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all of the exhibits were
housed.
    She reached the entrance door to the Streets of Yesterday and
wound her way through the dark passages, ignoring the occasional displays of
self-playing banjos and violins. She knew the real star of the show was around
the corner.
    When she arrived, the street was empty. Before her was a
re-creation of an old American main street, the false fronts displaying more of
Alex Jordan’s collections. Since it was all housed within a giant building, it
was completely dark overhead, keeping the street in permanent night. The lack
of any other tourists in that section made things feel very quiet and private. Eliza
had always felt that it looked like an alternate version of Disneyland’s main
street, remembering a family trip they’d made when she was little. She recalled
Disney’s version as open and bright, festive and vibrant. Alex Jordan’s
version, laid out in front of her, was the opposite; charming, but creepy.
Dark. Intriguing and frightening at the same time. At the end of Disneyland’s
main street was a castle; at the end of this main street was a two-story
contraption of mannequins holding instruments, unnervingly still and silent.
Whereas Disneyland’s live-person band would play a bright crisp march and walk
down a sun-drenched street, the band waiting to play at the end of this street
was ready to crank out a mechanical and out-of-tune Sousa march in the dark,
lit by red lights that made them look sinister. She prayed no one showed up and
dropped tokens into the machine; they’d remain silent and unmoving as long as
no one did.
    The barbershop was first on the right. Inside the dimly-lit
display she saw an arrangement of old barbering tools. She wondered which of
them were real; she knew that was what made the place fun, trying to decipher
what was really antique, and what was a replica. Half of this stuff might
not have even been used by barbers, she thought. It just looks good.
    She checked right and left to assure herself she was still
alone, and dropped into the River. None of the objects inside the display
changed or looked different in the slightest. As she quickly dropped back out,
she felt a slight pain at the back of her neck.
    I need to do it slower, she reminded herself.
    Across the dark street was the façade of a doll maker shop.
She braced herself as she approached the large window, looking into the
interior. Dozens of dolls of all shapes and sized lined the walls, and were
posed on small chairs and next to miniature houses.
    This one for sure, she thought. Dolls are always creepy.
    She dropped into the River and closed her eyes, waiting for
the flow to settle.
    When she opened them, the dolls were all looking at her.
    She stepped back from the window, feeling her physical body
follow her. None of the dolls had changed in the way that Rachel’s lip balm had
become something completely different. They all remained the same, with the
same frilly dresses and blank expressions.
    But their eyes had moved. They were all watching her; every
single one.
    She dropped from the River and the faces of the dolls
returned to normal, their glass eyes staring blankly in the random directions
of their poses.
    Dolls! she thought, turning from the display. I hate them!
    She continued walking down the dark street, past the fire
station and the statuary. She stopped at the statuary to once again drop into
the River, and was disappointed that none of the small figures transformed.
    Rachel might be full of shit, she thought.
    The eyes of those dolls did move, though.
    Next up on the right was a cinema. Red velvet ropes blocked
the entry to a small alcove set back from the main façade, where a ticket booth
waited with a mannequin inside. Behind it were the doors to the theatre itself,
one of which was propped open, exposing a small row of seats and a white screen
beyond. She dropped into the River and took a look around, not really expecting
to see anything unusual, and was rewarded