Chasing Ghosts

by Glenn Rolfe

  CHASING GHOSTS

  Glenn Rolfe

  Sinister Grin Press

  MMXVI

  Austin, Texas

  Sinister Grin Press

  Austin, TX

  www.sinistergrinpress.com

  August 2016

  “Chasing Ghosts” © 2016 Glenn Rolfe

  This is a work of collected Fiction. All characters depicted in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without the publisher’s written consent, except for the purposes of review.

  Cover Art by Scott Carpenter

  Book Design by Travis Tarpley

  Edited by Erin Sweet-Al Mehairi

  Dedicated to Richard Laymon, Jack Ketchum, Brian Keene, and Jonathan Janz.

  For all the guts you guys give me to tear out someone else’s.

  Chapter One

  Jesse’s father worked on the pipes beneath the sink, speaking in hush tones on his cell phone. The asshole was cheating in his mother. Jesse’d heard him talking about sex the other night when he thought he was alone. The dumbass had been outside the trailer talking on his phone right by Jesse’s window. He wasn’t about to sit around and listen to this crap again. He grabbed his sweatshirt and headed for the door.

  “Hold on. Hey! Where you goin’?”

  “I’m goin’ out,” he said.

  “Wait a second, we need to talk. You pulled some shit last night with Davey. His mother told your mom about your little stunt at the school with the M80’s.”

  They’d set off a couple cherry bombs outside of the girl’s bathroom. Davey had gotten caught and ratted him out.

  “Yeah, so.”

  Still under the sink, his father got quiet again. Jesse heard him say, “Listen, I’ll call you back.”

  “I’m outta here,” Jesse said.

  “Where’d you think you’re goin’?”

  He opened the door as his dad came out from under the sink.

  “Chasing ghosts. You can go back to talkin’ to your girlfriend.”

  He stepped outside and slammed the door.

  His father didn’t follow.

  Jesse grabbed his bike, hopped on, and pedaled down the dirt road to Second Street. Davey’s house was just around the corner. He was supposed to be grounded but agreed to meet him at the corner. Just in case Davey chickened out, Jesse had invited the new kid, Luke. He was quiet, but showed interest in good music and despite the kid’s frail frame, he hadn’t backed down when Jesse got in his face his first day of school. He also kept his mouth shut about the M-80’s even though he’d witnessed the whole thing.

  Davey was there. Three streets down, and so was Luke.

  “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Jesse said.

  “Where are we going?” Luke said. He pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “Jesse calls it ghost chasing,” Davey said.

  “How come you just sayin’ somethin’ makes it sound stupid?” Jesse said.

  “What?” Davey pouted.

  “What? Are we going to a haunted house?” Luke said. He rolled up next to Jesse.

  “Something like that, New Kid. Hope you’re ready for a long haul.”

  “I’m up for an adventure.”

  “Ha! Did you hear that, Davey?”

  “Yeah, he just moved here. He doesn’t know about Zachariah’s place.”

  “What’s Zachariah’s place?”

  “Come on. We’ll show you.” Jesse pedaled. The guys followed.

  ***

  Chief Walt Henderson nodded at the three boys as they biked past him. He wondered if he’d be arresting Jesse Gerrard in a few years. The kid had trouble written all over him. That kind of attitude can usually be traced back to the home. Parents were growing more and more dependent on their tech toys, and paying less attention to their children. Some were much worse than others, but he’d seen his fair share these last few years.

  Still, the Gerrards seemed okay. But you never could be too sure. Presentation was part of the game. They let you believe it’s all hunky-dory, pulling the wool over your eyes, when all the while, they’re beatin’ their kids or each other. Walt didn’t count himself as one to be easily fooled, but wickedness has a way of slipping by anyone.

  Ten minutes later, he pulled up to the tiny building that housed the Naples police station.

  Ed Hooper greeted him on his way out the front door.

  “Afternoon, Chief.”

  “Hooper.”

