by Rik Hunik
The Ghost In The Kettle
by Rik Hunik
Copyright 2013 by Rik Hunik
A slightly different version of this story was first published in Midnight Times # 18, Summer 2007, under the title "In The Kettle".
Chapter 1
Boom. Ssssssssssssssssssssss.
As Jeff pulled his wrinkled timecard from the checkout slot in the time clock he saw Billy, "the Old Timer", clutching his ample belly and all but rolling on the floor with mirth, but his laughter was nearly inaudible over the hissing roar of the steam escaping from one of the tire-curing kettles.
"Kid," the Old Timer managed between guffaws, "you must have jumped at least two feet off the floor."
Jeff felt his face redden another two shades. The explosion had startled him and he had jumped, though less than two feet, he was sure, and now he could see that it was nothing serious, no damage had been done. Thirty feet away, on the far side of the shop, a tall plume of steam was dissipating among the ceiling beams above the row of curing kettles.
"What happened?" he asked as he tried to straighten his timecard. The two of them were the entire crew for the afternoon shift at the Phoenix Tire Retreading Plant.
"Somebody forgot to shut off the pressure on number three kettle and the safety valve blew."
"But I did shut it off. I always do." He put his timecard in the rack.
"Then somebody else turned it back on."
"Like who? There's nobody in here but you and me."
Billy turned his head and spat a stream of tobacco juice at a pallet stacked high with boxes of rolled tread. It splattered on the white cardboard and slid to the floor, leaving an ugly brown stain. He studied Jeff. "You're sure you shut off the steam pressure?"
Jeff didn't flinch under the scrutiny, he just nodded vigorously. "Absolutely positive."
Billy's face screwed up in a grimace, truly a frightful expression on his worn features. He put a hand on Jeff's shoulder, leaned forward and whispered, "Then it must have been the ghost."
Jeff recoiled from the tobacco-laden breath. "A ghost? You're nuts."
"Heh heh heh. Well, maybe I am, but there is a ghost in this building." He released Jeff and headed across the shop to the the row of four curing kettles against the far wall.
Jeff followed. "A real ghost?"
"Yep. Right here in this shop." Billy stopped by number three kettle, a cylindrical steel tank about ten feet long and nearly five feet in diameter, with convex ends. The bottom of the kettle was just over a foot off the concrete floor. Rows of steam pipes, with accompanying valves and gauges, ran down one side, poking into it at regular intervals. Billy started turning the handle on a large valve near the front.
"Have you ever seen this ghost?" Jeff still had to raise his voice to be heard over the diminishing roar of escaping steam.
Billy spat some tobacco juice under the kettle. "Nope."
"Then how do you know it's here?"
Billy grinned widely. Jeff always expected to see black gaps and rotting stumps of teeth, but Billy's dentures, though yellowed, were even and complete. "He does things." Billy spat again. "He likes to play tricks, especially at night, like turning off lights, changing stations on the radio, making the phone ring, stuff like that."
"And messing around with pressure valves?"
Billy scratched his stubbled chin. "He hasn't done that before; I wasn't sure he could. He's a pest but he's not strong enough to be dangerous." He looked at his watch. "It's five minutes after midnight, already past quitting time, and it will be a while yet before the pressure drops enough for the safety valve to reseal."
Jeff groaned. "And then the pressure has to build up to where it was supposed to be."
Billy clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll handle it. It won't take too long and I have to lock up anyway. You can run along home."
"Gee, thanks."
"It's no big deal. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye now."
"Good night." Jeff was already washed and changed so he was out the door almost before Billy finished waving.
As he drove home he tried to remember if he had actually shut that valve. He clearly remembered seeing his own hands turning the same handle Billy had used, but was that memory of this particular time, or one of the numerous other times from the past couple of weeks? Maybe Billy had opened it as a joke while Jeff was in the washroom, setting him up for the ghost story.
