Chasing Ghosts

by Glenn Rolfe

  “I called in earlier. Said it was female problems. When Derek didn’t call, I decided to come in. Part of me figured I’d run into him here.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Where the hell did he vanish to?”

  “He’s been talkin’ about getting outta here. Just jumping on his bike and riding into the sun. That’s how he put it. Said without Jesse, his wife’s a disaster and he’s only making things worse.”

  “I don’t know. Derek’s got a yellow streak, but beneath it all, he’s still a good fuckin’ guy. Or at least, he was.”

  Mike sipped his beer. “He ever talk about any place else he’d go?

  “Work, home, here, my place…”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve got t–”

  “Ghosts…” Her eyes looked haunted. Far away. “Chasing ghosts. He said Jesse used to say it. He was gonna go chasing ghosts.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Someplace Jesse would tell him he was goin’. Of course Derek was usually half in the bag when he’d start mumblin’ about it. That’s the only time he talks about Jesse. And it always comes back to him askin’ Jesse “where you goin’? And Jess would say “chasing ghosts.”

  “Chasing ghosts? Sounds like a video game or a movie.”

  “I think Derek thought it was an actual place or destination.”

  “Maybe it’s–”

  “Melody, you got tables to work. Get to it or go home,” Joe said. The Cater brothers laughed from behind their beer steins.

  “Gotta go. Let me know if you hear from him. If he’s all right, yeah?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  Melody got two steps away and stopped. She reached into her apron and pulled out a cell. She brought it to her ear. “Derek? Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “Hey, I ain’t payin’ you to jabber on that phone. I got tables that need service,” Joe said.

  Mike stood. He was caught off guard by how tipsy he was. He held out a hand toward Joe.

  “What? What is it?” Joe sounded concerned.

  “Who attacked you? Where are you? You’re, you’re breakin’ up.”

  “Where is he?” Mike said.

  “Derek? Derek?” She pulled the phone down and looked back at him. “He said he was attacked in the woods.”

  “He what? Where is he?”

  “I couldn’t tell for sure. It sounded like he said Ross Road? I never heard of it.”

  “Cobb Road,” Joe said.

  “Chasing ghosts, that’s right. Jesse and his buddy Davey. That’s where they went. That’s where they disappeared, or at least that’s what Derek thought. Zachariah Cobb’s shack in the woods. All those stories about him killing his wife and kids. Their ghosts are supposed to haunt the woods.”

  Melody took off her apron, threw it to Joe, and stepped out from behind the bar.

  “Where you goin’ he said.

  She grabbed Mike by the wrist. “We’re goin’ out to get Derek.”

  “We?”

  “Yeah, stupid. In case you didn’t notice, you’re hammered. Joe, fill your travel mug with the rest of that burnt coffee.”

  Mike had to admit, this ditz gave a shit. It was the first pleasant surprise of the night.

  Joe handed Mike a steel thermos.

  “Thanks. Joe.”

  “You two just be careful. If there’s any real trouble out there you make sure you stay clear and call Walt. There’s some big critters out that way. All manner of things come down from them mountains.”

  “Come on,” Melody said. She took his keys and pulled him across the bar.

  The cool night hair was heavy. Rain was coming. It helped wake him up. Still, he weaved on his way to the passenger side of his car. Melody climbed in behind his steering wheel. He opened the heavy door, shook his head, and half-climbed half-fell in.

  “Thanks,” he said from the passenger seat.

  “Hold on,” she said. The car shot backwards.

  “Hey! What the fuck?”

  Mike looked out the rear window. Kyle Phillips and his girlfriend, Linda, were throwing them nasty looks.

  They threw their hands up and turned their heads as Melody hit the gas and kicked up some serious gravel. The Grand Am’s tires met the blacktop and squealed into the night.

  “He sounded hurt,” she said.

  “You wanna call the cops or an ambulance? Animal control?”

  “I don’t know. He sounded… hurt, but okay. There were other voices in the background, and I don’t think he’s alone. What’s out there at this place? What’s all that about this house in the woods?”

  “Nothing really. Zachariah Cobb died last month. Couple of guys found him deader than shit a couple miles from his house, almost to Kip Nelson’s property. Other than his beat to hellshack in the woods he called a house, the only thing near the road is Jeff Marston’s cabin. There’s probably somebody out there now. Could be where Derek went. For what goddam reason, I got no idea.”

  “Are the woods really haunted?”

  “Ha, no. I mean, do they hold secrets? Sure, a lot of weird stuff’s happened out there over the years.”

  “Like what?”

  “You sure you really wanna hear any of that before we get out there?”

  “You said yourself it’s not haunted.”

  He stared at the windshield and wondered where the rain was. He thought about Jesse and Dave and the Howard kid.

  “No, it’s not so much haunted as it is cursed. Take this right over here. Then hit Route 5. It’s out there about fifteen, twenty minutes down.”

  She followed his directions.

  “So, you were sayin’… about the stuff, the curse?”

  Mike took a gulp from the thermos.

