True Ghost Stories and Hauntings 2

by Simon Murik

  There was no way I was going back to sleep and it was only 12:43 a.m. I stepped away from the photos and went back to the window. The rain had stopped and the moon faintly glowed through the black clouds like a big white light bulb covered in thick gauze.

  In the window’s reflection the space under the bedroom door started to glow bright orange and my heart beat hard. I spun around but the glow was gone. Was it the vodka? Was my imagination freaking out from being in here? My head started to throb and I went back to my laptop. The screen had gone black and I sat down to try and relax with another movie. I pressed the power button. Nothing.

  A hard knock against the bedroom door made my knee jerk up and the laptop flew into the air, hitting the wall and landing upside down on the floor. I spun around and saw the door rattling again.

  The hell with this.

  I grabbed my bag and computer and hurried to the front door. I swung it open and ran onto the road. I sprinted for a good thirty seconds and then stopped and looked back.

  The light in the cabin window was like a glowing yellow eye in the night.

  I took my cell phone out of my pocket and texted Heather.

  Come get me now.

  I lowered the phone and stood in the middle of the dark, wet road. The leaves rustled in the wind above me and an owl hooted in the woods. I barely even knew Heather but I hoped she was still up and had her phone by her. I swallowed hard and pulled my overnight bag tight to my body. It sucked giving up like this but I didn’t care. That cabin was evil.

  I stood there for what felt like an hour but when a set of bright yellow headlights appeared down the road I checked my phone and saw only twenty minutes had gone by.

  Heather pulled the Jeep up and I got in.

  “Not all that fun, huh?” she asked as I put my seatbelt on.

  “No, not really,” I said.

  My spine chilled as Heather drove up to the cabin. She swung around the parking area in front of it and then hit the accelerator hard enough to throw me back against the seat. We drove in silence as the Jeep’s headlights cut through the darkness and lit the dirt road in a yellow glow. Heather made a hard right past a wooden street sign and the yellow lights lit up University Road ahead.

  Five minutes later we were driving through campus and I finally felt the weight of the cabin off my back.

  “So what really was that place?” I asked.

  Heather turned the Jeep onto Mission Street and gave a little nod with her head. “Did you look over those photos?” she asked as she made a quick turn on Gallow; my dorm was straight ahead.

  “Yeah, I looked at them all,” I said.

  “Well, of those three kids, one of them escaped the parents, grew up, and inherited the cabin,” she said as she pulled up to my dorm. “She’s actually a student at Northern.”

  I didn’t want to ask but I did. “What’s her name?” I asked looking straight at Heather.

  Heather slowed the Jeep and stopped in front of the dorm. She turned and stared at me. “Take a wild guess.”

  My eyes widened and she nodded.

  The Jeep’s engine hummed and I heard some guys laughing about something stupid from the open window of one of the dorm rooms.

  “You’re kidding,” I said.

  Heather shook her head.

  I popped open the Jeep door, jumped out, and shut it. Heather drove off and I watched the red tail lights disappear into night. I didn’t know exactly what was in that cabin’s bedroom and I didn’t want to. But I was done with Alpha Delta.

  And I now knew that no matter how beautiful the area, there were some places you never wanted to stay overnight.

  I sat in bed and stared at the TV. It was some old sci-fi flick on one of the hotel’s movie channels. But I wasn’t really watching. My mind raced with images of burning crashed cars and howling race fans and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to unwind without a little help tonight. I ran my hands through my hair, got up, and walked over to the bathroom. On the counter next to the little basket of soaps and body gels that every four star chain hotel leaves you was my bottle of Xanax. Mac, our team doctor, had prescribed it to me after the Texas race and I’d been on it for the past two months.

  Four races and three first-place finishes later I was still on it.

  But Joey’s ghost was still visiting me at night.

