think, Taylor? Are you scared?”
The girl put her hands on her hips. “Not even close.”
“Maybe a little? It’s Yango the Yeti—a real-life monster.” The mother playfully shook her daughter. “Rawr!”
Taylor cocked her head as she studied Doyle. Then she pronounced with childlike confidence, “Abominable snowmen aren’t real.”
Doyle lifted his arms higher and roared again. “Arrgh!” It wasn’t any more enthusiastic than his first outburst, but he felt a second growl was necessary for this kid. He wriggled his fingers for additional scariness.
“He looks like a wet dog,” the girl said.
The mother’s eyes popped wider. “Taylor!”
“He smells like one, too.”
“He does not.” The woman looked up at Doyle. “It’s not that bad.” She whispered into her daughter’s ear, but Doyle caught her words. “Take that back.”
“No.”
Once again, the mother looked up at Doyle. “I am so sorry.” She angled her head toward the kid. “She’s at that age, you know.”
The woman appeared to be in her mid-thirties, about Doyle’s age. She wore a beige sweater that tightly hugged her shoulders, black jeans that wrapped her hips even tighter, and clunky tan boots that seemed a size too big for her feet. She appeared dressed for a date rather than a day at an amusement park.
Taylor stood on her tiptoes. “There’s a man’s face behind the teeth. I told you he wasn’t real.”
Doyle guessed the girl to be about eight. He got good at estimating the age of children while recently working as a mall Santa. The kid wore faded blue jeans and dirty Converse tennis shoes. Her black sweatshirt read Self-Rescuing Princess.
The mother stared directly into the mouth of Doyle’s Abominable Snowman helmet. “Oh, my.” Her broad smile revealed perfect white teeth. “You are a handsome one, aren’t you?” She pushed Taylor to the side so she could stand completely in front of Doyle. “How’d you land such a prominent gig? I mean, this is sort of a big deal. Opening day and all.” She flipped her long hair away from her shoulders. “I bet you’re an actor. Have you done anything on the stage? My parents are prominent supporters of the community theater. We attend a lot of shows.”
Doyle shrugged with some difficulty because of the vintage costume’s size and weight. “This is my first time.”
Taylor threw her arms into the air. “And now he’s talking.”
“Shush,” the mother said. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned even closer to the mouth of the Abominable Snowman. “You’re obviously a natural.”
“But he broke the fourth wall, Mom.”
The woman exaggeratedly rolled her eyes before bending to her daughter. “He broke the what now?”
“The fourth wall. He broke character. That’s what they called it on YouTube.”
“Again, with the YouTube,” the mother said. “Have you ever stopped to think maybe Yango talks?”
“He doesn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he isn’t real, either. They made him up.” She pointed to an inflatable Abominable Snowman that stood next to the newest roller coaster at Lone Star Family Fun Time, Lindo Gato’s year-round amusement park. “He’s a corporate goon.”
“He’s not a goon,” the mother said with exasperation. She turned to Doyle. “You’re not a goon.” Back to her daughter again, she said, “He’s a mascot, honey.”
“Whatever. I just know he’s not real.” The kid sounded more mature than she looked.
“Okay,” the mother said, “but what about the real Yeti?”
“They’re not real either. I already said. It’s like common knowledge. Duh.”
For whatever reason, Doyle felt the need to defend his existence. It must have been the stupid costume that brought out these strange feelings. “I’m real,” he said.
Once more, Taylor tossed her hands in the air. “Again with this guy.” She glanced at the nearby group of kids. They had moved closer to get a better look at Doyle.
“Where do you think they found him?” one boy asked. “The Himalayas or something?”
“More like a museum,” a second girl said. “How old is that costume?”
“It’s the original Yango,” another boy offered. “It’s the same one I saw last year.”
“I bet he has fleas,” a kid suggested from the back.
“Rabies, too,” some other girl chimed in.
A bouncing boy near the front said, “The Disney movies make them look way more real.”
“Hush,” the mother said to the children, “all of you. Be nice.” She turned back to Doyle with a broad smile. “We’re from Seahorse Prep Academy. Do you know the school I’m talking about? It’s super exclusive since it overlooks Padre Island. Anyway, I’m chaperoning today.” She took Doyle’s paw and shook it. “I’m Sophia. You’ve already met my daughter. I was a young mother, but you probably guessed that.”
If the woman was in her mid-thirties, as Doyle supposed she was, then she likely had the child when she was in her late twenties.
“Anyhoo,” Sophia said with a dismissive wave. “It’s so wonderful to meet you. And your name is?”
This woman and her school troop were taking up too much of his time. He lifted his arms. “Arrgh!”
“Oh, sure.” Sophia nodded toward the kids. “I get it.” She winked into the mouth of the Abominable Snowman helmet. “You gotta get back into character,” she whispered. “We’ll talk later.”