  “Zachariah wasn’t the only Cobb who ever lived there. His family, they’re a bunch of inbreeds and retards, which is not my favorite term for them, but just how the stories tell it. Most of the Cobb’s were either really old, like in their seventies, or really young. The younger ones were said to be pretty fucking dumb. None of them went to school. None of them came into the city, ‘cept maybe Zachariah for a thing or two. All that inbreeding fucks up the mind and splits the genes or some shit. So most of the old ones are popping off of natural causes. Zachariah and his eldest sister, Karen or Kareen or something, ended up having a couple babies together. Zachariah built that shitty hovel closer to town, farther away from the rest of his kin. Guess the cousins didn’t like that too much and sort of exiled him and his sister. It was as much of a banishment as they could do anyway.

  For a while, no one heard squat from any of them, not that they made the daily gossip, but things got real quiet. People in town nearly forgot about them. Until one night mid-November, a hunter and his son, Phillip Smits and Phil Jr., went out that way looking for deer. No one was supposed to hunt those woods, which of course made them all the more enticing. The animals know this. That area must have been packed full with deer of all sizes. So, Phil and his boy go out there just before the ass crack of dawn when it’s still dark. By the time little Phil found his way back into town the next night–”

  “The next night?”

  “Yep. By the time the kid, he was probably twelve or so, came stumbling into town, he had this fantastic story to tell.”

  “Come on, Mike, Jesus, tell me.”

  Mike took another swallow from the thermos and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  Rain drops began to speck the Grand Am’s windshield.

  “Where are your wipers?”

  “It’s the knob on the turn signal. Just twist it.”

  She did. The wipers thumped to life as the rain kept a light but steady drizzle against the glass.

  She turned the blinker on and eased the car onto Route 5.

  “That little boy, his face caked in mud and dried up blood, walked up to Walt and told him two monster’s punctured his daddy full of holes with some sort of rod and then beat his head until it cracked open like a fucking pumpkin. The
kid stared off into space, and told the story like he was some sort of zombie or toneless robot. Last thing he said was “I could see his brains on the leaves. I could see his brains on the leaves.”

  He watched her shiver behind the wheel.

  “You just gave me the goddam willies.”

  He’d freaked himself out, as well. He hadn’t told the story since his high school days. The last person he’d actually told it to was Heather. He’d tried to scare her into his sleeping bag down at Emerson Lake on the trip the three of them made up north. She wound up in Derek’s instead.

  “Did anyone ever go up there? I mean like the Chief or Staties?”

  “Walt was on the job at the time. Five years at that point, maybe. He inherited the post from his dad. They went up, but couldn’t find any evidence to back up the kid’s story. They found Zachariah, questioned him, and questioned his wife, then asked about the rest of his family. He said they weren’t talking anymore and hadn’t in a chunk of time.

  Walt found a couple of torn up, empty old tents, some old rags, but none of which belonged to Big Phil. There was no trace of the rest of the Cobb clan. Just Zachariah, his woman, and their two girls.”

  What happened to the boy? What about the monsters who killed his dad?”

  Mike took a deep breath and finished the thermos.

  “Walt summed it up to the boy’s being without food and water for two days. He must have seen his father ripped apart by a bear or mountain lion. Something that might eat up the remains. They never found any bones or anything. Not that they looked too long. Like I said, they assumed the kid was traumatized and rambling on about nonsense trying to make sense out of something awful.”

  Melody reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  “You care if I smoke?”

  “Only if I can have one.”

  “I never seen you smoke.”

  “Quit five years ago.”

  She handed him a cigarette and her lighter. He lit hers, then his own.

  He cracked his window, she did the same.

  The nicotine felt good. An old friend in a time of need.

  He laughed.

  “What?” she said.

  “I really fucking wish you hadn’t asked me to tell that story.”

  She laughed with him. It was hollow laughter. A laugh track against an empty stage.

  “The turn is coming up in about a minute, up here on the right.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Who was that you called?” Ian said. The three men had moved away from the dead man who tried to kill them.

  “Melody. A girl from the bar.”

  “A little side action?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business…”

  Connor watched the guy, Derek, follow Ian’s gaze down to the ring on his finger.

  Derek twirled the silver band.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Hmm.” Ian said. He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts. His knee felt busted. It was swollen like a gourd. He pulled a smoke and lit it. He offered one to Derek.

  “No, thanks. I’d take some whiskey if you’re hiding any.”

  “Ha, I’d love to reclaim my buzz.”

  Conner stood.

  “Come on,” he said.

  He reached down to Ian.

  “What?”

  “We have to get you back to the cabin. Jack’s still out here somewhere.”

  “And what are you gonna do? Come back out in this fucking pitch black mess and find him?”

  “Yes.”

  “We should get you back,” Derek said. He looked at Connor. “And maybe you should wait until morning? When the sun comes back.”

  The pitter-patter of rain tapping the canopy over their heads grew to a steady static.

  “And now it’s fuckin’ rainin,’” Ian said.

  “Help me get him up,”

  “Get your fuckin’ hands off me.” Ian, who was much stronger than Connor, smacked his extended hand away.

  “Come on, don’t be a dink. You need to get that knee elevated and out of the rain. It’s only gonna get colder out here.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “There’s probably still plenty left to drink back there, too.”