  Walt walked over to a desk on the right. A steaming cup of coffee and half-eaten breakfast sandwich accompanied a stack of notes.

  “Hooper?”

  Officer Hooper caught the front door just before it closed and stuck his head back inside.

  “Where’s Elwell?”

  “Oh, taking a dump, sir.”

  “Eloquent, Hooper. You’re a real poet.”

  “Sorry, Chief. You asked.”

  “Get outta here.”

  “Bye, Chief.”

  Chris Elwell came out of the small bathroom on the right.

  “Hey, Walt, Ellen called.”

  “Yeah, what’d she want?”

  “Asked if you had your back medicine.”

  Damn women. Nothing but a pack of hound dogs.

  “I told her I’d have you give her a call when you got back from your rounds.”

  Bitch of it was, his back had been killing him the better part of the last two months. He didn’t grab the Aleve she’d bought him. All they had here was some weak non-brand crap from The Dollar Tree downtown.

  Walt stared at the map of the town on the wall next to his office door. It contained small crops of suburbs, a couple trailer parks, and lots of woods.

  “Did we hear back from the county about Cobb’s body?”

  “Oh, shit, yes,” Elwell said. He flipped through the notes on his desk. “Right here.” He picked up the slip of paper and handed it to Walt.

  “I can’t read this chicken scratch.”

  “Oh, sorry, Chief.” Elwell took it. “Self-inflicted wound.”

  “Huh.”

  “Something funny, Chief?”

  Walt thought about it. He gazed back at the map. All them woods. Buzzard had probably gone mad from isolation. Lost both his daughters and his wife over the last two years. Course, lost was a tricky word when you were talking about anyone from that clan.

  “It’s nothing. I’ll be in here if you need me.”

  He opened the door to his office and went to his chair. His back cried out as he sat down.

  Self-inflicted.

  If that’s what the report said, that’s what it was.

  He reached in his top drawer, popped out a couple of the crappy aspirin, and crunched them in his teeth.

  The bitter taste was apropos.

  Chapter Two

  Davey dared Jesse to do it. The rabbit, or what was left of it, smelled to high hell and turned his stomach. No way was he going to look like a chicken-shit in front of the new kid. Luke Howard stood behind Davey. Behind his glasses, Luke watched with a mix of disgust and fascination. Nope, today Jesse packed his balls and came to show the boys how it was done.

  “Go ahead, man. Fuckin’ do it already,” Davey said.

  “Just shut up, all right. I’ll do it.”

  Jesse leaned forward and snatched the dead hind fur. It slid in his grasp. For a second he was certain the exposed guts and spine were going to fall right out and he’d be left holding the skin. The smell of the dead critter caused both Davey and the new kid to bring their hands up to their faces. Jesse held the half-carcass away from his body and swung it so he could cup the ass end in his other hand.
>
  “Gross,” Davey said. “What are you doin’?”

  “Just back up. I’m gonna hurl this fucker through the window.”

  “Of that house?” The new kid finally spoke.

  A crow cawed from the trees to their left. The new kid jumped. Pussy.

  “Yes, now move.”

  Jesse knew it was a bad decision. His dad always said it was sacrilegious to mess with dead things. It was even worse to fuck with the Cobb house. The guy who lived there had supposedly ate his own baby. This was the guy who had “lost” his other daughter, and later, nearly died himself dragging his wife to the road after they were attacked by a rabid bobcat. Zachariah Cobb was a man better left alone. Jesse said a silent prayer and clutched the carcass in both of his sweaty hands. He took a deep breath, inhaled the death scent, tiptoed over the crisp autumn leaves that carpeted the ground, and heaved the thing in his hands through the already cracked window on the backside of the Cobb house.

  The window shattered. The moment drifted like a haze across the blacktop on a scorching August afternoon. A perfect silence. Held breaths at the edge of the world. Jesse waited with the wind.

  “Guys?” Luke whispered.

  Jesse took a breath.