  I walked out of the bathroom and over to the window. The city lights glittered like electric gold medals, but despite my competitive subconscious, winning just didn’t mean as much anymore.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I decided to take a quick shower before the Xanax kicked in. I went back into the bathroom, slid off my Nike shorts, and opened the glass door to the shower. Stepping in, I twisted the nozzle and hot water sprayed down on me. It was my fourth shower of the day, but I didn’t care —the showers helped me relax. After about ten minutes I got out and caught a quick blue blur of a sharp jawline and a wisp of transparent hair in the steamed mirror.

  Looked like Joey was back for the night.

  I dried off, slipped my shorts back on, and walked out of the bathroom.

  Joey now sat in the chair by the dresser. He might have just been a wispy, wavy version of himself, but it was him. He stared straight ahead like I wasn’t even in the room and as I felt the pills start to kick in I climbed back into bed and drifted off to sleep.

  The next two weeks were a haze. The final race of the season was in a desert race town outside of Vegas and a win would get the team the open wheels championship for the year. A lot of money was involved and all the leverage I could ever want for getting my new contract next year was at stake.

  But my concentration was hit or miss.

  The team had pushed Joey—pushed him real hard. He’d gone six seasons as the lead driver without missing a race and he’d brought home three league championships during that time. I’d learned a ton as the number two guy during Joey’s reign and when his car had gone up in flames last year I’d gotten the call just a day later to take over his spot—before what was left of Joey had even been buried. It had all been great at first, a big bump in prize money, the women damn near ran each other over to get me at the clubs, and for the first time in my life I felt like a success.

  But then the stress of being one bad race away from winding up an ink spot on the race track myself hit.

  And that’s when I started to get the nightly visits from Joey.

  We arrived in Vegas on Monday and I did the time trial on Tuesday. I ran the third fastest time and got the three spot in the poll position. The race was Saturday at 1:00 p.m. and I spent the next few days going over the race plan and hanging out by the pool. Joey didn’t visit me the first couple of nights, but around 3:00 a.m. on Friday I opened my eyes and saw him hovering over the foot of the bed staring at me.

  Thank God for Xanax.

  I shut my eyes and went back to sleep.

  My alarm went off at 9:00 a.m. and I showered, got a quick workout in the hotel gym, and then met with the team to go over race stuff. By noon we were at the track and at 12:50 p.m. I was doing the warm-up laps on the race field. The image of Joey floating over my bed popped into my head and a cold sweat broke out on my chest.

  When the checkered flag dropped I hit the gas and the car shot up to ninety. A few seconds later I was at 1:30 and I settled in for the long race. The first hundred laps went smooth; I was in fourth which was a good spot for me and I held the position for the next thirty laps. I made my move after that, burning around turn two and passing up the #8 car to move into second place. Another few laps went by and the rest of the field started to fall back. It was just #3 and me. We hit the final lap and he was a single car length ahead of me.

  I gripped the wheel tight as the image of Joey’s car igniting in flame shot into my mind but I shook it off and floored it. I got the nose of my car to dead even with #8 and then I was ahead. Another two hundred yards and I was there. I glanced up and saw Joey’s blank ghost face staring at me in the rearview mirror.
My eyes flipped back to the track—clear road ahead, a hundred yards to go. I glanced at the mirror.

  Joey was gone.

  A second later I shot through the finish line the winner.

  I lapped around the course while watching the crowd clap and cheer but for me everything had gone quiet. When I got to the winner’s circle my team had bottles of champagne overflowing and were all smiles and hugs. I got out of the car, took off my helmet, and handed it to Sam, our crew chief, and just kept walking.

  “Caleb! Where you going?” Sam yelled.

  I didn’t answer and just kept walking. Past the other drivers, past the crowd, and towards an open gate that would let me exit the track. I walked through the gate and ignored the pats on my back. In the distance, the Nevada mountains rolled against the blue sky and the desert highway stretched in a straight line far past the raceway.

  And I just kept walking, never looking back.

