Ghost Walk

by Brian Keene

  “Well, there you go. What I don’t understand is this. Why is it such a big deal to just wait the two weeks—or however long it takes? After all, this is for a book, not an article. A book that you haven’t even pitched yet, let alone sold. Why the rush?”

  “I just want to get started on it. I’m excited about the idea. I want to dive in while it’s still fresh.”

  “You want some free advice? Sit on it and wait. What are you going to do if you sell this thing on proposal and then lose your sense of excitement halfway through? Then you’ve still got a book to finish. One that you no longer want to write.”

  Yawning, Maria glanced around the parking lot, blinking at the bright glare coming through her windshield. It was deserted. Lots of cars and even an Amish horse and buggy parked at the rear, but no people. She assumed most of the vehicles belonged to the staff.

  “Come on, Miles,” she pleaded one more time. “Isn’t there something you can do? Anything? Help me out here. Throw me a bone, for Christ’s sake.”

  He laughed. “There’s no way I’m getting involved with this.”

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  “Look, Maria, for what it’s worth, I think you’ve got a solid idea. I think LeHorn and Senft and the whole weird story would be perfect for a true-crime book. It’s got sex, murder, and black magic. I think you’d sell a ton of copies. But my duties are to the newspaper. If you start rattling cages or getting into trouble, and it reflects badly on us, I’d have no choice but to cut you loose as a freelancer. And then, with you gone, they’d hold me responsible. Shit rolls downhill, right? You know what the own er is like. I like my job here. They pay me for it, and in turn I get to keep things like my house and my car and that goddamn inground pool my wife made me buy last summer—the one we never use. Those things cost money and I’m a big fan of money. Therefore, I’m a big proponent of keeping my job. I can’t help you with this.”

  “Not even unofficially? Just whisper the name of someone that might be able to help? You owe me, Miles.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Who covered that anti abortion rally for you when all your staffers called in sick?”

  “You did. And if I remember correctly, we had to publish an official apology because you called that evangelical minister a fuck-head while you were interviewing him.”

  “Well, he was a fuck-head. But never mind that.”

  “Never mind? I still get my ass chewed out for that!”

  “Who got the county commissioner to admit on tape that the County Parks Department’s public domain seizure of the Larue Farms property was wrong? Who got you that quote when no one else could?”

  Miles sighed. “You did.”

  “So hook me up.”

  There was silence on the other end of the cell phone. Maria thought that maybe her call got dropped, and was ready to curse her service provider, when she heard Miles sigh again.

  “Damn it, girl. Okay, look. This is off the record and completely unofficial.”

  Maria smiled.

  “Are you recording this?”

  “You know I wouldn’t do that to you, Miles.”

  “There’s a couple of things you could try. Let’s call them ‘backdoors.’ If Senft wants to meet with you, he could lie to his handlers about who you are. Remember, he’s got rights. In Pennsylvania, the staff aren’t permitted to read his mail or monitor his phone calls. So instead of telling his treatment team that you’re a reporter, he could say you’re an old friend or a fan of his books or something like that. They can’t eavesdrop on your conversation when you visit, so you could ask him questions then. But if you got caught doing that, no reputable newspaper, webzine or magazine in the country would ever let you freelance for them again. It would totally discredit you, and you’d be stuck doing blogs.”

  “Not necessarily. Reporters do that kind of thing all the time. It’s just part of getting the story.”

  “Not anymore. Not with the corporations in charge. This is the New Media. Welcome to the age of accountability to the shareholders.”

  “Well, then is there anything else? Something that doesn’t involve me dropping a nuke on my career?”

  “Sure. Here’s something else to consider—these facilities have fences, and people can talk through fences.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Senft has to have fresh air, right? He has to have exercise. Are you still sitting in the parking lot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See the double security fence going around the place? You could try sneaking up to that and talking to him through the mesh.”

  “But that’s even riskier than the other method.”

  “Correct. So why not just let this go? Move on?”

