End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1)

by E. J. Fechenda

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Before the next lightning storm, we had another spirit join our motley crew. There were two among us who were unable to interact. One just appeared in the evening for a brief period. This particular guy joined us less than a month after me. He was a hitchhiker and not a very good one. He could have just had very bad luck and I appreciated that.

  The sun was just beginning to dip below the mountains to the West when a lone figure walked along the shoulder of the highway. He walked backwards so he could face the oncoming traffic with his thumb extended out. A big hiker’s backpack was strapped to his back and his wiry, gray hair stuck out in crazy directions from underneath a baseball cap. I was sitting on the ground on the other side of the guardrail watching the others, but needing some time to myself. Juanita was sitting underneath her mesquite tree. Frank and Georgia were off talking in another part of the clearing and Lawrence stood, staring into the setting sun.

  A car accelerated up the incline and judging by the squeal of tires as it hugged the curves, it was moving fast. The hitchhiker heard it, but a little too late. The car roared around the bend and the hitchhiker was swallowed up in the headlights. His scream was cut off with a sickening crunch. The car rolled to a slow stop on the shoulder of the road. After a brief hesitation, the driver opened up his door and ran down towards the man lying in the road. A pool of blood extended out from around his crushed head. His baseball cap blew across the lane like tumbleweed. The backpack had exploded like a piñata and its contents were spilled all over the highway. Other cars whipped around the curve and swerved to avoid the accident. Several cars slowed, but only one stopped. A couple in a Volkswagen Beetle agreed to drive to the nearest call box and send help.

  The driver paced back and forth with his hand tugging at his hair. We stood by and watched as the hitchhiker’s spirit rose up. He immediately spotted his body and stopped to stare down at his mangled former self. We all recognized that moment of awareness. Frank waited for the spirit to vanish, but instead it moved to the spot where the car had hit his body. Then it vanished.

  We were surprised when the next night the hitchhiker’s ghost reappeared in the same spot. Frank went over to talk to him, but the ghost disappeared before he could ask any questions. He looked back at me and I shook my head. I was the newest one and didn’t have any answers.

  We got used to this new ghost disappearing and reappearing; flickering on and off like a light bulb not screwed in all the way. He couldn’t interact with us and only stayed for a few seconds, so like with the newness of a new toy, it didn’t take long for our interest to wane. By the time the next summer storms hit, we had already moved on.

  ***

  At first we each tried to move something when the lighting flickered around us. Nothing happened. Frank grew increasingly more frustrated and just when he was about ready to blow a fuse, he succeeded in kicking a rock; it skittered across the road and underneath a passing eighteen wheeler. I noticed that at the very same moment, he became brighter, more luminescent.

  I could tell by the way Lawrence’s eyes narrowed and he drew into himself, that he was quickly assessing the event. We all looked at him expectantly.

  “I think Georgia is right, we draw energy from the lightning and it magnifies a certain emotional state, making the movement of objects possible. Frank was only able to kick that rock when he became upset.”

  “That makes sense,” I agreed.

  We tried to focus again and move an object, but the storm was a fast moving one and already passed by without dropping any rain.

  We didn’t have to wait long for the next storm. A few days later we watched the threatening clouds roll across the sky. Streaks of lightning lit up the darkness. When the storm got close enough, we focused on identifying any changes.

  “Oh, I feel tingly!” Georgia exclaimed.

  “She’s glowing!” I said.

  Georgia was luminous and she didn’t flicker, her glow was constant and I could actually make out the freckles on her nose.

  The wind picked up and swirled around us. A buzzing sensation began to envelop me. It started in my toes, as if from the ground itself, and worked upwards. Excitement grew as everything around me became enhanced; colors, sounds and smells. I looked down and saw I was as solid as Georgia so I reached across and touched her. My hand stopped on her shoulder and didn’t pass through it.

  “Oh my God, it’s working!” I yelled over the roar of thunder.

  Lawrence stepped closer to us and his form was so real; every curl on his head, the frown lines around his mouth from concentrating, all were more visible than before. He linked his hands with ours. Frank and Juanita joined our circle. I focused on absorbing as much energy as possible from the others then I broke free and bent over to pick up a twig.

  “I did it!” I twirled around so everyone could see the stick in my hand.

  “Pass it to me,” Lawrence said and I did. His fingers closed around the thin wood and it snapped in half. “Goodness! Not only did I touch it, but I had enough strength to break it!”

  A current of excitement mixed in with the electricity, the emotion added more energy and a sense of euphoria swept over us.

  Frank picked up a rock, more substantial than the pebble he kicked last time. “Watch this!” Without even thinking he threw it. We followed the stone on its course through the air and simultaneously we gasped as we realized the direction. Before any of us could act, the rock hit and cracked a windshield of a passing car.

  “Dios mio!” Juanita yelled and covered her eyes.

  Fortunately the driver maintained control, only swerving slightly before continuing on.

  I turned to face Frank with my hands on my hips. “Okay, let’s not do that again.”

  “What? Oh, don’t be such a square Peggy. I thought that was wild!” He glanced over at Georgia and she shook her head.

