by Faith Hunter
“From the way he’s all shriveled up, he didn’t just die in the last few days,” Jacob said. “Looks like a mummy I saw at the museum.”
“Blame the dry air,” Mitch replied. “But you’re right—it takes time for a body to dry out like that. Long enough that there isn’t even a smell left.”
Jacob walked over to Bly’s valise and looked inside. “Clothing, and a couple of notepads.”
“Bring the notepads,” Mitch said. He had moved over to look at a wooden crate by the window. “Looks like Bly was picking up rocks from the crater, too.” He hefted the small crate. “Let’s take this stuff downstairs. I’m pretty sure the answer is in here somewhere.”
Jacob had locked the front and back doors before they headed upstairs. He peered from the window. “I’d bet you next week’s pay there’s something out there.”
“Yeah, but is it the skinwalker or Kasby?” Mitch replied. “Or Sani?” He poured a finger of whiskey into each of their glasses. “You take a look at those notebooks. I’ve got a theory I want to test.”
Outside, the wind caught at the screen door, and it thudded against its frame. Jacob heard a few bars of a piano playing saloon songs, and it sent a cold shiver down his spine. A wolf howled in the distance, and an unholy screech answered the wolf. Ghostly faces appeared in the windows, vanishing before Jacob could get a good look at them.
“Bly had terrible handwriting,” Jacob said, skimming through the notebooks while Mitch tinkered with his equipment. “What are you doing with those wires?”
“You’ll see,” Mitch replied. “What’s in the notes?”
Jacob scanned the pages. “Looks like Bly came out here on a hunch. He was interested in all the strange airship sightings, and he wanted to see what he could find out.”
“More than he bargained for, apparently.”
Jacob nodded. “Yeah.” He riffled through pages again. “He spent a lot of time out at the crater, picking up pieces from the wreck.” He nodded toward the largest item, a second featureless box. “He mentions finding the box and not being able to turn it on or open it up.”
“That’s because it’s already on,” Mitch said, wrestling his contraption to secure more wires. “Even if he didn’t realize it. The trick is turning it off.”
Mitch pointed toward the silvery object Jacob had found, and the heavy gray box they had unearthed that matched the one in Bly’s room. “I think these are pieces of equipment from the ship.”
“Difference engines?” Jacob said, raising an eyebrow.
Mitch shrugged. “Maybe. Now see what happens when I turn this on,” Mitch said. He pulled out the EMF frequency meter. “I tinkered with the settings.” He turned the meter on and suddenly, the room around them changed.
A matronly woman bustled around the stove. Two men sat at the table. The door opened, and Eli Bly walked in. He didn’t look well. Jacob gathered that Bly was going up to his room to rest. A brown mutt begged scraps under the table.
Mitch turned the meter off. The images disappeared.
“What the hell was that?” Jacob asked, eyes wide.
Mitch grinned. “I can tell you what they weren’t: ghosts or magic.”
“So what were they?”
“Ever see a Theatre Optique?” Mitch asked. “Projects a series of still images onto a screen fast enough that your brain thinks the images are moving.”
“Yeah, I saw one at the vaudeville theater last month.”
“It’s a machine that stores pictures and projects them to tell a story,” Mitch said. “And I think that’s just what one—or all—of these pieces of ‘equipment’ do.”
Jacob frowned. “Why would an airship want equipment like that?”
Mitch shrugged. “Maybe it’s an advanced camera. Or maybe it was damaged in the crash, and it’s not working right.” He pulled out the Maxwell box and the metal detector from underneath the table. “I’m going to fiddle with these and see what I can rig up.” Mitch cleared away the silvery debris and fused rock into Bly’s crate, leaving only the two gray boxes and the oval-shaped smooth metal object. He maneuvered his jury-rigged machine onto the table. “I’ve got a theory I want to test.”
“God help us all,” Jacob muttered.
“I’m connecting the Maxwell box and the EMF detector, and powering them up with the Gessner battery from the metal detector,” Mitch said as he worked. “Crude as hell, but I want to see if I can get any of these pieces to show us more.”
