The sawhorse with the Ride Closed sign stood sentry in front of the Magic Castle, just as it did the last time we had visited the story. I guess I could say history was repeating itself, but it was more like I was living in the memory of what had happened years before. Books from the Library were gateways into other dimensions where these unfinished stories floated around, unbound by time, repeating themselves until the disruptions were ended. What had actually happened, happened only once. It couldn’t be changed. Not in real life, anyway. The best we could do was snoop around inside these stories like archaeologists trying to uncover hidden truths that were lost in time.

But I wasn’t a spirit. I could get hurt. If anything happened to me, it would be very real. The last thing I wanted was to become a spirit myself and have my story told in a book shelved in the Library. That would suck.

I walked over the footbridge, straight for the ride. In a few minutes this entire structure would go up in flames. I’m no expert, but something like that doesn’t happen quickly. The fire from Derby’s candle couldn’t have spread that fast. So unless there was a huge explosion that nobody knew about, the fire would have been burning for a while before people realized what was going on. For all I knew, it was already burning. That thought got me a little panicky, so I picked up the pace.

I walked past the main entrance and rounded the building, looking for another way in. I pushed aside bushes that grew around the base of the structure, looking for a service entrance that might be hidden from public view. I was moving away from the lights of the park to an area where nobody went unless they worked there. I wished I had thought to do this before the sun went down; it was getting hard to see.

I came around to the back side of the building and spotted a small light hanging from the wall, halfway along the length of the ride. Yes! There was only one reason to have a light back there. I jogged across the grass with my eyes focused on it. When I passed through a line of bushes that came out perpendicular to the building, I saw what I was looking for:

The light marked a doorway with the words Staff Only stenciled on it. I held my breath and grabbed the knob to find…it was unlocked. I was in! Just inside the door was a flight of stairs leading down to what was probably the basement. Not that I’m a pyromaniac or anything, but if I were going to light a building on fire, I’d probably start it in the basement, so that’s where I needed to be. I hesitated a second and took a whiff, afraid I might smell smoke. I got nothing. My eyes weren’t burning either. I felt pretty confident that the fire hadn’t started yet. I wasn’t too late.

As I grabbed the handrail and started down, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. What was I doing? In a few minutes this entire building would be swallowed in flames, and I was headed for the basement. This was crazy! I told myself I’d take a quick look to see if there was anything suspicious and then get the heck out of there.

Though my legs were shaky, I continued moving down. The whole way I kept telling myself that I’d be out of there in a few minutes.

The only light came from one bare bulb that dangled from above the stairs. Its glow was bright enough that I could keep moving without falling and breaking my neck, but not enough to see much else. It created more shadow than light. When I hit the bottom, there was only one way to go. A narrow corridor stretched into darkness directly in front of me. I had come this far—I had to keep going.

Slowly, cautiously, I moved ahead. Creeping around in the dark didn’t feel much different from walking through the twisting corridors of the attraction itself. I was once again moving along a narrow, dark corridor. Only this time Frankenstein and Dracula wouldn’t be popping out at me. At least I hoped not. I made it to an open doorway and leaned inside. In the dim light I made out what looked like an electrical panel. This was where the power came into the building. If an electrical problem started the fire, this was probably where it would begin. But nothing looked out of the ordinary. (Not that I knew what was normal for an electrical room in 1937. Or in my time, for that matter.) I left the room and moved on.

I was beginning to think this was a waste of time and I had totally misguessed how and where the fire would start. Time was ticking and I hadn’t learned a thing. I was pushing my luck, so I turned to retrace my steps and get out of there, when I sensed something.

I didn’t see it or hear it.

I smelled it.

Gas, I said to myself.

My nose was hit with the distinct smell of some kind of gasoline. Or maybe it was kerosene. Or paint thinner. Or turpentine. I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I’d helped my father paint enough times to recognize the sharp smell that came from the liquid we used to clean brushes. Smelling too much of that stuff killed brain cells.

And, oh yeah…it was totally flammable.

Was gas spilled somewhere? Had some bumbling painter left cans open? Or knocked them over? That was the exact kind of thing that would lead to a fire. If there was enough flammable liquid around, it could burn big enough to start a fire that would spread quickly. All it needed was something to ignite it.

My brain screamed, Run! However the fire was going to start, it would happen soon. If I was anywhere near the fuel, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

But I couldn’t leave. Not when I was so close to learning the truth and ending this story.