  I stumbled out of the car and onto the desert roadside. My upper leg hurt like hell but luckily the bullet had only hit muscle and I’d wrapped it tight enough that the bleeding had stopped. A full moon had risen in the light purple sky and it gave the old church a soft, white glow. Fortunately, the place looked like it’d been abandoned years ago. I pressed the car door shut, limped around the front of the car, and started making my way around the sharp rocks and stubby cacti towards the church.

  As I hobbled past a couple of ravens sitting on top of a ten-foot-tall saguaro cactus, the church got watery like a mirage. Fatigue had set in around ten miles back and I guessed the stress of not knowing whether or not I had a bullet inside of me might be causing my sight to blur.

  But even then, it wasn’t the leg I was really worried about. It was that knife-loving hothead, Vincent. He’d taken a bullet in the gut and I was pretty sure it’d killed him. In all honesty, I hoped it had. He’d been a lousy brother-in-law and had killed for money with that Bowie knife of his on at least three occasions that I knew of.

  Something his sister—my wife—Melissa didn’t know about.

  But I’d still let him bully me into pulling the robbery with him because of the leverage he’d had on me knowing I’d cheated on her a year ago. Of course, she’d left me anyways once she’d discovered our plans to knock off a Kansas bank.

  Life sure had a funny sense of humor.

  I’d been on the run now for the past two days, but at least I hadn’t shot anyone during the robbery—I’d let Vincent do the killing, which he was more than happy to do with his precious knife. As far as the escape plan down to Mexico, I was in good shape. Another day of driving and I’d cross over the border; if Vincent really was six feet under, the law would be mostly satisfied and shouldn’t be as hard-charging to find me.

  But you never really know, and that’s why I had to rest up and keep moving.

  I hobbled up to the big double doors of the church and pushed one of them open. The smell of dry wood and dust hit my nostrils and the dim purple light coming through thin rectangular windows in the walls gave just enough light for me to see what was inside. Two rows of six benches, a pew on a stage at the far end, and—thankfully—half-used candles in copper candle holders on shelves attached to the walls.

  It’d be fully dark outside in about an hour and this would be as good a place as any to hole up for the night.

  I went back outside and looked out at the single stretch of highway that probably went another couple hundred miles before the next town. I took out my Colt and checked the barrel; it was loaded. If somehow Vincent did survive and made it this far there’d be a decent chance he’d stop here too. And that’s not at all what I wanted.

  I leaned back against the church and just stared out at the desert. After a few minutes I glimpsed a pack of coyotes trotting through the brush and a minute later a rattle snake slithered out of a hole only ten or so feet in front of me.

  Time to get back inside.

  It was now almost too dark to see inside the church but I could still make out the candles and I walked up to the first and took my book of matches out of my coat pocket. Tearing off a match, I struck it against the rough strip and it lit in orange flame. I held it to the candle and an orange flame jumped off the wick, lighting the church wall in a burnt orange glow. I lit the rest of the candles, took a drink from my water bottle, and lay down on one of the benches. As I watched the candle light flicker over the vaulted ceiling, I thought about Melissa and my eyelids quickly got heavy.

  A sharp tapping against the window woke me and I lay there listening to it. It had a metal sound, like the edge of a knife being tapped against the glass. I shut my eyes again.

  “Roberrrr,” a thin voice hissed in the wind outside the window.

  I shot to my feet and my leg burned like someone had poured a pint of whisky on my wound. There was no way I’d heard my name. It was the wind and my tired mind playing tricks on me.

  Unless, of course, Vincent had survived and made it here.

  No, I’d imagined it. Vincent was history. The whipping wind, the coyote howls, my throbbing leg. It was all getting to me.

  But still.

  I took the gun out of its holster and went to the door. Lifting the deadbolt I pulled the door open to see nothing but bright stars, desert, and black sky. A gust of wind blew some tumbleweed across the road past my car.

  Just my car.

  No one had called out my name.