The field trip group waited to ride The Terror, an extremely large wooden coaster. It was the park’s newest ride and the first new addition in over seven years. The excitement at Family Fun Time was palpable.
Those who experienced the ride today received a free, limited-edition T-shirt that read I Survived the Terror. It featured a graphic of a smiling Yeti riding a rampaging roller coaster. Anyone willing to shell out thirty bucks could buy the same shirt in over half a dozen gift shops across the park.
All morning long, The Terror’s train of blue cars click-clacked their way up the first absurdly steep hill before zooming down the remaining tracks. The line of eager riders almost stretched to the neighboring coaster, which had almost no one waiting. A sign near the back of the line announced, “You’re only 90 minutes away from The Terror!” A park employee updated the waiting time every ten minutes. It had not gotten shorter since Doyle showed up at the line.
Mascots from other attractions were asked to come to The Terror and entertain the waiting families. Besides the Abominable Snowman, there were costumed monsters such as Bigfoot, a werewolf, and a zombie. There was also a frog, a dog, and a raccoon for the smaller children. Each of the mascots had silly names like Sassy Sasquatch, Willard the Wolfman, and Ricky the Raccoon.
Doyle usually would not have donned a costume because he was a park custodian. However, one of the Fun Time actors—a guy they hired just yesterday to wear the Abominable Snowman costume—went home sick immediately after arriving that morning. He must have realized how busy the day was going to be and wanted no part of it.
Mr. Gilbert, the park’s manager, noticed Doyle was tall enough to don the snowman suit—it was even larger and heavier than the Sassy Sasquatch costume—and tasked Doyle with wearing it. With the amount of people in the park for the premiere of The Terror, the manager needed someone to play Yango.
Doyle had tried to get out of it. “I’m not an actor,” he said.
Mr. Gilbert dismissed his comment with a wave. “It’s a costume. You stomp around and growl. Don’t overthink it like those other dolts. They think they’re actors, but they’re nothing more than overpaid animatronic robots.”
The Yeti garb was hot and heavy. According to Mr. Gilbert, the suit was designed when the park was originally built. There were newer and lighter Yeti costumes available, but the owners of Fun Time liked Yango’s retro look. That’s why they recycled the character for use on The Terror. It also seemed the park’s loyal followers loved the nostalgic vibe of the Yeti.
Unfortunately, the age of the costume led to odd aromas. The booties smelled like used gym socks, the body’s fur was reminiscent of an old sheepdog, and the helmet’s interior reminded Doyle of stale Fritos. At first, he thought it was his breath recirculating back on him, but Doyle couldn’t recall the last time he ate corn chips. Besides, he brushed his teeth after breakfast.
Doyle enjoyed the scents around the theme park—the corn dogs, the popcorn, and the funnel cakes. It was one perk of working at Fun Time. He’d only been there for three weeks, so he hadn’t grown to detest the aromas like some of his co-workers. But drowning in the Yeti helmet funk all day wasn’t apt to put him in a good mood.
Overhead, a speaker crackled before a man announced, “Welcome to Lone Star Family Fun Time, an independently owned amusement park, located here in beautiful Lindo Gato! Be among the first to experience all the heart-pounding thrills of The Terror, our newest attraction. Wait times may vary throughout the day.”
Doyle started down the line, but Sophia said, “Excuse me, how long is this gonna be?”
He motioned toward the sign with the listed wait time. An employee was updating it again. “Looks like a hundred minutes,” Doyle said.
“A hundred minutes,” several kids moaned in unison.
Taylor rolled her eyes. “He’s still talking. Don’t they teach them anything about being the Yeti?”
“Taylor,” the mother said. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not. I saw that on a video, too. He’s supposed to be like Dad—seen, not heard.”
A boy moved closer to Taylor. He wore a T-shirt with an image of a cat eating a burrito, black jeans, and green tennis shoes. “I saw that video, too.”
Taylor smirked. “Whatever, Ezra.”
“No, for real. It was the one where they showed the subliminal snowman.”
Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “Abominable but go on.”
The boy nervously chuckled and crossed his arms. “The people on the show said it was all a misunderstanding about everything and stuff. That’s all anyone knows about the abdominal snowman.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Ezra kicked a pebble. “Maybe you didn’t see the video I did.”
Taylor frowned. “Obviously.”
Sophia checked her phone, then looked at her daughter. “At this rate, we’re going to stand here all day. Don’t you want to try a different ride?”
“No, Mom.” Taylor said it in a way to make her mother feel like the stupidest person in the park, maybe the world. “The Terror is the only reason to be here. Otherwise, we might as well have gone to the museum.”
“But there are other rides.” The mother pointed toward a nearby carousel. “What about The Palomino?”