I forced myself to keep walking ahead to follow the scent. With each passing second I felt as though I was that much closer to solving the mystery, while also moving closer to my doom. A few yards farther on I came to a closed door. Light leaked out from beneath it. Had the fire already started in there? Or was it just a light on the other side? I told myself that finding the answer to that question would be my last act before getting the hell out of there.

As I crept closer to the door, the strong smell grew more intense. Even with the door closed I could smell it. I had the brilliant idea to put my hand against the door to feel if it was hot. If a fire was raging on the other side, I’d feel it. But the door was cool. I touched the metal doorknob. That would definitely be hot if the room was on fire. It wasn’t. It gave me the confidence that I still had time to get out…but not until I found out what was on the other side.

Clang!

Something had fallen down on the other side of the door. It sounded like a metal can had hit the cement floor and bounced a few times. Was somebody in there?

I had to know so I grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed the door open.

The large room beyond was dimly lit by a couple of overhead bulbs that let me see deep inside. The room was vast, but with a low ceiling. And I was right: the smell was some kind of paint thinner. The strong smell hit me hard as soon as I stepped through the door. This was where all the paint for the park was stored. There were hundreds of cans and larger metal tubs stacked everywhere. Most had been used and had paint drippings all over them.

The smell of turpentine, or whatever, was so strong it burned my nose. How could that be? I didn’t think that one can of stuff left open would create such an intense smell. I took a few steps into the room and scanned the space. I didn’t see any sign of a fallen tub or can. But it sure smelled horrible. My eyes were watering. I walked in farther. If this is where the fire was going to start—and it sure looked like it was—there had to be something to ignite it. Fires didn’t just start. What was that called? Spontaneous combustion? We’d talked about that in science class. Unless there was high pressure or heat or some other factor, the only thing that would ignite a fire was a flame. Or a spark. But there was nothing around that looked like it could do that.

At least that’s what I thought.

I was so incredibly wrong.

I saw a flare of light that came from beyond a wall of stacked paint cans. If I’d been smart, I would have turned and run out of there, but I guess I wasn’t that smart. I was drawn to see what it was. I moved quickly to the wall of cans, stepped up on a stool, and peered over the top.

The paint cans were stacked to form a barrier that separated one section of the room from the next. On the other side I saw a person dressed from head to toe in black. Even his head was covered with a hood. The room was so dark and the shadows so deep that I couldn’t see who it was. But whoever it was, he was up to no good.

The floor was wet, and not with water. That answered the question of why the gas smell was so strong. The entire floor was covered with the flammable liquid, and it was obvious how it had gotten that way. In one hand the person in black held a metal can that he was using to shake more liquid over a stack of paint cans. In his other hand he held a stick that had one end wrapped with cloth to make a torch…and it was burning.

Everything I had guessed was true. Derby’s candle hadn’t burned down the building. It was arson. And given what happened to Baz, it was murder. But proving all my theories correct didn’t feel much like victory just then. I was about to witness the torching of the Magic Castle, and I was standing square in the middle of it.

“Don’t!” I screamed out.

The person in the hood shot a surprised look my way…and tossed the torch. The stick spun across the room, landed in a puddle of flammable liquid, and ignited it. Flames spread quickly across the floor and crept up the many cans of paint that were stacked everywhere.

I still didn’t know who the pyro was, and I no longer cared. I had to get out of there. I was about to jump off the stool when the hooded figure suddenly ran toward me and flung himself at the wall of paint cans. The wall toppled on me, knocking me off my feet and sending me crashing to the floor as heavy gallon cans of paint thudded down, bouncing around me and pounding every inch of my body. I wrapped my arms around my head for fear a heavy can would hit it and knock me out cold. I took a couple of hits on my arms, but I was too amped up to feel any pain.

Once the avalanche ended, I looked around to get my bearings. I had to get out of there, but which way? Flames were now crawling up the walls. The heat was making me dizzy. It wouldn’t be long before the entire room was a furnace. I spotted the door I had come in through and scrambled to my feet. But before I could take a step, an eruption of fire created a wall of flames between me and the escape route. The fire must have hit a barrel of kerosene—because it went off like a bomb. The wave of heat nearly knocked me onto my butt. It pushed me back but didn’t burn me. At least not yet. I was trapped by a wall of fire that stood between me and safety.

I stood there in brain lock, not knowing which way to turn. The heat was getting so intense that breathing it into my lungs made me cough. The toxic smell probably had something to do with that too. I was in serious trouble.