  “Because that receptionist pissed me off. And because I’m stubborn.”

  “Yes, you are, Maria. You’re like a goddamned pit bull when it comes to a story. That’s why you’re my favorite freelancer. And that’s why I wish you’d just walk away from this.”

  “I can’t. But thanks, Miles. I really do appreciate your help.”

  “Don’t mention it. And listen…I’ll ask around. See if I can’t find you someone more sympathetic. But it’s got to be totally on the down low, okay?”

  “No worries. I promise.”

  “I’ll call you if I hear anything. And again, good job on the Ghost Walk story. It’ll run in this afternoon’s edition. Hawkins got some great photos to go with it.”

  “Awesome. Talk to you later, Miles.”

  “Stay out of trouble.”

  “There won’t be any trouble, as long as I can talk to Adam Senft.”

  “Maria!”

  “I’m kidding. Bye.”

  Grinning, Maria disconnected the call and bent over, putting the cell phone back into its charger, which was plugged in to the car’s cigarette lighter. She yawned again, rubbing her tired eyes. She decided to go home and get some sleep. When she sat back up, a shadow fell over her. A dark-haired, bearded man stood next to the open window. Startled, Maria gasped. She reached for her purse, intent on grabbing her can of pepper spray.

  “I’m sorry,” the man apologized, taking a step backward and holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?”

  Maria’s hand slipped inside her purse. She closed her fingers around the can of pepper spray and paused, studying him. To her surprise, the stranger was either Mennonite or Amish. She couldn’t be sure which. His clothing and hat were a dead giveaway, though, as was his long, bushy beard. When Maria was younger, her mother had liked a rock group called ZZ Top. The band members all had flowing beards. This guy reminded her of them. His age was hard to determine. She guessed that he might be in his early thirties. She remembered the Amish buggy she’d noticed earlier while talking to Miles. If it belonged to him—and she assumed it did—that made him Amish. People from the Mennonite faith drove cars and trucks. Only the Amish still insisted on horse-drawn buggies.

  “I’m really sorry,” the man said again.

  Her shock dissipated. Whoever he was, she doubted very much that he was a rapist or carjacker. His expression was apologetic, his tone concerned.

  “It’s okay,” Maria said, taking a deep breath. “You just surprised me, is all. Can I help you?”

  The man lowered his hands and smiled. “Possibly, Miss…?”

  “Maria Nasr. And you are?”

  “You can call me Levi Stoltzfus.”

  Maria thought that was odd. Not my name is but you can call me. She chalked it up to an archaic speech mannerism. She’d heard the Amish sometimes favored those.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Stoltzfus?”

  “Well, I’m sorry about this, but as I was passing by, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. You seemed very…irate.”

  “My boss,” she explained. “It’s a long story.”

  “Would that story have anything to do with Adam Senft?”

  Maria paused, keeping her poker face. She studied him
closely, trying to figure out his intentions. Had he recognized her name? Remembered her byline from a previous story? Amish people read the newspapers, just like everyone else. Indeed, since they couldn’t watch television, listen to the radio, or go online, newspapers were their only source for news. Or maybe, like millions of other Americans, maybe he was just fascinated with morbid stories and had recognized Senft’s name.

  “How would you know that, Mr. Stoltzfus?”

  “I heard you mention him, I’m afraid.” He glanced at the hospital. “Adam Senft is a patient here, isn’t he?”

  “And may I ask what your interest in this is?”

  “If you tell me what your own interest in him is, then I might be able to help you.”

  Maria laughed. “I really doubt that, Mr. Stoltzfus, but I appreciate your—”

  “You want to speak to him, right?”

  She nodded.

  “So do I. And if you tell me what your involvement is with him, I can make it happen for you. May I sit in your car while we talk?”

  Ken stifled a yawn and cracked his aching back.

  “Long night?” Terry asked, grinning.

  “Yeah.” Ken rotated his arms and stretched his shoulders. “Didn’t get to bed until well after midnight, and couldn’t fall asleep until past two.”