  “Hey,” Derek said. “And some curly-haired brunette wanted to suck my dick.”

  “Fuck off, Derek. Where the fuck did you come from anyways, huh? Go wait for your whore and shut the hell up.”

  Connor couldn’t move quick enough to stop Derek’s fist from catching Ian’s nose.

  Blood splattered down Ian’s lips and chin and across his white sweatshirt like an inkblot.

  “You know what? Fuck you,” Derek said. He backed up and shook his hand. “You can drag that ungrateful dickhead back by yourself.”

  Ian spat gobs of dark liquid on the ground.

  “You’re so lucky my leg is fucked.” He sounded like he had a nasty cold.

  “You had it coming, man,” Connor said.

  “Get me another stick,” Ian said.

  ”What? What for?”

  “I’ll make a crutch. You’re not looking for Jack out here alone.”

  It was just like Ian. He was a hot-headed asshole one minute then he’d turn it around and take the lead in the next.

  Connor looked around. He picked up a couple sticks, but they were either too old or too short. “Here’s one.”

  “Help me up.” Ian took Connor’s proffered hand and in a couple of jerky motions hopped up onto his good leg. Connor gave him the crutch.

  Ian started toward the dead beast. It was a trail. They hadn’t seen it at first, but after their eyes had finally adjusted, it was obvious. He hobbled by Derek who stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “You can come with us or go the fuck home. I could give a shit which.”

  Connor followed Ian.

  After a few seconds, Derek fell in behind them.

  The canopy Connor cursed for its darkness turned out to be worth its weight in keeping them dry.

  “You’re from around here. Anything out in these woods?” Connor said.

  “Just ghosts.”

  “How’s that?’

  “Nothing. Nothing but a bunch of ghost stories.”

  “Any caves or other cabins?”

  “Somewhere to the East, there’s an abandoned house. Well, it’s really more of a shack.”

  “What about this way? Anything?”

  “A stream. There’s a stream out here a little ways farther. It’s in a bit of a gully though. I haven’t been out here much since I was a boy. I actually stayed at that cabin back there with my friend Mike and his Uncle. I think he took us out this way. We had four wheelers. We fished in the stream back here. I believe the path curves up and over the edge till it drops down. Shouldn’t be much farther.

  “It’s right up here,” Ian said.

  Connor was always amazed by his mix of stubbornness and perseverance. It’s part of what made Ian such a great drummer. Ian could power through a full forty-five minute set, pounding through song after song at breakneck speeds and still go work out at the gym right after.

  And here he was keeping the pace ahead of them with a bum knee and makeshift crutch.

  The edge of the path opened up to a small space of no treecover and the rain was coming down in buckets.

  “Look. I can’t–it starts going down right here. I ain’t about to slip and fuck up my other leg.”

  Connor stepped past him and ducked under the branch of a pine.

  “What the…”

  “What is it?” Ian said.

  He had to squint in the darkness. The bottom looked to be a good twenty or thirty yards down.

  “I, I think I see someone or something or…wait.”

  “What is it? Is it Jack?”

  “I can’t really tell, but it looks like more than one of whatever it is.”

  “More than one what?”

  “More than one shape.” Connor rejoined
them. “If that’s Jack down there, he’s not alone.”

  Chapter Ten

  Luke Howard opened his eye to the black world that had become his home. The hunger pains awoke with him. He’d hoped that he’d acclimate to the constant hurt. His left eye, the one the little monster took from him, no longer made him cry. It was only a dull ache from where his captors had burned it shut.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here. Long enough to know that his mother probably thought he was dead. Dead like Jesse and Davey. Despite what had been done to him, he didn’t want to join them.

  His father had been killed two years ago. He’d been in the military most of Luke’s childhood and deployed for a good third of it. Friendly fire was the official story. All his time overseas, all the stuff he’d made it through, and an accident robbed him from them.

  If he’d inherited anything from his dad it was an iron will. What he lacked in bravery, Luke made up for with a determined stubbornness and an unnatural ability to find the brightness on the bad side of life.

  He’d broken his arm when he fell at a playground back in New Hampshire. He was seven or eight. His mother had lost an earring from her grandmother there a month before. While he was on the ground holding his arm, he spotted the green emerald under the corner of the slide. She rushed to his side. He told her he was okay and pointed to the earring. “Something positive,” he said. “From a negative,” she responded.

  He stared at the darkness around him.

  They’d dragged Jesse and Davey’s bodies out the day after the attacks.

  He’d covered his wound with a piece of Jesse’s t-shirt–he knew it’d been Jesse by the slenderness of the body–but had since cast the rag away. There was no point. He might as well be in a coffin. No light penetrated this cell. Any concerns of infection had passed. He tried not to think about what they’d done with their bodies. He figured they’d stuck them in here with him to hide them or to scare him, or both. It was when the little one, a child who he refused to think of as such, licked his face and bit his cheek, and then proceeded to claw his eyeball from its socket while two others held him down, that he buried the idea that these were people. He hadn’t seen it happen, but he was certain the little monster had eaten its trophy.