  “You got lucky, Frank. That could have been a lot worse. I think enough people have died along this highway already,” Lawrence said, backing me up.

  “Fine, but you have to admit that was a good throw. We can be strong if we focus.”

  “Next time, maybe throw towards the desert?” I suggested before turning my back and regarding Lawrence. I noticed our forms were fading, our color bleeding from us as if being washed away by the rain.

  Over time we experimented with our new found abilities, but never had the opportunity to try to reach out to a person. A few years later this changed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  As I’d mentioned before, there were two ghosts who only existed a few minutes out of the day before fading away as quickly as they arrived. None of us liked witnessing accidents and being unable to do anything to help the people or person involved, like the hitchhiker. The next accident, which left behind the second temporary spirit, was so unusual we couldn’t have made any efforts to prevent it. We did our best to save the people involved though.

  Winds had been ripping across the landscape for days on end. Cars swayed with the heavier gusts and struggled to stay on the asphalt. Weather provided the most entertainment for us, so we watched for anything exciting to develop. We were focused on the highway and the ground, but we weren’t paying attention to the sky. Juanita was the first to detect the roaring sound overhead. I looked up, expecting an airplane and was shocked to see a hot air balloon barreling towards the ground. The roaring came from the burner which shot a bright orange flame up out of the basket.

  As it flew closer, screams could be heard coming from above. Lawrence gathered us in a circle. “This isn’t going to end well,” he said and we latched hands. One by one we started to grow brighter, less transparent. Not as strong as during a lightning storm, but we had learned to channel our own emotional energy and draw on the elements around us. My back was facing the balloon and I glanced over my shoulder as the roaring increased to a deafening level.

  “Get ready!” I yelled and we separated, waiting to see where it would touch down.

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nbsp; The basket made landfall at the top of a slope, bouncing and skidded along the ground, stirring up a billowing dust cloud in its wake. A body flipped out and cartwheeled in the opposite direction away from the basket before the dust obscured my view. I thought about being in that spot and was instantly there, saving what could have been crucial seconds.

  A man lay on his stomach on the ground. Based on the angle of his head it was obvious his neck was broken. His eyes were open, unblinking and covered with a film of dirt.

  My focus shifted to the basket, which had come to a stop approximately fifty feet away. In seconds I was there helping the others.

  Lawrence and Juanita squatted down next to another man while Frank and Georgia attended to a black woman in the basket. Blood oozed from a gash on her head and she moaned with each attempt to crawl out, but her legs were pinned.

  Frank and Georgia struggled to pull the woman, but didn’t have the strength. A series of pops, similar to firecrackers came from one of the propane tanks. The woman yelped and frantically started scratching at the ground as if she was trying to claw her way to safety.

  Cars had come to a complete stop on the highway and some people were running up the slope to assist. The ground car, with an AZ Hot Air logo on the side, was one of the vehicles.

  “Dan?” a heavyset guy with brown hair called as he huffed up the hill. He wore a polo shirt with the same logo that was on the car and the dead man on the ground had on a matching shirt. Before he could yell again the fuel tanks in the basket exploded. A tremendous rush of air pushed outwards; scattering bits and pieces of the basket, metal from the tanks, and human tissue. Part of the woman’s hand flew right through my chest and I looked down in astonishment at the human shrapnel.

  I couldn’t feel the heat from the blast, but everyone who had been running towards us stopped and dropped down low. A series of small brush fires had ignited and this spurred some people into action. Others ran for the two men lying on the ground. Lawrence moved away from the victim he had been attending to when a woman knelt down beside him. The man’s clothes were ripped and the areas of exposed skin were bleeding. She pressed her fingers underneath the man’s jawline and yelled, “This one’s alive - he has a faint pulse!”

  “A truck driver called this in, help should be here soon!” the heavyset guy hollered back. His voice cracked and he stared back down at his co-worker whose heart had already stopped beating.

  ***

  We were all so absorbed in our rescue efforts we didn’t notice a new spirit had joined us. After the one survivor was airlifted and the deceased were loaded into the back of a black and white station wagon with Coroner written on the front doors, only then did we remember to check for a newcomer.

  I experienced a twinge of disappointment when we realized nobody had joined us. It wasn’t until the next day when we discovered a spirit did remain behind.

  The sun had already moved over to the western sky. “It was about this time yesterday when the balloon crashed,” Lawrence commented. I was standing with him watching the horizon when the low moaning started.

  “Shhh listen.”

  We turned towards the sound and saw her. The woman in the basket; only the top half of her body was visible, the part that had been out of the basket. The rest didn’t exist. Her hands, frozen into claws, dug futilely at the dirt as she moaned. Minutes later she was gone.

  “Did you see her?” I asked.

  “Barely, she wasn’t very bright and she disappeared so quickly.”

  We went to the others who were standing together talking. “Did you see our new addition?”

  “Who?” Juanita asked. Lawrence and I explained to them what we had just seen.

  The next day we all stood by to see if the woman would appear again. She did and vanished just as quickly. Her moans carried on the wind even after she was gone.

