Forever Young at Dreamland: The Song That Still Plays After Midnight

They said Dreamland closed because of “maintenance issues.”

That was ten years ago. Yet, every few months, someone in the nearby town swore they heard the faint echo of carousel music drifting across the valley. The tune was always the same — “Smile and Stay Forever Young.”

Olivia had never been to Dreamland as a child, but she grew up seeing its faded billboards along the highway — the giant mouse mascot, the pastel castles, the smiling families. To her, the park was just another casualty of time and bad business. Until she found the photograph.

It was hidden between the pages of an old fairy tale book she’d bought at a thrift store. The picture was slightly yellowed, the edges burned as if someone had tried to destroy it. In it were two little girls, identical dresses, standing in front of Dreamland’s castle, smiling. Between them stood the mascot — an oversized cartoon mouse with a grin so wide it almost looked human.

But Olivia’s eyes caught something strange: the mascot’s white-gloved hand. It rested on one of the girls’ shoulders — but the angle was wrong. The glove seemed to bend unnaturally, and beneath it, the faint outline of another, human hand was visible.

At first, she laughed it off. Maybe it was a shadow. Maybe a trick of the light. But the longer she stared, the colder she felt.

Later that night, she searched online for “Dreamland photo two girls mascot.” Nothing. The park’s official records had been scrubbed clean. No employee rosters, no incident reports, nothing about missing persons. But she found a post on a forgotten forum from 2014.

“If you ever find a photo from Dreamland, look closer. You’ll see it too.”

The username was Minnie’s Smile.

A week later, curiosity turned into obsession. Olivia called in sick, packed a flashlight, and drove to the abandoned park. The front gate was wrapped in rusted chain, but the side fence had long since collapsed. The air smelled of wet wood and something else — old sugar, like melted cotton candy left too long in the sun.

Inside, everything was frozen mid-motion. The carousel horses stared blankly into the fog. Plush toys lay scattered on the ground, their button eyes missing. The castle loomed above, cracked and peeling, but its painted smile still bright as ever.

She stepped through the grand archway. Her phone’s light danced across faded murals of children holding hands with the mascot. Beneath the paint, the figures looked distorted, almost like they were reaching out.

Then she found the door — small, metal, half hidden behind a curtain of vines. A sign above it read: “Staff Only.”

The handle wouldn’t budge, but when she pressed her ear against the metal, she swore she heard something faint. A music box.

Olivia’s pulse quickened. She pulled a rusty pipe from the ground and slammed it against the lock until it cracked open. The door creaked slowly, releasing a gust of air that smelled like soil and iron.

Stairs led downward into the dark.

At the bottom was a narrow hall lined with pipes. The deeper she went, the stronger the scent became — something decayed, metallic. Her flashlight flickered, illuminating a small room ahead.

Inside, two skeletons sat chained to the wall. Their hands were intertwined, as if they’d died holding onto each other. Beside them lay a cracked mascot head — the same one from the photo. Its oversized smile was smeared with something dark and dried.

Olivia froze. On the floor beside them, half buried in dust, was a photo identical to the one she had found — only this one had three children in it. The third face was hers.

Her hands trembled. “What the hell…”

From the corner of the room came a faint creak. Then, the soft hum of that tune again — Smile and Stay Forever Young.

The mascot head rolled slightly, as if nudged by an unseen hand.

Her flashlight flickered again — and for a split second, she saw it: a figure standing behind her, tall, gloved, and smiling.

The light went out.

The next morning, a security guard found the front gate ajar. There were fresh footprints in the dust — leading toward the castle, but none coming back.

On the ground near the fountain lay a photograph, still wet from dew. It showed three children smiling beside the mascot, the castle shining bright behind them.

Pinned to the photo was a small note, written in fading ink:

“Welcome to Dreamland, Olivia. You finally made it.”

Weeks later, the town’s local newspaper ran a small piece:

“Urban Explorer Missing After Entering Abandoned Theme Park.”
Authorities suspect accidental fall due to unstable structures. No foul play reported.

But late one night, when a new family moved into town, a little girl found an old camera buried near the highway billboard. Inside it was one undeveloped roll of film.

When processed, it revealed a series of photos — families smiling at Dreamland, children laughing, the mascot waving.

And in the last frame, the mascot was standing alone in front of the castle, its glove lifted in a friendly wave.

Only this time, it wasn’t waving goodbye.

It was beckoning someone closer.