  A stronger blast of wind shook the walls of the church and again I heard what sounded like my name hissed around the outside corner of the church. My shoulders tightened but I shook my head.

  Just a delusion with my burnt-out mind and this damn desert wind.

  And yet …

  I raised the gun and walked back outside towards the corner of the church. The wind whipped faster and faster the closer I got and as I stepped around the corner I held the gun out, ready to shoot.

  And of course, nothing was there.

  I took a deep breath, lowered the gun, and went back inside the church. It was tempting to get back in the car and drive for the border tonight, but between the wind, the darkness, and my leg, I figured I’d better wait it out. No sense in risking a crash just because I was hearing silly things.

  I sat back down and rubbed my chin. It’d been three days since I’d shaved and the stubble brushed against my hand like soft little prickers. This was turning into a long night.

  The tapping against the glass started again and my shoulders got tight.

  It was heavier this time too, like it might just break through the glass. I looked at the window but all I saw was the black of night. My spine chilled when a scraping sound slid up and down the church door. It moved slowly, like a knife being sharpened—just like Vincent used to do it against that damn flat rock he carried with him.

  And I knew there was just no damn way he’d survived that gut shot wound.

  I walked up to the door with my Colt out, ready to shoot. Cocking the gun, I wrapped my hand around the door handle and flung the door open.

  Again, no one was there.

  But I didn’t care.

  I stepped outside and fired a shot into the air. “Vincent!” I yelled. “It was your fault, Vincent! You got yourself killed, and don’t think you’re going to be haunting me! You try to and I will find you sister and tell her exactly what you were! You don’t have any leverage over me!”

  I shut the church door and rubbed my forehead.

  I had to get some sleep.

  Sitting down against the wall next to the row of candles, I closed my eyes and listened to the now much quieter wind echo through the desert and drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, sunbeams shined through the windows, lighting the church in a golden glow. I pushed myself to my feet, walked to the church door, and opened it up. The sky stretched like a sea of light blue and the car sat at the side of the road just like I’d left it.

  And the wind was only a gentle warm breeze.

  I stepped outside, pulled the door shut, and walked to the
car. It would take about six hours to reach the border and then I’d be home free. My leg still hurt, but my thoughts and vision were clear and I fired up the car and drove off. Maybe I’d try to contact Melissa once I got past the border, but it would be a while. I didn’t want to risk anyone finding me.

  Although maybe someone already had.

  And as I rolled the window down and held my hand out in the already hot morning wind, I hoped there’d be no more Vincent in my life.

  But he’d always been a persistent son of a bitch.

  And it wouldn’t shock me to hear that knife-tappin’ son of a bitch again one of these nights.

  I gazed out at the frozen lake. Gray sky, a thin sheet of white snow on the lawns of the homes around the lake, and gray ice. The whole thing was like a white-and-gray painting—there was even a patch of gray fog straight ahead close to the shoreline at the other end. It was hard to believe we had something like this right behind our own backyard, but my family had moved away from Florida to Iowa last week and here it was. My skates, which I hadn’t worn since last year, were a little tight but they’d be fine for now; I stepped onto the ice. It’d been over a year since I’d finished 5th in the Midwest eleven- to twelve-year-old girls’ championship, but skating was sort of like riding a bike and I wanted to start practicing my moves again right away. My knees wobbled a bit as I started to move around but they weren’t too bad and I started to skate. As I glided back and forth past the shoreline for a few minutes my legs started to feel stronger and the wobbling went away.

  It felt great to be on the ice again, and this would be a great place to practice on my own before I started really getting rating to compete again. I did a little spin and thought about a story I overheard a woman at the market tell my mom about a world-class junior skater who used to skate out here but suddenly died from a sick heart a few years ago. It was a sad story but it made me feel sort of inspired to be using the same ice that someone as good as her did—maybe I’d even figure out how to pull off a perfect double axel like the woman said the girl was known for.