by Weston Ochse
“You’d better forget.” Somehow Jacket found a lopsided smile. “How am I gonna make it to heaven if I have to hang around you forever?”
Matt didn’t know how to answer, so he leaned forward and hugged Jacket once, careful not to press against the wound, but eager to show his love. He was still holding on when Jacket gave his last cough and was still.
Matt sobbed, then pulled himself backward and stood. He watched as Jacket’s body began to fade, until finally there was nothing left of him but his spirit. Even the blood on Matt’s hands and the War Shirt was gone.
“Wait a minute.” The sneer across Ali Baba’s mouth turned downward and into a scowl. “Where’d he go?”
Reggie’s eyes were wide as she stared at the spot where Jacket had disappeared. But she didn’t look as though she were afraid—instead, she seemed hopeful. “Raisin?” she asked tentatively. “Are you … there?”
“Right next to you, Reggie,” he replied. The RV was visible through his body. He was a mere wisp, almost completely gone. But even as Reggie had mouthed his name, the spirit began to solidify.
Reggie paused, then tilted her head and squinted. Finally a whisper escaped her lips. “Raisin!”
The spirit’s smile was wider than Matt had ever seen it. Happiness swept over the sadness created at losing his own guardian spirit as he watched Raisin and Reggie rekindle their memories and all the good things she’d nearly left behind forever.
But there was still Ali Baba to deal with, and the man was rebuilding his fury. “I don’t know what just happened, but it’s not going to stop me from getting what I came for.” He shoved Reggie out of the way and stepped toward Matt menacingly. “Where’s my dope?”
Matt pointed toward the pile of rocks about the same time he heard a familiar voice.
“Big men like you shouldn’t be picking on little fellas. Big men like you should be picking on big men like me.”
Ali Baba whirled. Buddha lumbered down the slope. Behind him strode Granny Annie. At the end of a leash in her hand was a straining Kubla Khan.
“Sorry we’re late.” Granny Annie smiled. “We had a ghost to bury and a dog to pick up. The Witch sends her regards.”
“Who are you?” demanded Ali Baba. “You just stay where you are!”
“Take it easy,” said Granny Annie. “Buddha and I are just here to watch.”
“But Annie,” whined the big man. “I wanna—”
“You know the plan. The boy can handle this by himself.” She nodded at Matt. “You’d best hurry. Twilight’s almost over.”
Ali Baba turned toward the kid and raised his voice so that his companions could hear his words. “Listen to me, thieves: if anyone moves, kill them!” His voice echoed through the canyon. Almost as one, the Forty Thieves pulled out handguns and brandished them, the metal catching the dying light of the day. Whoops of laughter broke out among them.
“There,” Ali Baba said with satisfaction. “That should do it. Now get out of my way.”
“No,” Matt said. He stood straight. He was tired of being afraid. He’d been afraid way too much lately. Like when his father said to step up to the plate and prepare to swing, he stood fearless in the face of Ali Baba.
“Are you crazy?” the biker demanded. “I already killed the other … whatever it was. I’m not afraid to kill you too.”
“I’m not afraid of you. I have a War Shirt,” Matt said in his best imitation of Jacket.
“Fine,” said Ali Baba. He raised the pistol and pointed in the middle of Matt’s forehead. As small as he was, Matt had to look up and into Ali Baba’s eyes. Matt didn’t even flinch as Ali Baba cocked the pistol. Suddenly a crow appeared, swooping and screaming. It came right at Ali Baba, who barely managed to duck as the black bird skimmed the top of his head.
“What the—”
But he had no time to recover. The last rays of the sun split the ridge and a single ray of pure light shot toward the pile of rocks. Caught face-first in the center of the light, Ali Baba yanked his arm up to cover his eyes. That was when Matt made his move. He rushed forward and pushed the taller man.
Ali Baba fell backward onto the pile of rocks. The first thing to hit the piles of stones was the back of his skull. As Ali Baba’s breath whooshed from his lungs, his gun fell off to the side.
Someone screamed from the rocks above. The sound lasted several seconds, partnered with the sound of a motorcycle out of control, only to be silenced by an immense crash.
The canyon was all shadow now. Soon it would be pitch black, with only the stars to provide light. As if realizing this, the Forty Thieves switched on their headlights, bathing the canyon and their leader in stark rays of man-made light.