“The merry-go-round?” Taylor stuck out her tongue. “Do we look like babies?”
“You used to love it.”
“No, I didn’t.” She looked at the other kids. “I never did. I hate the stupid Palomino.” Taylor motioned toward a now silent roller coaster. A tall plywood fence surrounded its exterior and hid its base from view. “I used to love The Summit. I rode it all the time.”
All the surrounding kids oohed.
“When did you ride The Summit?” Sophia asked.
“Dad took me,” Taylor said.
“He better not have.”
Taylor shrugged. “He told me not to tell you.”
The mother’s expression flattened. “I’ll have a conversation with him about that.” Sophia abruptly turned to Doyle. “I’m divorced.” She held up her left hand and showed her bare ring finger to the Abominable Snowman’s maw. “In case I forgot to mention that.”
Doyle stepped back. “Time to go.” He waved at the kids. “Enjoy the ride.”
“He’s still talking,” Taylor said.
Ezra moved even closer to the girl. “So unprofessional.”
The mother grabbed Doyle’s paw. “Please don’t leave.”
“I should say hi to the other kids.”
“What about these here?” She waved at the field trip kids.
Doyle motioned elsewhere in Fun Time with his free hand. “I meant the faraway kids. Like on the other side of the park.”
“Fine.” Sophia pouted. “Let me get a picture first.” She let go of Doyle’s paw and quickly handed her phone to her daughter.
“Mom, no!” Taylor said. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Stop it and take my picture.” Sophia grabbed both of Doyle’s paws and lifted them in the air. “Pretend you’re going to attack me. Like really mean it so I can show my friends. They won’t believe I met a real-life Abominable Snowman.”
Doyle didn’t like his picture taken, but since he was in the costume, he didn’t see the harm. He didn’t sell it like she wanted, though. “Roar.”
Sophia’s face pickled. “Eh, that’s no good.” She tapped a fingernail against her teeth while she thought.
“Hurry up, Mom!”
“Wait. It’s not like this line is going anywhere.” Sophia lifted a finger in the air. “Can you pick me up like you’re going to take me back to your cave?”
Doyle scrunched his nose. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I promise one picture and then my daughter will leave you alone.”
“Me?” Taylor whined. “Why are you blaming this on me?”
The mother furiously shook a hand at the girl to be quiet.
Doyle had seen all of Fun Time’s mascots getting their photos taken with attendees—even that weird-looking raccoon. He never realized how irritating the park visitors could be. It made him appreciate his job of picking up trash. No one ever wanted their picture taken with a custodian.
This was why Mr. Gilbert had insisted he wear the Yango costume today. To meet and greet the customers. What harm could come from taking a picture with this woman?
“All right,” Doyle said, “just this once.” He scooped her up.
She squealed with delight and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her feet scissor-kicked in the air. “You’re so strong.”
“Mom,” Taylor cried, “stop acting like a crazy person!”
“Take the picture,” she said without looking at her daughter. Instead, she beamed at Doyle. “You must work out.”
“This is so stupid,” Taylor muttered.
Sophia’s head jerked toward her daughter. “Do it,” she said through clenched teeth. She looked back into the mouth of the Yeti costume. “You’re so wonderful for doing this. My ex-husband could never lift me.” She continued to scissor-kick her feet. “Not that I’m heavy or anything. If anything, I’m underweight. My doctor told me that before, but you can probably already tell.”
“Okay,” Taylor said. “Got it.”
Doyle started to put her down, but Sophia said, “Take another. Just in case.” She rested her head on Doyle’s shoulder.
“I already got a good one,” the daughter said.
“Just in case!” Sophia grinned at Doyle. “You can never be too careful when a kid takes the pictures. How’d you get so strong? Do you have any brothers?”
Taylor held out the phone. “Done. Here are your stupid photos. I hope you’re happy.”
Doyle set Sophia down and stepped back. Several women waited for him now. Each had a phone in one hand and a reluctant child in the other. The closest mother announced, “My turn!”
“I need to get going.” Doyle pointed toward the other side of the park.
“Oh, that’s great. Just great.” The woman motioned to Sophia. “She gets her picture taken, but we don’t? I think I’m gonna complain to the management about this.”
“Hold on,” Doyle said. He didn’t want to get in trouble with Mr. Gilbert. He liked his new job and wanted to be a team player. “I don’t have to leave right away.”
A satisfied smile crossed the woman’s lips, and she quickly handed her cell phone to her son. “Take mommy’s picture.” She spun to Doyle and held her arms in the air. “I’m ready.”
“For?”
“Lift me up.” She jerked her head toward Sophia. “I want the same picture she got.”
The line for photographs had grown to roughly ten women now, all with embarrassed children by their sides.
Doyle voiced the only sound he could muster at that moment. “Arrgh.”