Jacob scooted his chair back from the table. Mitch flicked switches and turned dials, as the Gessner battery hummed. And in the blink of an eye, the kitchen of the boarding house disappeared and Jacob and Mitch found themselves on the bridge of the strangest airship they had ever seen.
“Where are we?” Jacob whispered.
“Right where we were before,” Mitch replied. “Remember Theatre Optique? It’s all just photographs. With some extra technological mojo.”
Unlike the jerky projected images Jacob had seen at the vaudeville theatre, these images moved and looked like real people, three-dimensional, but not solid. “Technological ghosts,” Jacob said.
“More like a record of a journey made by explorers who have a leg up on us when it comes to inventions,” Mitch answered.
Jacob watched the crew of the strange airship bustle back and forth. They passed straight through him, and through the table and furnishings of the kitchen. The crew’s uniforms were unlike those of any airship company or navy Jacob could call to mind, and the sleek, smooth bridge looked advanced beyond anything in the Department’s fleet.
“Alien?”
“I’d bet money on it,” Mitch said.
They watched the silent images react as something went wrong aboard the airship. The crew rushed back and forth, trying to save their ship as it pitched and then dropped out of the sky. A moment later, the figures of the crew disappeared. But before Mitch could turn off the connection, new images sprang to life. Mrs. Cline, moving around her comfortable kitchen. Eli and the other boarders eating dinner. They watched for several more minutes as the boxes showed the everyday routine, and then Mitch unplugged the equipment.
“What about the ghosts we saw out at the crater?” Jacob said. “The Maxwell box called them.”
Mitch nodded. “And something about the crater pushed them away. If an alien airship crashed, there could be other bits of technology still puttering away over there—which would account for the weird EMF readings.”
“But did we get what we were sent out to find?” Jacob asked. “After all, we still don’t know who Sani really is, or what he needed us to do that he couldn’t do for himself. And what about Kasby and the skinwalker?”
A rifle shot crashed through the window, barely missing Mitch’s ear and lodging in the wall behind them. Mitch and Jacob dropped to the floor, guns ready. A second shot broke the lock on the door. Jacob and Mitch fired back. The door swung open to reveal an empty porch.
A dark form shattered the window on the opposite side of the kitchen, landed in a crouch and came up firing. Bullets shattered the plaster in the walls, broke the ceramic plates on the rack over the stove, and shot up the Hoosier cabinet. Kasby ducked behind the cast-iron stove, which gave him an angle that kept Mitch and Jacob pinned down.
“Fascinating theories,” Kasby gloated. “Hope you don’t mind me listening at the window. I’ll take it from here. I’ve got buyers lined up for those boxes—and those crates of rock. They’ll pay a lot more than the Department does.”
Mitch rolled and shot, coming close enough to drive Kasby back behind the stove. “You killed Eli Bly?”
“Fortunate accident,” Kasby replied. “The old man was poking around that crater. I got there first. Thanks to you, that junk is a lot more valuable now that it works.”
Outside, a preternatural howl sent shivers down Jacob’s spine. He glimpsed a dark shape in the moonlight, hunched and misshapen, though no less fleet of foot for its disfigurement.
“Did you mean to bl
ow the doors open so the skinwalker could eat all of us, or was that just a bonus?” Jacob snapped.
“Not a bad way to get rid of your bodies,” Kasby replied, swinging out to take a few more shots that were too close for comfort. “I didn’t call it. The energy from the crash did, just like it energized the ghosts.”
Eli Bly’s ghost appeared at the bottom of the stairs and gave a soundless howl of rage. The ghost charged at Kasby. Mitch brought his rifle to his shoulder and squeezed off a shot that went right through Bly’s translucent form. He hit Kasby square in the chest at the same time that the high-pitched whine from Jacob’s force gun let rip and a wave of energy threw Kasby’s bloody form out into the street. The skinwalker lunged, sinking its long fangs into Kasby’s shoulder. Kasby screamed, thrashing and kicking to get loose, held tight in the monster’s maw.