Ali Baba staggered to his feet. He wobbled slightly, trying to get his balance on top of the rocks. “Enough of this,” he finally said as he glared at Matt.
Ali Baba didn’t see Touch-the-Clouds appear beside him. He didn’t even see the forty other warriors that appeared around the ridge of the canyon. Beside each of the forty thieves was a matching spirit warrior. Dressed in buckskins and feathers, each Indian sitting proudly atop his spirit horse.
Touch-the-Clouds raised a hand and the forty warriors maneuvered their horses so that each one occupied the same spot as a thief.
It only took a second or two for them to react. They began to shudder, then look frantically around themselves, as though each thief was sure someone was just behind him. Another second or two and a couple of the men shouted, then a few more began to scream outright. Finally they couldn’t take it any longer. Some turned and roared off into the night, while others scrambled off their bikes and ran. The rest fell to the ground and rolled into a fetal position. In no time, Ali Baba was alone.
“What’s going on?” Ali Baba shouted into the night. “Why are you running? Come back here!” His voice cracked as fear crept into it.
“What’s wrong?” Matt asked. “Don’t you like being alone?”
“You wear the War Shirt well,” said Touch-the-Clouds gravely. “Crazy Horse will be pleased.” Before Matt could say anything, the ghost was gone.
Instead of responding, Ali Baba scrambled in the darkness, trying to find his pistol. Matt turned, grabbed Reggie’s hand and ran toward the RV. By the time he reached the rear of the large vehicle, Ali Baba had found his gun.
“Come back here, kid!” he shouted into the night. “I’ll show you who’s afraid—I’ll show you who Ali Baba is, and what he can do!”
A ray of light sliced through the darkness and captured him as he stood atop the rock pile waving his pistol. Like a deer, he turned toward it and was caught.
“This is the Sheriff. Drop your weapon!” A commanding voice boomed from an unseen loudspeaker.
Matt could just make out the front of a Sheriff’s car on the crest of the road that led into the canyon. An officer worked a searchlight. Another aimed a shotgun toward Ali Baba.
“I said drop your weapon. Drop your weapon or we’ll fire!”
Ali Baba froze, like he was unable to decide. Finally, he placed both his hands on the back of his head. He let the gun fall to the canyon floor.
“Come on, kids. It’s safe now,” called the other Sheriff.
Matt grasped Reggie’s hand and they both ran up the slope. The officer grabbed them and pushed them toward the safer area at the back of his vehicle.
There were half-a-dozen police cars. Quite a few of the forty thieves had already been rounded up and were kneeling in a group. A deputy was going down the line, reading them their rights. A gaping hole showed in the billboard. Beneath it, a figure rolled on the ground, moaning in pain.
“One moment he was riding a motorcycle, the next he was flying through the air,” Matt heard one deputy say to another. “He must have been going fifty when he hit the wood.”
Lying off to the side he saw a helmet with two broken horns, and Matt realized that the figure on the ground was the one and only Bovine Mack. Then he remembered the words of Granny Annie:
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“Baseball Dreams, Blackbird Screams, Sunshine Beams, The Bull Charges Through.”
The bull had charged through, all right. When twilight had come and Jacket’s stolen motorcycle had disappeared, Bovine Mack the thief had been given no other choice but to charge through.
Then Matt’s father’s voice rose above the other noise. “There you are! Matt!”
Matt turned and saw his parents racing toward him, arms open, grinning with relief. He met them halfway, laughing and crying at the same time.
“Honey, are you all right?” his mother asked anxiously. She pulled him into a familiar, safe hug.
He’d come full circle. The difference was that now he wasn’t afraid.
XXV
AND THE WIND MOVES ON
The wind still surged across the Great Plains, each gust creating a golden ripple in the vast ocean of wheat. Up and over rounded hills, down and through cool valleys, the wind sought the hidden places where the people of history whispered of things forgotten. In the nether reaches of the Badlands, however, the wind paused. Even its seemingly unstoppable force was unwilling to disturb the creatures that haunted this forbidding, ancient place. More a tremendous grave than a valley, the pale rock formations remained silent and ominous as their own shadows moved around them.
