I was eight years old when my parents took me to Disneyland during my summer vacation. I was enthralled to see the place—the rides, the food, the kids going crazy. Everything about it felt like I was in paradise.
After enjoying the theme parks, I had all the junk food I could. My mom then pointed at the gift shop, suggesting we buy some souvenirs. Everything they picked up was simple—little trinkets, keychains, fridge magnets, and other small pieces.
I wasn’t having any of it. It wasn’t enough to encapsulate my feelings for the trip. After buying enough souvenirs, I rushed to take pictures with the Disney characters.
My dad went on clicking as I posed with them. My eyes kept searching for Mickey, who I couldn’t see at all. But then, I finally spotted him. He was sitting on a bench, ignoring everyone.
I walked up to him, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Hey Mickey, a picture with me?”
“Not now, kid.”
“Why? I came all this way to meet you!”
“Just get lost, you piece of crap.”
“Hey! Watch your tongue!”
Before I knew it, my dad was in a fight with Mickey. I was too young to realize that the guy dressed as Mickey Mouse was probably having a bad day and wanted some time off. But being a kid, I made it worse for him.
The security came rushing and separated him from my dad. He was covered in dirt, and his costume was messed up in places. His big Mickey head still stayed on though, which is why I never got to see the man under that costume.
Disneyland security insulted him for being unprofessional and behaving badly with me. They apologized to my parents and gave us gifts to take home.
“Let’s go, Adam. This freak has learned his lesson,” my dad said, grabbing my hand.
As we started walking away, I turned around only once… and I saw the man in the Mickey Mouse attire standing like a statue and watching me. He just stood there, staring at me with those big Mickey eyes.
And then, he suddenly waved. Slowly. Like a real creepy, slow hand movement. I don’t know why, but my stomach dropped when he did that. Something in the back of my head told me I should have just left that guy alone in the first place.
We returned home and I simply went back to being a kid at school, sharing memories with other kids—kind of flexing my Disneyland trip to them.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that weird things started to happen.
One day I was playing in the schoolyard. I was writing my name on the dirt with a stick when my eyes noticed a tree far off in the distance. A thin black arm with a huge white glove was waving at me from behind it.
The damn goosebumps made me shiver.
“Adam!”
I turned around, hearing my friend’s voice. But when I looked back, which was just a fraction of a second later… the hand was gone.
I came to the rationalization that I imagined it. Chalked it up to the dark playing tricks on me.
One night, I woke up feeling thirsty. My room has a big glass window facing the woods. I was drinking from my water bottle when I saw it.
Two black dome-shaped ears… and the top half of white eyes… staring at me from outside my window.
I rubbed my eyes—and they were gone the very next moment. I got up to check if anyone was out there. But except for the tall trees, I didn’t see anyone.
“Mom! Dad!” I started screaming, hiding my sobbing face in my pillow. My parents rushed to my room and I told them…
“The angry Mickey Mouse from Disneyland had followed me home! He was right here! Dad, he jumped on me! I saw him at school too! He was right here!”
“Honey… there’s no one in your room. It was a nightmare. Come, let me tuck you to sleep.”
From then on, I was actively scared of anything Disney. Other kids would have their Disney toys and I would shy away. They’d bring up a Disney movie they watched the night before, and I’d try to turn the conversation to something else.
I got rid of anything I had that was remotely Disney. Anything to ease my mind and erase the trauma I had experienced. Not sure it ever worked—but it helped.
I was in junior high when my best friend decided to organize a Disney trip and asked me to join. I tried to deny the invitation, but he was my best friend and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
So there I was—at Disneyland again. After eight long years.
It was odd, but every time I walked past a mascot, I swear—they would briefly drop what they were doing. Whether they were promoting merchandise or talking to a kid, they would just… stare at me.
As I passed, they slowly turned their heads. Their novelty-sized eyes glaring at me—cold and dead.
But I never saw Mickey Mouse, though.
When I came back to the hotel, I thought everything was finally over. I had no idea what was waiting for me.
I was passed out on my bed after a couple of beers when I heard a slow knock on the door.
“Jack? … Is that you?”
I dragged my tipsy body to the door and opened it, thinking it was my friend. But there was no one outside.
“What the—?”
Then I peeked out into the long hotel lobby. With my blurry vision, I noticed something in the distance. Something was standing at the end of the lobby.
“Uh… Jack? Why are you—?”
But I couldn’t finish what I was saying… because now I had figured it out.
It wasn’t my friend Jack standing in the lobby.
Standing there in his tattered costume… it was just like how my dad turned it into during the fight eight years ago.
My jaw dropped. Drops of sweat appeared on my forehead.
Mickey was just standing there. Unmoving. Disturbing. The same way I saw him last at Disneyland.
My heart started to race. I was too afraid to look away.
He then slowly stretched his arms up—like he was silently asking me to hug him. He tilted his head to the left… then to the right. His arms stayed up.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I slammed shut the door, locked it from the inside, and ran into the bathroom. I spent my entire night wide awake in fear, lying in the bathtub.
The next day, I boarded a flight home without telling anyone what happened to me last night.
Because I knew… no one would believe it.
Since then, I haven’t seen Mickey. And one thing I’m sure of is that—
No matter what—I’m keeping my kids the hell away from Disneyland.
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