The ghosts of Ruin Creek woke up. Lights went on in every building in town. The music reached a crescendo like a traveling carnival, pianos playing several popular tunes all at once and out of key. The sidewalks filled with townspeople caught in the loop of their past, going about their errands, stopping to talk, just an ordinary day snatched from the collective memories of the dead.
Every pane of glass in the rooming house shook until it shattered, and the shutters banged as if they would rip from their hinges. A noise like claws being drawn across the siding boards raised primal fear deep in Jacob’s gut. Corpse-pale faces stared through the windows. The skinwalker gave a high-pitched howl. All hell had broken loose on Saturday night in Ruin Creek.
Abruptly, everything fell silent.
“I think Mr. Sani has some explaining to do,” Mitch said. That was when Jacob turned to find their patron standing in the boarding house doorway.
“You knew the boxes from the crash were out there, but your magic won’t let you go into the crater or handle them yourself. Why?” Jacob demanded.
“Because somehow, you’re connected to the aliens who crashed, aren’t you?” Mitch supplied.
The Navajo shaman sighed. “Yes. But for my people to rest in peace, I need your help.”
“Your people?” Jacob asked. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re just referring to the tribe.”
Mitch gave Sani a measured glance. “How about you tell us what’s really going on, and then we decide whether we help you or not.”
“Fair enough.”
“That was a real skinwalker that ate Kasby,” Jacob said.
“I’m betting the strange equipment called it here,” Mitch said with a nod toward the items he had assembled. “Just like it riled the ghosts.”
“Yes, the skinwalker came shortly after the crash.” Sani said. “What you saw at the crater was a projection from the airship commander to get you to look in the right places.”
“What about the people we saw on our way into town?” Jacob asked stubbornly.
“They were either ghosts—real ghosts—or projections from the broken equipment,” Sani said, and his expression was sad.
“You’ve played several parts for us,” Mitch said. “The Navajo shaman. That first monster that looked like a skinwalker but wasn’t. Who are you, really?”
Sani nodded. “I am a real Navajo shaman—and a spirit medium. When the silver ship crashed, I was one of the first to approach the crater after the skinwalker appeared. That’s when the ghost of the airship commander spoke to me—and requested my help. I’d like to let him speak for himself,” he said.
Sani was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes, and a subtle change came over him. His stance and expression shifted, and Jacob was certain that someone else was in control when Sani spoke once more. “I was the commander of the airship you saw.” The voice came from Sani’s lips, but the tone and cadence was different. “We came from very far away. When we crashed, my crew was killed, my ship was destroyed, and the equipment that survived was badly damaged—dangerously so.”
He motioned toward the gray boxes. “We use those to record our missions, to play for our commanders when we come back. If things go wrong, they keep a record for the inquiry. That silver object, is a psych-pod, and held data about our crew,” said the ghost of the commander. “Including the wavelength of our personal energies. It monitors and protects us on the long journey.”
“You’re a poltergeist,” Mitch said, looking at the alien objects on the table. “When your ship crashed and your equipment got damaged, something mashed up what the gray boxes and the silver oval thing did, and you’re stuck here.”
Sani nodded. “So are my people. Our spirits are trapped, still tied to the devices that once protected us. And as you’ve seen, we disturbed the ghosts of the dead near here.” He paused. “The energy that raised them also makes the spirits quick to strike out at anything in their path.”
“The chindi,” Jacob said. “Vengeful ghosts.”
“That’s where I need your help,” the commander’s ghost said. “Because the equipment is causing my problem, I can’t touch the pieces. And because the energy of the crash site is unstable, Shaman Sani cannot enter the crater or handle the boxes. But with your help, I think we can drain the power from the boxes and that should set us free.” Sani smiled. “You now have everything we need pulled together—I just need your hands to do the work.”
“You tried to connect with Bly,” Jacob said.
