The Mystery of Ye Old Mill

It seems as if it has always been there (longer than I've been around, that's for sure), a simple ride on the grounds of the Minnesota State Fair. Pre-war in its construction (World War I, that is):



Its turbulent cyan waters lead to a portal to the underworld, Minnesota's own River Styx:



The operator led the Weaver and me to our seats in the rickety old wooden boat, muttering under his breath "Get prepared for the ride of your lives...":



How best to describe the utter blackness? The inky void was punctuated only briefly by nightmarish visions, slipping past too quickly to be fully absorbed:



Still this hellish trip continued, with yet another confounding apparition:



"¡No mas! ¡No mas!" I cried, but the most demonic sight was still to come:



Pressing my eyelids tightly together, I received some relief from my torment, how I managed to escape, I do not know. Suddenly we were back in the light, being helped out onto the landing. "Who... Why... What does it all mean?" I sputtered.

The Weaver gave me a look and said; "You, know, it's a lot more fun if you kiss while you are in the tunnel."