  “What?” Davey said.

  “Shouldn’t we run?”

  “Wait,” Jesse said.

  “Why?”

  “There’s nobody out here but us, remember?”

  “What?” Luke said.

  “Shh.” Davey stepped back.

  “What is it n—?”

  There was a grinding noise coming from inside the house. At least that’s where Jesse thought it came from. The sound was not so much a grinding really. It sounded more like something being dragged across a granite or stone surface.

  “What is that?” Luke said.

  Jesse stepped to the side of the window and slipped closer to the house. He looked at his cohorts and motioned for them to get down. There was a fallen tree to their right. He watched Davey stumble back into the new kid. Luke put his hands up and stopped Davey from tripping.

  Hurry, Jesse mouthed.

  They shuffled to the side and crouched down behind the uprooted stump. Jesse could make out the top of Davey’s black, Jew-fro and the new kid’s wispy, blonde locks.

  This is stupid. There’s nothing here.

  The sound grew closer. Despite his vacancy declaration, Jesse’s mouth was full of dust.

  Should’ve run. We should’ve run.

  Before Jesse’s heart could climb the rest of the way up his throat, the sound ceased. The Earth stopped.

  Luke stood.

  Sit down, dummy, Jesse wanted to yell.

  Jesse leaned his head back against the house. A slight vibration tingled his scalp What the hell is that? It felt like a low-grade electric fence once you grabbed hold. The Berrys had one like that around their cows out back of the trailer park. He’d grabbed it last spring on another of Davey’s dumb dares. The shock was nothing. Just a vibration.

  The new kid just stood there with his mouth open like a fool.

  Jesse motioned for the idiot to get back down. He did. Thank God.

  Jesse had overheard his dad tell Mike Russell that Zachariah Cobb had died last week. His body had been found by Kip Nelson and Gunner O’Connor face down in a pile of piss and shit just off from the old deer trail out back of Kip’s house, which was about a mile and a half from here.

  Why. Why did he bother trying to make it to civilization? The Cobbs were like a lost tribe of redneck cannibals. Well, there was no proof that they were cannibals, but it wouldn’t have surprised Jesse if it were true. Rumors were usually born from some kind of truth.

  Davey peeked out from the stump, his forehead and right eye obscured by the stringy earth and roots that clung to the upended tree. He raised his hands, palms up, and shrugged.

  Jesse smirked.

  Time to make them think I’m the shit.

  He stepped forward, turned, and edged his face through the window. His nose crinkled. The carcass smelled even worse in the confines of the house. There was something else. Something much stronger. He placed his hands on the outer edges of the window sill.

  There’s nobody here. There’s nobody here.

  Jesse raised his knee.

  “Jesse, what the fuck are you doin’? Come on, man. You proved whatever point you were trying to make. Let’s get outta here.”

  Jesse put his right boot up to the window and glanced over his shoulder. “I’m goin’ in. You wanna be a pussy? You can leave.”

  “Come on, man,” Davey pleaded.

  Jesse turned back toward the stench-filled house. A sharp heat pierced his side just above his hip.

  “Uhh”

  ***

  Luke stood, his eyes wide and mouth agape. There was a copper pipe sticking out of Jesse’s back. The bottom of his white t-shirt blossomed crimson. Davey jumped up. Luke’s view was blocked by the kid’s wide back and big hair.

  “Jesse!” Davey said.

  Luke grabbed Davey’s forearm and tugged him backward.

  Davey shook him off and bolted forward.

  Luke watched Jesse disappear into the house. His boots bumped up over the sill and then vanished.

  Davey stopped just shy of the window.

  “Davey, don’t. Come on,” Luke said.

  “Jesse? Jesse?”

  Luke hurried over to Davey and grabbed his elbow. “Come on.”

  Davey spun on him and shoved him to the ground. “Get the fuck off me. That’s my best friend in there.”

  The end of the copper pipe reappeared through the front of Davey’s throat. Something wet, thick, and warm landed across Luke’s face as he stared up.

