Ghost Heart

by Weston Ochse

  The tall Indian arched an eyebrow and sneered. “Call me Ali Baba, little man. Only Reg can call me Phillip.” He shook Matt’s hand roughly, then strode over to where several dozen bikers had gathered. “Come on, my thieves. We’re leaving in five minutes, so get your butts in gear.”

  Matt gulped. Ali Baba wasn’t nice at all. Earlier he’d heard the man whispering to Reggie. “Why’d you bring him here? Are you crazy? He’s just a kid!”

  Reg slid next to him and put an arm around his shoulder. “Aw, he’s all right, Matt. He’s just mad that he can’t be himself.”

  Raisin and Jacket huddled together near the front of the RV. Matt heard little of their conversation, but now he noticed that their attention was on Ali Baba. Finally Raisin shuddered and backed away.

  While Matt helped everyone pack their bags, he couldn’t help wonder what it took to make a spirit nervous. Within minutes, everyone was ready. They were going on a Ride. Ali Baba would lead in his RV, with forty motorcycles following behind. Reggie’s would be one of them, with Matt and Kubla riding along in the sidecar. Matt had overheard them discussing the Ride earlier. They’d start by heading to Rapid City, where they’d advertise the band a little and show solidarity to the other bikers. Theirs was a different way of life and people needed to see how they lived.

  The argument was whether to take Highway 90, which was a quicker way to reach Rapid City, or the back mountain roads, which would take longer but offer cooler, winding highways. The younger bikers wanted the highway where they could open up and test their engines. The older bikers wanted the back roads where they could relieve the monotony of the highway with the twists and turns of the mountains.

  They finally agreed to do both. They’d drive to Rapid City with the RV in front by taking the mountain roads through Deadwood. At Deadwood, they’d catch the winding, two-lane Highway 385 to Highway 44 and into town. After a couple hours in Rapid City, they’d return to the Buffalo Chip by way of Highway 90 where the Forty Thieves could race back by themselves.

  Everyone seemed happy and ready for the Ride. Even Raisin and Jacket sat astride their bikes, broad grins of anticipation marking their excitement. They hadn’t been on a Ride in decades. As Matt sat in his sidecar, the chinstrap already scratching, he was happy for them. They had a chance to relive something they hadn’t been able to do since death.

  The RV with the painting of Ali Baba rumbled to life and began to creep across the parking lot toward the exit. A blast from an air horn split the air, then forty real and two spirit motorcycles began to follow. Soon they were riding along the twisting mountain roads.

  Traveling with all these other bikers felt different than it had when it’d just been him and Reggie. Here Matt felt like he was part of something greater. The sounds of each engine merged into one great rumble. With the RV as the head, he imagined himself a part of the body of a great dragon eating up the road.

  Even Kubla seemed to be smiling as the whipping wind pulled back his lips in an almost-human smile.

  When they passed through Deadwood, the steep canyons and Wild West Buildings echoed back their rumble. Tourists covered their ears as they slowly drove down the main street. Locals grinned and waved. Matt could have sworn that in several places he saw other spirits, their bodies not quite whole. Raisin yelled something, but the words were lost in the engine sounds. Jacket nodded back, then turned and winked at Matt. He gave the boy a thumbs-up sign, then returned his attention to the road.

  Soon they were back in the mountains. The tall black pines stood sentinel along the road. Here and there the sun winked of small mica rocks, making the forest floor glitter with false treasure. It was staring at these lights and the sound of the engines that finally lulled Matt to sleep.

  When he awoke, they were pulling to a stop. It wasn’t until all the engines had been turned off that Matt realized how loud they’d actually been. Driving through the Black Hills, he’d felt part of the natural order of things. His ears rang, and now Matt realized that the motorcycles had actually segregated him from what he’d wanted to be part of. As proof, he heard the total silence in the engines’ wake, as if the wind and the trees and the insects all held their collective breaths in case the noise was to start up again.