  Terry’s grin widened. “Had a little company, did you?”

  “Fuck you. You talking about Maria?”

  “Hey—first-name basis now, huh? Come on, Ken. You banged her, didn’t you? Tell the truth.”

  “No,” Ken protested. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we had dinner. That’s all. It was a business meeting, Terry. She interviewed me. We ate. And then I came home.”

  Ken felt defensive. It seemed disrespectful to Deena’s memory to be having this conversation. But before he could explain that to his best friend, Terry continued.

  “You should have banged her, man. That’s some ass on her. I bet you went home and thought about it.”

  “Dipshit.”

  “What? She’s cute.”

  “She is. And she’s also too young. Look, I just couldn’t sleep. That’s all. Had stuff on my mind. In case you forgot, we open tomorrow night.”

  “I know,” Terry said. “That’s why I got a good night’s sleep.”

  “Wish I could say the same. I ended up doing a few shots of Woodford Reserve just so I’d nod off.”

  They walked the trail, checking off things that were completed and making a last-minute list of what still needed to be done. Terry had taken some vacation time so that he could give Ken a hand. Both men felt overwhelmed. Most of the volunteers wouldn’t arrive until the evening. There were only a few on hand, and two who hadn’t shown up at all.

  “Have you seen…” Ken snapped his fingers, trying to remember their names. “Rhonda and Sam? The kids from the school?”

  Terry shook his head. “Not this morning. Maybe they had something going on at the school?”

  “Maybe. I know that I shouldn’t bitch about it. I mean, they’re volunteers. It’s not like they’re getting paid. But we’ve got a lot to do yet. We could really use some extra hands.”

  “We’ll get ’er done,” Terry said, doing his best impression of stand-up comedian Larry the Cable Guy. “Don’t worry, man. You’ve just got the jitters. Just like back in high school, right before a game.”

  “Maybe,” Ken agreed. “I just want everything to go smooth, you know? I want this to really be a good thing.”

  “It will be.”

  They finished their tour and walked back to the beginning of the trail.

  “Listen,” Ken said, fishing his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ve got to run to the costume store and pick up our masks. Think you can handle things while I’m gone?”

  “Damn straight. What do you want us to focus on?”

  Ken handed him the list. “Everything on here. You’ve got Cecil, Tom, Russ and Tina to help you this morning. I sent Jorge to pick up more lime. He should be back in an hour or so. Have him outline the trail some more. Make sure we get a good coating of lime down so people know where the trail is and don’t go wandering off into the woods tomorrow night.”

  “Will do.”

  “Everybody else will be here this afternoon, after they get off work and stuff. We’ll do a final walk-through and then have a staff meeting out here in the field, so that everybody knows what they’re doing tomorrow night.”

  “No worries.” Terry took the list and looked it over.

  They said good-bye and Ken climbed into his truck and shut the door. He started it up. Johnny Cash’s rendition of Soundgarden’s “Rusty Cage” filled the cab’s interior.

  “No,” Ken muttered as he drove away. “No worries at all. Nothing’s gonna go wrong.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “So what do you want him for?”

  “No fair,” Levi said. “I asked you first.”

  They were still in the parking lot, sitting in Maria’s car. She’d hesitated at first when he had suggested it, but finally relented. He was definitely Amish—no way that beard was a disguise. She decided he didn’t pose a threat. Even so, she made a point of keeping the canister of pepper spray within reach, and letting him know that she had it.

  “Okay,” Maria said, “but I’m warning you. If this is some kind of trick…”

  “I assure you that it’s not, Miss Nasr. My interest in Adam Senft most likely parallels your own. In any case, it’s really important.”

  “You can call me Maria if you like. Nobody’s called me ‘Miss Nasr’ since I got out of college.”

  “Very well. It is nice to make your acquaintance, Maria.”

  “Yours, too.” She paused. “Um, not to be rude, but what do I call you, anyway? Brother Stoltzfus or something?”