“Yes. That other man injured Bly before he could help,” the ghost brought an unmistakable change to Sani’s manner, resigned yet in command. “He was one of the first to visit the crater and survive. I had not yet met the shaman, so I was less able to communicate. But I believe Bly suspected what was going on, which is why he telegraphed for help, even though he knew it would arrive too late to save his life.”
“That was really Bly, out in the street waving us in,” Mitch guessed. “And he’s the one who charged at Kasby.” Sani nodded.
“Come,” the ghost said. “If you will be my hands, we can set this matter to rest. We share a desire to go home as quickly as possible.”
~*~
Out in the town telegraph office, a collection of wire, metal clips, and other odds and ends lay scattered across a scarred wooden table. Jacob brought the silver object, and Mitch hauled the two metal boxes and his bastardized detectors along, just in case.
“I’ll talk you through it,” the alien commander said through Sani. He glanced at Jacob. “I saw you out here earlier. The telegraph pole outside is down, but the wires still carry current. You should be able to reconnect the equipment to signal your friends.”
“Let’s get started,” Mitch said.
Though the components were scavenged and primitive, physics remained constant. It took half an hour for Mitch and Jacob to put the pieces together and wire the silver data recorder to the two boxes according to the ghost’s instructions. “You know, after we turn this off, our bosses are going to want us to turn it back on again,” Jacob said.
“That won’t be possible,” the ghost replied. “What you’re about to do to disable the box will permanently destroy it. That’s for the best. Our worlds are not yet ready to meet one another.”
“Well,” Mitch said when they had everything assembled. “Are you ready?”
Sani nodded. “Yes. And I’m grateful. Your world is very pleasant. But if I can’t go back to my world, I would rather go... on.”
“There are a lot of questions I’d like to ask you,” Jacob said. “A lot of knowledge you could share.”
Sani shook his head. “Less than you’d think,” the ghostly commander said. “I’m just a shadow of my real self, part projection, part ghost. I’ve already begun to fade since the crash. I’m less and less who I used to be. My memories of before the crash have slipped away. A few more weeks, and I’d probably be like the rest of my crew—conscious, trapped, and unable to do anything about it.”
Jacob shivered at the thought. “Then it’s time to send you on your way.”
Mitch flipped the switch. The makeshift mechanism hummed, and the silver device gl
owed with an internal light. Sani shuddered, and the ghost stepped away from him looking very real and solid. Then, Mitch reversed the current, draining the power. As the light dimmed, the ghost became translucent.
“Thank you.” The last of the glow faded from the silver form, and the commander’s ghost vanished. Seconds later, the equipment fell silent.
“You know that the Department will hang our asses out to dry for not bringing him in to be interrogated,” Jacob said.
“Ghosts can’t be interrogated,” Mitch replied.
“And what about the horses? The ones we rode out to the crater? They were real. What happens to them if everyone else left town or died?”
“Forgive the deception,” Sani said with a wan smile, back to being himself once more. “I borrowed the horses from the tribe, and have returned them to their owners.”
“Then we’d better hope that I can get the telegraph working,” Jacob said. “Because it’s a long way back to Phoenix.” He sighed. “Do you think this means we’ll get sent up to the Yukon?”
Mitch shook his head. “For sasquatch? Nah. We’ve got a guy we call in now and again from Georgia for that kind of thing. Let him handle it. I’m ready to go home.”
~*~
Agent Kennedy steered the airship into position just after noon the next day. That gave Mitch and Jacob time to bury Bly’s body. Sani stayed to help, and said a blessing over the grave. They gathered up Bly’s things along with the alien equipment and Bly’s notes and put it all in a small crate, which they sent up to the airship with their carpet bags in a rope net while they climbed a dangling ladder.
“If anyone asks too many questions, we’ll present them with the boxes and bargain our way back into their good graces,” Mitch said as he and Jacob climbed.
“C’mon, c’mon. We don’t have all day!” Agent Kennedy shouted down to them, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. Jacob suspected she would not let them live down needing to be ‘rescued’ for a long time.
“Thanks for coming to get us,” Mitch said. The airship rose skyward, and the ghost town of Ruin Creek receded beneath them.
