The Haunting of Mystic Park

The Haunting of Mystic Park

Mystic Park wasn't just any neighborhood. It was a place where the laughter of kids echoed through cracked streets and the buzz of broken streetlights flickered in the night. But for Roy, a small, fragile boy with one eye, a limp, and a heart full of fear, Mystic Park was a nightmare. Every day after school, the local boys made his life hell. They chased him, mocked him, and teased him for being different. His cries for help were swallowed by the laughter of the pack, their cruelty wrapping around him like shadows.

One day, it got worse than ever. They chased him harder and faster, their taunts sharper than usual. Roy's heart pounded, his breath shaky. He ran blindly, his uneven legs struggling to keep pace with his fear. In a desperate bid to escape, he stumbled onto the train tracks, and before anyone could stop him—or maybe before anyone even wanted to—Roy was gone. A screech of metal, a rush of wind, and then... silence.

The whole town thought Roy had taken his own life. He was just a poor boy with too many problems for the world to care about. No one knew the truth. No one except the boys.

They had made a pact. They would never speak of what really happened that day. They buried their guilt deep, far beneath their mocking laughter and false innocence. But there was one thing they couldn’t bury: Roy’s spirit.

A year passed, and Mystic Park became a place of nightmares. It started with the dreams. Dark, twisted nightmares that brought back memories of Roy. In every dream, Roy stood at the edge of the tracks, staring at them with his single, hollow eye. Then came the whispers, the knocks on their windows at night, the cold breath on the back of their necks when they thought they were alone. Roy was back, and he wanted justice.

Timmy was the first to break. He couldn't take it anymore. The nightmares drove him mad, and one day, they found him curled up in a corner, muttering about Roy, his eyes wide with terror. His parents sent him to the asylum, but even there, he wasn’t safe. Roy’s spirit followed.

The other boys grew paranoid. They couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t even leave their homes without feeling Roy’s presence. One boy, Stevie, became mute, his voice stolen by the guilt he refused to speak. The others dropped out of school, choosing to hide away from the world, but it didn't matter. Roy found them wherever they went. 

Years passed, and one by one, the boys started to die. Accidents, suicides, tragedies—they were all marked by the same eerie sign: the faint sound of Roy’s limping footsteps echoing just before the end. It was only when two boys were left that they finally broke. 

Terrified, haunted beyond reason, they confessed everything. The truth of Roy’s death spilled out, and with it, their souls felt lighter. The town was shocked, but a strange thing happened after their confession. The heavy gray clouds that had hung over Mystic Park for years suddenly parted, letting sunlight bathe the streets again. It was as if Roy’s restless spirit had finally found peace.

The Haunting of Mystic Park

(A Poem Inspired by Roy's Story)

In Mystic Park where shadows fall,

Lived little Roy, forgotten by all.

A boy with one eye, a limp in his stride,

In fear and sorrow, he tried to hide.

The children laughed, their voices cruel,

Chased him daily after school.

With every step, their taunts grew loud,

Until poor Roy was lost in the crowd.

One fateful day, his heart in flight,

He ran from fear into the night.

Onto the tracks, where metal roared,

And Roy’s small body was no more.

The town believed he'd taken his life,

A tragic tale of endless strife.

But the boys who chased him knew too well,

Their silence forged a living hell.

For Roy returned, in dreams and cold,

A spirit lost, with vengeance bold.

In every whisper, every creak,

He sought the justice they wouldn’t speak.

Timmy lost his mind in fear,

The others followed, year by year.

Mute and broken, guilt in their eyes,

Roy haunted them beneath dark skies.

Until the last, too scared to flee,

Confessed their sins and set him free.

The clouds that hovered, gray and thick,

Parted as sunlight bloomed, quick.

For secrets hold a heavy weight,

And guilt can twist and seal one’s fate.

But truth, though hard, will heal and mend,

And restless souls find peace again.

Moral of the Story:

Secrets, no matter how deeply buried, have a way of resurfacing. Cruelty, especially when directed at the innocent, leaves scars not just on the victim but on the souls of the guilty. Silence is not protection—it is a curse. Only truth and accountability can lift the weight of guilt and bring peace to a haunted soul.