William was next in line for the roller coaster. The anticipation gnawed at him, his fingers tapping against the wooden railing of the queue. Around him, boys laughed and shoved each other, their voices blending into the distant mechanical roar of the coaster twisting through the park. The scent of caramelized sugar and sweat hung thick in the humid air, mixing with the metallic tang of the tracks. William wiped his palms on his trousers—why was he sweating so much? It wasn’t fear. No, he told himself. Just excitement.
The coachman, his skeletal fingers gripping the lapels of his tattered coat, ushered William forward with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Step lively, boy. Don’t keep the others waiting.” The words slithered out like oil, slick and heavy. William hesitated, glancing back at the line of boys behind him—some eager, some wide-eyed, none noticing how the coachman’s shadow stretched too long, too sharp against the ground. His stomach twisted, but the roller coaster loomed ahead, its tracks gleaming like exposed bone in the fading light.
The car rattled to a stop, empty save for the faint scent of hay and something sour beneath the grease. William climbed in, the seat cold beneath his thighs. The safety bar clamped down with a hiss, too tight, too fast. A boy two rows ahead—gangly, freckled—turned and smirked. “Scared?” He taunted, but his voice cracked on the word. The coaster lurched forward before William could reply, the sudden jerk pressing him back into the seat as the world blurred into streaks of garish color and the shrieks of the boys around him.
Wind whipped tears from the corners of his eyes as they plunged into the first drop. His stomach lurched, but beneath the thrill, something prickled at the base of his skull—wrongness, thick as the syrupy air. The loops coiled tighter than they should, the track groaning under the weight of unseen forces.
The coaster banked sharply, and a fine mist sprayed from overhead pipes, glistening like liquid silver in the dying light. The freckled boy gasped, mouth open mid-scream, and the mist surged inward, forced down his throat by the g-force. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently. Then—a sound. Not a scream. Not human. Ears, pink and furred, tore through his hairline, twitching madly as his cheeks bulged, elongating into something muzzle-shaped. His shirt strained at the seams before splitting down the back, a bristly tail unfurling like a grotesque party favor.
William’s own throat burned. He tried to clamp his lips shut, but the next loop wrenched his jaw open, and the mist flooded in—cold, thick, tasting of copper and spoiled apples. His fingers scrabbled at the safety bar, but his nails were already darkening, hardening into keratin. The boy across from him—no, the thing—let out a bray that started as a shriek and ended in a wet, guttural hee-haw. William’s spine arched violently. His shoes burst at the seams, hooves punching through leather as his kneecaps popped with a sickening crack.
The coaster plunged into a tunnel, and in the sudden darkness, the transformations accelerated. Fabric dissolved like sugar in water, leaving only twitching, sweat-slick donkey flesh. The freckled boy’s face was half-smashed now, his nose elongating into a muzzle, his laughter devolving into panicked snorts. William’s own voice—his human voice—abandoned him mid-scream. His tongue thickened. His teeth flattened. The world narrowed into a haze of pain and terror, his thoughts scattering like marbles on a tilted floor.
Beside him, a boy clawed at his own throat as it bulged grotesquely, his fingers fusing into stiff, clumsy hooves. His pants split with a sound like tearing parchment, revealing wiry gray fur sprouting in patches. The stench of wet animal musk and ammonia filled the car, sharp enough to sting William’s watering eyes—except they weren’t eyes anymore, not fully. His vision blurred, colors bleeding into muted grays and browns. The coaster’s roar morphed into something distant, muffled, as his new donkey ears swiveled wildly, capturing every agonized bray around him.
William tried to scream, but his jaw jutted forward with a sickening crunch, his lips peeling back from flat yellow teeth. His tongue lolled thick and useless as his final human thought—*this isn’t right*—dissolved into a jumble of panicked instincts. The roller coaster banked hard, throwing him against the transformed boy beside him, their furry flanks pressing together. Something warm trickled from his nostrils; his sense of smell sharpened unbearably, catching the sour tang of terror-sweat from the others.
The safety bar dug into his now-barrel chest as his spine elongated, vertebrae popping like firecrackers. His shirt straps snapped one by one, fabric dissolving into the air like smoke—no, not dissolving, he realized dimly. Being eaten. Tiny glints of silver swarmed over his clothes, microscopic teeth reducing them to nothing before his bulging eyes. The last fragment of his mind capable of horror registered that the park wasn’t just transforming them. It was cleaning up after itself.
William’s jaw cracked sideways, his scream splintering into a bray that shook his whole body. His hands—no, hooves—scrabbled at the seat as his knees inverted with a wet crunch. The boy beside him was just a twitching mass of brown fur now, his human face stretched into a permanent donkey grin, tongue lolling between flat yellow teeth. The roller coaster banked sharply, and the remains of William’s trousers flapped away like shed skin, revealing coarse hair sprouting in patches across his thighs. His tail lashed wildly, smacking against the seat with a whip-crack sound.
The final loop of the track loomed ahead, a perfect circle of rusted metal throbbing with heat. As the car tilted upside-down, the mist rained upward, clinging to the donkeys’ muzzles like silver spit. William’s last coherent thought—*I was human*—dissolved into a jumble of panicked instincts: run, kick, bite. His hooves struck the safety bar, but the metal didn’t budge. The coaster righted itself with a shudder, and the donkeys swayed like drunken marionettes, their transformation complete.
