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The park was smaller than the images had suggested. A row of beach huts leaned like tired teeth; a carousel had been dismantled and left in pieces behind the maintenance shed. Beyond the dunes, there was a line of pebbled shore threaded with shell fragments. Where the route's pictures had shown an arch, there was instead a concrete culvert—an ordinary place for drainage, not an entrance to anything otherwordly. Yet in a small, moss-crusted alcove near the culvert, someone had arranged a circle of trinkets: a thimble, a child's shoe with a single shoelace threaded through the eyelets like a crown, a scrap of a map. allthefallenbooru
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