  Matt looked around. They were at the fish hatchery on the edge of Rapid City. He’d been here once before. The place simultaneously scared and thrilled him. On his visit last year, his dad had explained that the hatchery was like a fish farm, but not just any fish grew here. This hatchery specialized in trout. His dad called them the Ferrari of fish.

  Matt had been excited as his dad had taken him past the long concrete troughs of water, each filled with a different-sized fish. From the minnows to the fingerlings to the young trout, they gradually grew in size. Now Matt looked out over the field of concrete troughs at the ones farthest away. Matt knew that in those were what his father reverentially called the lunkers. Some reaching three feet in length, they were as big around as a leg. At the time he’d first seen them, Matt would have appreciated it as much as his father … if he hadn’t chosen that moment to stumble. He closed his eyes as he remembered hitting the water and the immense fish sliding around and over him.

  “Matt, come on,” Reggie said. “Let’s go check out the trout. I hear there’s some big ones in the back.”

  He sighed and climbed out of the sidecar. Kubla lunged out after him, happy to be free of the cramped space. The dog scampered back and forth, careful not to get near any of the other bikers or their motorcycles. He barked happily, clearly relishing the idea of running between the troughs of fish.

  “It’s okay. Just keep your grip on the dog’s collar and you’ll be fine.”

  Matt peered at Jacket, remembering how the spirit had laughed himself silly when Matt had thought he was about to die. Still, he was right. Kubla hated to get wet. Wherever the dog was would be the safest place around.

  The bikers drank from water bottles and flasks. Several had lined up by the outside bathroom while others just leaned back on their bikes and basked in the sun. Matt spied Ali Baba behind the wheel of his RV. Strange, he thought. He didn’t seem the type to want to be alone. They locked eyes. The anger in the older man’s gaze made Matt look away.

  “Come on,” Reggie said. “We’re only gonna be here for a little while.”

  Matt decided to join her. “Okay.” He glanced at Kubla. “Here, boy, come on.” The dog scampered over and, gripping his collar tightly, Matt allowed himself to be pulled into the fish hatchery after Reggie.

  “So what do you think?” she asked. “I’ve been here before. It’s okay.”

  “No, silly,” she said punching him in the arm. “I mean about the adventure.”

  “Oh.” Matt remembered the great hulking man named Buddha, then Bovine Mack, and his dreams of zombies and bad men. He remembered waking to find the dream almost true and the hate he’d seen in Ali Baba’s eyes. What did he think? “I … don’t know.”

  Reggie stopped and slid a quarter into a fish food dispenser. She twisted the dial and her hands filled with the small cylindrical bits. She gave half to Matt.

  “It’s scary in the big wide world.” She threw a few bits into the water and watched as the trout thrashed in the water, eager to get to the tiny morsels of food.

  “Not so bad.” He didn’t like being so near the fish, but he didn’t want to be alone.

  “I mean to be out here alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” Matt said. “I mean, I have you and Ali Baba and the others.”

  “What if I wasn’t here? What if we weren’t here? Then what?”

  “I don’t understand. I mean, there’s always Jacket, but—”

  “Not your invisible friend—“

  “He’s not invisible. He’s a spirit.”

  “I forgot.”

  “Don’t you remember Raisin? Remember when you and me used to play with Raisin and Jacket?”

  “I remember. But that was back when I was a kid.”


  “We’re still kids.”

  “Well, some of us are more kid than others.”

  “I suppose.” Matt hesitated. “Your cousin, Ali Baba … he doesn’t like me.”

  “If you get in trouble, you know how to use the telephone, right?”

  “Of course. Everyone knows how to use a telephone.”

  “Okay. Okay. Just checking.” She glanced back to the parking lot. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No. You stay here. I’ll just be a moment.”

  “Wait!” Matt made a move to follow, but Jacket called him back. “Stay here, boy.”

  “But she’s—”

  “Isn’t that the place where you fell in? Come on, let’s check it out.”

  That made Matt stop short. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Why? Afraid it might happen again?”

  “No.” He swallowed. “Maybe.”

  “You can’t be afraid of things that haven’t happened. Stuff is going to happen to you all of your life. You just have to deal with it when it does.”