  Frank paced angrily behind the group muttering to himself.

  “Frank, what is wrong with you?” Georgia finally asked.

  “We came so close, but we couldn’t save her. We couldn’t pull her away. It’s so frustrating! Why are we here if we can’t do anything?” He disappeared and a moment later I saw him down by the rusted remains of his car.

  “Damn it, I hate it when he goes down there!” Georgia said and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  “Give him a few minutes to cool off. I’ll go get him if I need to.” I reminded her Frank wasn’t the only one capable of traveling past the guardrail.

  “I understand why he’s upset, but we were able to physically touch them and try to help. I think next time we’ll have better luck.” It was Lawrence’s turn to weigh in and even though our forms had faded, his still sparked with occasional clarity.

  “I hope there isn’t a next time.” Juanita said and her brown eyes strayed to the spot where the basket had made landfall; a small, scorched crater had been carved out of the earth. “But if there is, we need to be prepared.” We all agreed, however when the next time came for us to help someone, we didn’t know how to handle a gunshot to the head.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Robert “Bob” Gene Flaherty

  b.1949 – d.1999

  I still haven’t figured out why I’m stuck here. Larry says I have unfinished business and can’t move on until it’s resolved. When I asked him how a ghost who is stuck on a strip of land not much larger than a football field and right next to the busiest highway in Arizona is supposed to resolve said unfinished business, he just shrugged his transparent shoulders and said if he knew he wouldn’t be here having this conversation with me.

  The events leading up to my current state of limbo are easy to recall. Did I deserve this form of exile? Yeah, I probably did. As far as Larry and the other ghosts who haunted this section of highway are concerned, they all had their own story to tell. Right now, it’s all about me.

  A single bullet killed me - execution style - right to the temple. It’s an unfortunate side effect to owing the Mexican Mafia a lot of money for drugs that went missing… right up my nose. My drug crazed mind didn’t foresee my imminent demise. I was shot in a warehouse in South Phoenix which, ironically, used to be a slaughterhouse.

  ***

  30 Years Earlier

  Metal clanged against metal, resonating in my already throbbing head. I forced an eyelid open and immediately closed it to block the light.

  “Flaherty, wake up!” a voice barked.

  I opened my eyes and recognized my surroundings. I was in a jail cell…again. I groaned and tried to recollect how I wound up in the slammer. Last night was a blur - one giant, whiskey induced blur. My throat ached for water while my bladder begged for relief. One before the other, I thought and sat up on the narrow cot. The small room spun, yet the police officer standing in front of me managed to stay still. I focused on his blue uniform until the dizziness stopped.

  “Flaherty, the judge is waiting for you. You know how he loves to wait.”

  I rubbed my eyes and yawned. My stomach rolled and I clamped my mouth shut, willing the contents to stay south of my esophagus.

  “Carl, what am I in here for?”

  “Don’t remember, huh?” I shook my head. Every movement was painful. “Well, let’s see…there’s drunk and disorderly plus, you stole a car and proceeded to drive it onto Mr. Parsons’ lawn and took out his lamp post. Damn near drove through his front door too.”

  Mr. Parsons owned the barber shop in town and everyone knew him. He was probably clipping hair and telling the story. Great, as if my reputation wasn’t bad enough.

  “Bob, I know this stuff was cool in high school, but don’t you think it’s time you grew up?”

  I looked at Carl; his trimmed hair and mustache, the opposite of my unkempt, shaggy hair and side burns. We had been buds just a couple of years ago. We ruled the school with our pranks. Now he stood in front of me as a cop, getting ready to cuff me and haul me in front of the judge.

  “I don’t need to hear it from you too, Carl.�
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  Carl sighed and unclipped the handcuffs from his gun belt. “Stand up and turn around, hands behind your back.”

  “Hey, it’s me; you don’t have to do this. I come in peace.” I made a peace sign with my fingers.

  “I have to follow proper procedure.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and turned my back to my former friend. The cuffs snapped around my wrists, cold metal pinching my skin.

  “Shit, wait, I have to take a leak.”

  “Hold it. Judge Mathers is going to be mad enough.”

  Carl marched me down the hall, past the one other cell, which contained the town drunk. He only drank and didn’t get into mischief so he was fortunate to just sleep it off. He’d be free to go. I wasn’t going to be so lucky. This was my third strike and Judge Mathers had already warned me this would be my last. The thought of going to prison made me forget about the pressure in my bladder and the pounding in my head.

  Our town hall and jail were right next door to one another so Carl didn’t even bother to offer me a jacket. Even though we were only outside for less than two minutes, the Minnesota winter penetrated my jeans and flannel shirt. The handcuffs became rings of ice and made my wrists ache.

  A half dozen people sat in the small courtroom. My court appointed attorney wore a wrinkled suit, which was a little short in the pant legs. His socks didn’t match.

  Judge Mathers presided over the room with a king-like presence. His bald scalp gleamed under the fluorescent lighting, which cast dark shadows under his eyes. His beaklike nose turned first and the rest of his head followed. He watched me get escorted to the table where my attorney shuffled papers.