Today’s guest post is by suspense author Erika Mitchell:
When I was ten, a family friend took me to Disneyland. As we stood in line for Space Mountain, he leaned over to me and said, “You’ve gotta be careful on this ride. The ceilings are so low, they’ll take your head clean off if you sit up too straight.”
As soon as my butt hit the hard metal seat, I felt myself break out into a nervous sweat. The darkness up ahead was a patch of night sky without any stars in it, and as the ride jerked into motion I scooted down as low into my seat as I could and held on tight to the metal lap bar.
In pure darkness, I felt the car going up, slowly, interminably, just long enough to make me regret ever having gotten on the stupid ride in the first place. When we reached the top, I felt us teeter on the edge just long enough to grab half a gasp and then we were plunging down into Stygian black at what felt like a thousand miles an hour. Before I had a chance to recover from the plunge, the car was bucking left and right in a series of tight turns I couldn’t see coming, the thrill magnified and intensified by the very fact that I couldn’t anticipate anything up ahead. By the time I got off the ride, head still attached to my shoulders, I was hooked. I rode Space Mountain five times that day. Continue Reading…