  Matt squinted at him. “You sound just like my dad.”

  Suddenly the sound of Ali Baba and his Forty Thieves broke the natural silence with the rumblings of their engines. Matt snapped around and gaped as the RV began to pull away. Hanging out the open side door was Reggie.

  “Your stuff’s right there by the phone,” she yelled to him. “Call your mom, kiddo. She’ll be here in no time.”

  “Wait!” Matt took a step forward but even he knew it was useless—he’d never catch up.

  “Sorry!” Reggie’s last word was almost lost in the roar of the motorcycle engines.

  Jacket gave Matt a pained look. “I never liked Arabian Nights, anyway. Kind of silly if you ask me.”

  The last motorcycle out of the parking lot was ridden by Raisin. Beneath his flaming red ghostly Afro and his Fu Manchu mustache his face was twisted into a huge frown. But all he could do was shrug and wave goodbye. “You boys take care of yourselves!” he called.

  Jacket nodded and mumbled back something that only Matt could hear. “You as well, my friend. Beware the phantom.”

  PHANTOM INTERLUDE

  The two beings of light split apart, one remaining with the child, the other following. When the sun went down and the moon rose, it would hunt again. A slim tongue escaped its maw as it anticipated the taste of the goodness. Soon it would feed.

  Very, very soon.

  VIII

  DEAD MEN CAN’T DRIVE

  Matt sat on his bag, his legs splayed out in front of him. He stared at the cars driving by, wondering what he was going to do. He realized he still held the fish food in his hand. He tossed it to the ground. Kubla sniffed hopefully, then lifted his head and stared at Matt accusingly. “Don’t look at me,” he said unhappily. “It ain’t my fault.”

  “There goes that word again.”

  Matt shrugged. “Sorry. I’m more worried about what we’re gonna do.”

  “What we’re gonna do is call your mom. Then she’s going to come pick you up.”

  Matt set his shoulders. “No. Not yet.”

  Jacket glowered at him. “What do you mean not yet?”

  “I haven’t finished what I started.”

  “I never did like your idea.” The spirit’s mouth was a hard line.

  “Well, who asked you? You’re dead.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Matt regretted saying it. He was angry at Reggie for lying to him. He was angry at the world for creating creeps like Ali Baba. But he wasn’t angry at Jacket and shouldn’t have taken it out on him.

  Jacket sat astride his motorcycle. His arms were crossed. He stared at the oncoming traffic.

  “I’m sorry Jacket. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know. You’re scared,” Jacket said. He turned to the boy and his face relaxed into a half-smile.

  Matt opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut. He was scared. He was scared of lots of things, not the least being what was going to happen to his parents. To make matters worse, he was finally and truly alone. Sure, he had his spirit guardian, and he had a German shepherd, but they weren’t like real people. Even with Reggie, he’d felt like he was being taken care of. Now, everything was up to him.

  “I need your help.” Matt stood and trudged over to Jacket. “I need to know what to do. My problem is that I only know what I don’t want to do.”

  Jacket nodded. “That sure is a dilemma.”

  “Jacket, I’m serious.”

  “I can’t help you, Matt. You need to go home.”

  “Fine.” Matt snatched his bag off the ground and stalked toward the road. “Come on, Kubla. Let’s go.”

  “Do you know where you’re going?” demanded Jacket. He hadn’t moved.

  “No.”

  Jacket sighed. He kicked his motorcycle into gear and pulled it alongside Matt as the boy strode along the side of the highway, and positioned it so he and the bike were between Matt and the road. “This is kind of dangerous, you know?”

  Several cars whizzed by, sheering through his body and coming dangerously close to hitting Matt. The boy ignored the danger. He kept trudging along with his head down as he mumbled angrily under his breath. Three more cars and Jacket gave in.

  “Fine,” he said grumpily. “You win.”

  Matt stopped, but didn’t turn. “You gonna help me?”

  “I really shouldn’t, but—”

  Matt resumed walking along the side of the road.