  Davey’s hands made it chest high before they went limp and fell. As his body followed, Luke got his first look at their attacker.

  Luke’s screams scattered the crows from the trees.

  Chapter Three

  “Where is this place?” Jack said. He strummed the strings on the neck of the guitar between his legs.

  “It’s like a mile or two down this road,” Connor said. He leaned forward and pointed at the road atlas next to Ian.

  “Why do we always get stuck playing in these fucking redneck rat-holes. You’re fired as tour manager,” Jack said.

  “That’s because your dipshit ass is too busy suckin’ your boyfriend’s big dick instead of helping us out.”

  “Fuck you, Koko, I’m the singer. And you’re the fucking queer if there ever was one.”

  “Would you guys shut the fuck up,” Ian said. “Koko, get up here and tell me where to turn. Why are you two fucking lovebirds sitting back there together anyways? This ain’t a limo? You two shitheads are probably back their diddling each other’s dicks.”

  Connor unbuckled, stood as much as he could inside the van, and squeezed past Ian’s bag of snacks and into the vacant front seat.

  “Don’t sit on my phone either”

  Connor picked up the iPhone and maneuvered into the seat.

  “Give it to me.”

  He handed over the phone and watched as Ian cycled through song selections while keeping one eye on the road. “That’s distracted driving. You shouldn’t do that shit.”

  “Fuck you, Koko. I’m driving. My van. My rules.” He looked at the screen, hit the bottom, and tossed the phone to Connor. “Koko, can I go out and kill tonight?”

  A Misfits song blared to life.

  “I told you guys to stop fucking calling me that.”

  Ian ignored him, let go of the wheel, and played air drums.

  Connor picked up the road atlas and caught Ian’s grin in his peripherals.

  “You can laugh all you want when we’re all dead.”

  Jack and Ian broke into song.

  Connor looked at the map, and then said, “It’s the next right, just up there.”

  They parked the van and climbed out.

  “This shithole?” Jack said.

  Connor reached in,
grabbed his sweatshirt off the backseat, threw it on, and zipped it. He slid the cargo door shut and walked past Jack. “It’s a cabin. It’s a nice cabin. And there are supposed to be plenty of people showing up here tonight, so shut your trap and maybe you’ll get laid.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s sayin’ whenever you talk you give yourself away.” Ian lit the smoke glued to his lip.

  “Give myself away?”

  “Yeah, that you’re a… never mind, man. Just shut up unless you’re singing. Come on.”

  Connor hopped up the steps and had his knuckles ready to knock when the door opened.

  A wiry dude with a gnarly brown beard and a black eye greeted them. He was wearing cut-off jean shorts, a faded Cheerios t-shirt, and had a bandana tied around his neck.

  “Hi, we’re The New 45.”

  “Aww yeah, cool, cool. Come on in guys. Shit.”

  Connor followed him in.

  “My name’s Craig, by the way.”

  “Hey man, nice to meet you. I’m Connor.”

  “My friend, Nina, heard you guys. She says you rule. I heard the name and almost keeled over.”

  The place was spacious. There were two couches against the far wall. Posters of horror movies hung at cockamamie angles like they were placed by a drunk. A stack of mattresses filled one corner of the room.

  “Yeah, those are the beds. Welcome to the Cabin de Chateau,” Craig said.

  From the strong body odor, Connor thought the guy had quite a bit in common with Pepe Le Pew.

  “You guys can share a couple. Maybe Nina will take one of you.”

  Jack and Ian stepped through the door. “Is it cool if I smoke in here?” Ian said.

  “Have at it, bro. Any of you toke?”

  “Of course,” Ian said. “Well, Koko don’t, but we do.”

  “Koko?” Craig said. “Is there another one of you?”

  “No, that’s just what these two idiots call me.”

  “I like it. Makes me think of cold winter nights curled up by the fire with my favorite mug.”