The car slowed as it entered the tunnel’s mouth, the darkness swallowing their final brays. Fluorescent bulbs flickered overhead, illuminating the cavern walls slick with condensation and the faint outlines of hoofprints pressed into the dirt floor. A conveyor belt groaned to life beneath the car, guiding it toward a yawning iron gate. The donkeys blinked dumbly at the dim light beyond, their ears twitching at the distant sound of whinnies and the clatter of wooden carts.
Beyond the gate stretched a cavernous chamber lined with stalls, their wooden slats worn smooth by years of restless pacing. Figures moved in the shadows—men in grease-stained overalls wielding bridles and cudgels, their faces obscured by kerchiefs tied tight over their noses. One whistled sharply, and the donkeys startled as rough hands seized their halters. “Fresh stock, coming in!” The man muttered, his voice muffled behind the cloth. He yanked William forward, the halter biting into the soft flesh behind his jaw. William tried to remember why that hurt, why the pressure behind his eyes wasn’t just from the stale air, but the thoughts scattered like flies when the man spat on the ground and shoved him toward an empty stall.
The other donkeys shuffled blindly, their hooves kicking up dust that glittered faintly under the hanging lanterns. Something about the dust itched at William’s nostrils—he sneezed violently, and the scent hit him fully: salt and fear, ingrained in the wood. Hundreds before him had stood here, breathing this same dust, wearing these same grooves into the floor. A boy with freckles—no, a donkey with spots—bumped against his flank. William turned, expecting recognition, but the creature’s eyes were empty pools of black, its ears twitching at nothing. It brayed softly, the sound carrying none of the boy’s former arrogance, only the hollow echo of hunger.
The handlers worked methodically, shoving each donkey toward wooden crates stacked against the far wall. The crates weren’t built for comfort—rough planks barely sanded, gaps wide enough to see the trembling flesh within. But they were built precisely to specification: exactly twenty-four inches wide at the shoulders, forty-two from muzzle to tail. Custom-fitted. William dug his hooves in as they pulled him forward, but two men simply lifted him bodily, his legs pedaling uselessly in the air before they dumped him into the box. The wood groaned under his weight, splinters catching in his fresh fur. “Solid stock this batch,” one handler grunted, driving nails through the crate’s latch. “No splitters.”
Inside the crate, the darkness was absolute except for thin blades of light slicing through the gaps. William’s breathing came too fast, his ribs pressing against the wood with each panicked inhale. The air stank of pine resin and something older, something metallic—blood, maybe, or rust. The freckled donkey—no, the thing that had been the freckled boy—was shoved into the crate beside him. Its braying had stopped now, replaced by a wet, rhythmic chewing. William strained to see through the slats. The donkey was gnawing on its own foreleg, teeth scraping against bone with a sound like a knife on porcelain.
A hand thrust through the gap above him, tossing a handful of limp carrots onto the crate floor. They landed with soft thuds, their skins dull orange under the flickering lantern light. William recoiled, but the donkey beside him lunged forward, its muzzle scraping the wood as it vacuumed up the vegetables with desperate, snorting gulps. Something about the way its tongue lolled, pink and too large for its mouth, made William’s stomach twist. He pressed himself against the far wall, but his hooves slipped on the slick wood. The donkey’s ears twitched toward him, its black eyes reflecting nothing.
Outside, boots scuffed against stone. “Quiet ‘em down,” a voice muttered. “Lorenzini’s got another batch coming in already.” A bucket clattered to the ground near the crates, its contents sloshing—water, greenish and reeking of algae. The freckled donkey abandoned its gnawing to plunge its muzzle into the bucket, sucking noisily. William’s throat burned. He shouldn’t drink. He knew he shouldn’t. But the water’s scent coiled into his nostrils, thick with the promise of relief. His tongue, dry as sawdust, dragged across his teeth. A drop splashed onto his hoof. Without thinking, he licked it. The taste hit him like a mallet: rancid honey and iron. He gagged, but his body betrayed him, lurching forward to lap at the spill.
Carrots rained into his crate again, thrown not to feed but to muffle. The handlers’ logic was crude but effective—mouths full of pulp couldn’t bray. William’s jaws moved mechanically, crushing the fibrous orange sticks. The sweetness was cloying, wrong, like candy left too long in the sun. Beside him, the freckled donkey choked on its meal, half-chewed chunks tumbling from its lips. A handler’s boot kicked the crate. “Eat or starve,” the man grunted. The donkey whimpered, a sound too human for its twisted face, before obeying.
The conveyor belt shuddered to life again, dragging their crates toward a cavernous loading dock. Through the slats, William glimpsed rows of identical boxes stacked three high, their wooden sides streaked with dark stains that smelled of salt and panic. A donkey in the far crate was kicking violently, its hooves splintering the wood—until a handler drove a cudgel between the gaps. The kicking stopped. The belt rolled on.
William's crate jolted as it was hoisted onto a wagon, the impact sending a fresh splinter into his fetlock. He barely felt it. The numbness was spreading now, creeping up his legs like spilled ink. The other donkeys hung limp in their crates, tongues lolling between yellowed teeth. Only their eyes moved, tracking the lanterns swinging overhead with the dull fascination of cows watching a passing train. Somewhere, a handler laughed.
"Look at 'em. Came here for fun, now they're gonna pay for it."