  He appeared confused. “No, I’m not a clergyman. You can just call me Levi if you like.”

  “Okay.” Maria relaxed. “I wasn’t sure. I’ve never actually talked to an Amish person before. I took one of those tours in Lancaster when I first moved here, but that’s all. I didn’t know if you guys referred to each other as Brother and Sister or not.”

  “Oh, I’m not Amish. At least, not anymore.”

  “I see.” She frowned. “I’m sorry. I just assumed, what with your clothing and the buggy and all. Are you Mennonite, then?”

  “No. It’s a long story. I was once a part of the Amish faith, but sadly, I left the community many years ago. Now, I’m just…well, I don’t really know what I am. Certainly not Amish or Mennonite. Or even Protestant or Catholic. I guess I’m just trying to live my life right and do God’s work, the way that feels right to me. What would you call that?”

  “Noble?”

  “I like that.” He smiled. “I would call it nondenominational.”

  “That would work, too.”

  Levi’s stomach rumbled loudly. He smiled, embarrassed. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten today. I’m fasting.”

  Maria nodded. Although she didn’t ask, she wondered what the reason for the fast was. Was it religious or medical?

  “So, I’ve got to ask. If you’re not Amish anymore, then why the clothes and the beard? What’s up with the hat?”

  “I’m single. I thought that women might be attracted to the beard. And as for the hat, it’s to keep the sun out of my eyes.”

  Maria tried to suppress her laughter, but failed. She snorted once, twice, and then laughed out loud, jumping up and down in the seat. Tears streamed from her eyes.

  “What?” Levi asked, seemingly puzzled. “What’s so funny? You don’t like my beard?”

  “I…” Gasping for breath, Maria wiped the tears from her eyes. “I think it’s great. It’s unique, you know? A lot of guys these days just go with a goatee. You’ve got a very retro vibe going on. It works for you.”

  “Excellent.” He sounded pleased.

  She stifled another burst of laughter and smiled. When she felt she had control again, Maria explained her assignment—the
feature article on the Ghost Walk and how it had inspired the book idea. She told him about her research into LeHorn’s Hollow, powwow magic, and, ultimately, Adam Senft’s involvement. Levi stayed silent throughout. He absentmindedly stroked his beard and listened. His face was expressionless.

  “I guess it must all sound pretty bizarre to you,” she finished. “But there are people who still believe in this stuff, even today.”

  “Oh, there’s no doubt. I’m one of them.”

  Maria was stunned. “W-what?”

  “My father worked powwow, as did my grandfather. It’s sort of a family tradition.”

  “Wait a second,” Maria said. “Stoltzfus. Your father was Amos Stoltzfus?”

  Levi cocked his head. “You’ve heard of him?”

  “He was mentioned in some of the articles I read when I was researching. Sort of a famous guy, right?”

  Levi shrugged. “He helped a lot of people.”

  “So then you already knew all about Nelson LeHorn and the murders and all the legends about that area?”

  Levi nodded. “I did.”

  “Then why didn’t you interrupt me?”

  “I needed to see what you knew. My reasons for speaking with Senft are related to your research into LeHorn’s Hollow. In fact, I was just there last night.”

  “When? I was there, too. Are you helping with the Ghost Walk?”

  He frowned. “No. But tell me more about this Ghost Walk. Your article sounds interesting.”

  “Well,” Maria said, “it’s a Halloween trail that Ken Ripple is building for charity. It’s located in the same forest as LeHorn’s Hollow—or, at least where LeHorn’s Hollow used to be, before it burned down. My article about it runs this afternoon.”

  “I see.”

  “You must have noticed them working on it when you were there.”

  “No,” Levi said. “I was preoccupied with something else. What is it, exactly?”

  Maria shrugged. “People dress up in scary costumes and hide in the woods. Then other people pay money to walk through the woods and be scared.”

  “Hmmm.” Levi’s frown deepened. “A lot of people probably attend an event like that.”