But so was the pyro. Where was he? Did he get out?

I caught a fleeting glimpse of the dark figure on the far side of the room, deep in the depths of the basement, running for his life. But to where? He sprinted to a set of rickety wooden stairs that led up to a door. A door. Escape. Safety. It probably led into the castle itself. It didn’t matter, as long as it got me out of there.

I’d gotten what I came for. Sort of. I didn’t know who set the fire, but I found out for sure it wasn’t Derby. That would have to be good enough. Maybe this was Derby’s story after all. Maybe his spirit was doomed to haunt Playland because he mistakenly thought he had set the fire that killed Baz. I’d tell him the truth. It wasn’t him. He’d be set free. I still wanted to know who set the fire, but I also didn’t want to be barbecued.

It was time to get out of there and go home.

As I ran for safety, I pulled the Paradox key from around my neck. It didn’t matter to me where the door at the top of the stairs led to. It was going to get me back to the Library.

The fire was spreading quickly. It was right on my butt and closing fast. The whole building was about to go up in flames. I choked on fumes and coughed so hard my head spun, but I kept going. When I reached the bottom of the stairway, I climbed two steps at a time. The flames had already hit the rickety wooden stairs and were traveling up fast, engulfing them. Fire licked through the open stairs, curling over them, destroying them faster than seemed possible.

I stayed focused on my target. The door. It wasn’t a normal door. It didn’t have a doorknob or a standard doorframe. It looked like it was just a section of wall with hinges. I had a moment of panic, thinking the Paradox key might not work because this wasn’t a proper door. At the top of the stairs was a small platform. I stopped there and reached forward with the key.

The keyhole appeared, right where it always did.

“I am so out of here,” I said.

But I wasn’t.

Before I could stick the key into the keyhole, the door swung open and the pyro lunged out at me. He grabbed me by my sweater, swung me around, and pinned me against the wall next to the door. This guy was powerful. I didn’t stand a chance.

“I can’t let you go,” the guy said in a raspy, desperate whisper.

I reached up and grabbed the hood that covered the guy’s face. I had to know who he was. Hensley? The jealous boyfriend? Or was it somebody else who wanted Baz dead?

I yanked the hood off and came face to face with the pyro.

The truth made my head spin.

He wasn’t a he.

It was the lady who Baz and the jealous boyfriend were fighting over.

Daring Donna turned out to be a whole lot more daring than anybody imagined.

“Why?” was all my brain could think to get my mouth to say.

The woman’s eyes were wild with crazy, and she actually smiled.

“Because I love him,” she said almost sweetly.

Crack!

The rickety wooden stairs were about to collapse. The whole structure jolted as if ready to pull away from the wall and send the two of us crashing down into the inferno. The woman fought to keep her balance while still clutching my sweater. She was strong too. Athlete strong. She pivoted and pulled me away from the wall, trying to fling me off the stairs.

I reached back at the last second, grabbed the side of the door opening, and held on for my life. No way I was letting go.

Donna couldn’t pull me loose and she knew it. She let out a guttural, almost inhuman cry of frustration and let me go while leaping through the door to safety.

I spun around while still clutching the doorframe for fear she would try to push me back from inside. But she was gone. I guess she was more worried about saving herself than finishing me off.

Crack!

The stairs collapsed. The platform fell away beneath me, crumbling into a well of fire. I held tight. No way I was losing my grip and taking a death fall. I managed to swing my leg up and catch the other side of the opening. From there I hoisted myself up to safety.

Safety? I was still only a few feet above a raging inferno that was gathering strength. A quick look around showed me that I was in a dark, narrow corridor. It was a little cooler away from the fire, but that wouldn’t last long. I had only a few seconds to take a deep breath and to try and figure a way out of there before the fire burned up through the floor. My best chance of escape was still plan A. The Library. The door was still a door. It would get me out of there. All I had to do was open it with the Paradox key.

The Paradox key.

The key I no longer had.

I felt as though my brain exploded. The key had been in my hand when Daring Donna attacked me. It wasn’t anymore. At some point I had dropped it while I was struggling with her. Where the hell was it?

I crawled to the doorway and looked out onto the basement room that was no longer a room. It was hell. Fire had engulfed the entire space, fueled by paint and all sorts of other flammable liquids. I looked directly down to where the stairs had been to see nothing but flames. The heat was so unbearable it took my breath away. In that one horrible second, I was hit with a sickening realization.

I wasn’t just stuck in a fiery nightmare; I was trapped in this story.