  “Wait a minute. I said But, didn’t I?” Jacket stepped in front of Matt, causing the kid to stop. “I was going to say, but I’ll help.”

  Matt’s face lit up.

  “Anything to get you off the road.”

  “So where do we go? What do we do? Do you know anyone around here who can help?”

  Jacket made a face like he’d bitten into a bad apple, then glanced sideways at Matt.

  “You do know someone,” Matt said. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know if you’ll like this.”

  “Why not? Nothing can be worse than Ali Baba.”

  Jacket’s mouth turned downward. “Son, there are plenty of things worse than Ali Baba.”

  Matt scoffed. “Name one.”

  “Witches.” Matt’s eyes widened. “Witches … as in black pointy hats and broomsticks?”

  “Worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Yep. This one’s a Christmas Witch.”

  “A Christmas Witch?” Matt couldn’t help smiling. “You’re pulling my leg. There’s no such thing.”

  “Oh, yes there is.” Jacket nodded so hard he looked like a jerky puppet. “All I know is part of the poem,” he continued. “She’s supposed to be deadly if crossed. I heard she’s the one Hansel and Gretel barely escaped from.”

  “Hansel and Gretel aren’t real.” Still, he suddenly sounded as if he wasn’t so sure.

  Jacket only looked at him. “Uh-huh. Like spirits and witches aren’t real, right?”

  “Well …” Matt’s voice faded, then he peered at his guardian. “So what’s this poem?”

  “Let me see if I can remember.” Jacket concentrated, but it still took a few false starts before he finally managed to say the two verses he knew.

  The Christmas Witch of Cleghorn Canyon

  sits atop a knoll.

  Her stove-black hat and leering grin

  would startle any soul.

  She wears a strip of garland

  that fits intent and season.

  Her mode and means are hidden,

  threatening sanity and reason

  The Christmas Witch of Cleghorn Canyon

  stalks throughout the night.

  Her stride is quick through shadows,

  hidden from mortal sight.

  She passes deer and cats and dogs,

  all bowing to the moon.

  She ignores their blood-warm bodies,
<
br />   flying her magic broom.

  When Jacket finished, they were both silent while Matt thought about this. He didn’t want to bother any kind of witch with his problems, much less a Christmas Witch—whatever that was. But if he gave up now, he’d never get his parents back together. He’d just have to be brave. That’s all there was to it.

  He took a deep breath then looked at Jacket squarely. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Jacket’s eyes widened and he pressed his lips together in exasperation. “‘Let’s go,’ he says like we’re going to get a cheeseburger. ‘Let’s go.’ Jeepers.”

  IX

  THE CHRISTMAS WITCH OF CLEGHORN CANYON

  Fortunately, Cleghorn Canyon was only a mile up the road. Once they entered the cool space between the hills, Jacket and Matt lost the traffic and Jacket breathed an audible sigh of relief. The canyon walls were steep, as though they were trying to leap to the sky. Here and there goats picked their way between the large quartz and granite boulders up on the hillside. An occasional home balanced on the lower slopes, above the safety of the canyon floor. A dirt road meandered between trees and thickets, disappearing and reappearing around the bends.

  Maples and oaks grew from the rocky pastures. Unlike the rest of the Black Hills, Cleghorn Canyon didn’t have ponderosa pine. It had an old-world feel, where fairy rings and toadstools seemed more commonplace. The road paralleled a small stream, and along the water’s edge tiny rainbows and glistening spiderwebs stood proof of the otherworldly magic.

  It wasn’t long before they neared their destination and Matt’s footsteps slowed as he realized that. “How do you know where she lives if you’ve never been here?” he asked.

  “Well,” Jacket said. “Do you remember that woman at the Buffalo Chip?”

  Matt thought of the tattooed old woman with the short white hair and small blue glasses who’d given him the strange warning. “Granny Annie?”

  Jacket nodded as he pushed his ghost bike along. “Yeah. She’s sort of like the witch. Granny Annie has her feet in both worlds. Me, I’m entirely in the other world.”