Free once more of the barren darkness, the wind sprinted up the rising ground as plain gave way to mountain. Pulsating updrafts in the tall, dark branches of the ponderosa pines sent needles to flight. Gusts swirled across the quartz-covered ground, fabricating eddies of winking mica in the crisp, morning air. Through ghost towns of Wild West memories, past tourists with Wild West dreams, over the great monuments of Mount Rushmore with its presidential faces, and past Crazy Horse, the mountain-sized statue of a Sioux Warrior, the wind blew.
At the base of these Black Hills, at that space where the Great Plains ceased to be on the poorer side of Rapid City, a boy ran, waving a shiny forty-five caliber plastic cap gun at his dog Kubla.
“Come back here, varmint!” Matt shouted.
The dog looked back and slowed, laughter seemingly on his thin, canine lips and delight in his eyes, then took off at a dead run. He rounded the corner of the trailer, then tried to stop, front and back legs windmilling as he yelped and crashed side-long into the chain link fence.
Matt skidded to a stop. He blinked twice as two figures materialized in front of him. “Raisin! Jacket!” Matt bellowed. Matt made to throw his arms around the pair, but realized the impossibility of it. Instead he danced from one foot to the other excitedly. “Where have you been?”
“Here and there.” Jacket beamed.
“What’ve you been doing?”
“Keeping out of trouble, we hope,” Raisin added.
Matt grinned. “Ah, I’m okay.”
“What about your mom and dad?” Jacket asked, his expression turning serious.
Matt’s smile fell. “They got divorced,” he said, staring at the ground. “My dad’s living in Sturgis now. I get to see him every weekend.”
“How do you feel about that? You still scared?”
Matt seemed to consider the question for a moment, then shook his head. “Naw. What’s to be scared about?” Matt grinned sideways. “I got a mom and a dad. I get two birthdays now and I’m guessing two Christmases. At least I hope there’s going to be two Christmases.” He looked at Jacket. “Did you know it was going to turn out like this, Jacket?”
“I hoped it would, but I was never sure.”
“So all that stuff we did, it was real?”
“Of course it was real,” Jacket said, kneeling in front of his ward. “Why do you even doubt it?”
“Because you never hear of this stuff happening outside of stories and television. Sometimes I wonder if I made the whole thing up. Sometimes it feels like a dream.” Matt shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Some things are meant to be a secret, Matt. People like Grannie Annie and Buddha and the Cleghorn Witch wouldn’t exist for very long if everyone knew what they were.” Jacket reached out, and as he did so, his hand solidified. He touched Matt’s shoulder.
Matt jerked back for a second, then fell into Jacket’s arms.
“Oh, Jacket,” Matt stammered. “I missed you so much!”
“I missed you too, boy.” The old biker’s voice caught with emotion. “But I have to go now. We just stopped back to say goodbye.”
“No! You can’t go! You can’t leave me, Jacket!” Matt sobbed and tried frantically to hold onto Jacket as the biker stood. “I need you!”
Jacket held Matt at arm’s length. “You don’t need me. You’ve already proven your courage. You’ve already shown how tough you are.”
“You’re a voodoo child,” Raisin whispered, looking on with a wan smile.
“But I do need you,” Matt cried plaintively.
“There’s a huge difference between needing something and wanting something.”
“But I—”
Jacket placed a hand on Matt’s head. “I need you to do me a favor. I need you to forget me. They tell me I can finally move on, but you have to forget me first.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “But I’ll never forget you, Jacket. I love you.”
“I know. I know. And I love you. But you need to forget me. You have a whole life to live and you don’t need some old ghost lying around holding you back.”
Matt gulped. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t forget.”
“Sure you can,” Jacket stole a look at Raisin, who nodded in return. “All you have to do is close your eyes and count to eight, Matt Cady. Close your eyes and count to eight.”
“Count to eight for the pearly gates,” murmured Raisin.
“But I-—”
“Are you willing to try, Matt?” Jacket asked. “Will you do this for me?”
Matt stared at Jacket for a long moment before he nodded. “Yeah, I can do that for you.”
Jacket reached down and gave the boy a furious hug, then stood back and released him.
Matt closed his eyes and began to count, each number perfectly spoken. When he reached eight, he snapped open his eyes. He looked around first to the front of the trailer, then along its side. He was still looking when his mother came to the door.
“Your Dad’s on the phone.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there,” Matt said. Matt watched the wind surge across the tops of the grass, bending the stalks as it swept past. What had he been doing? Matt spied Kubla lying on his back and staring at him. Matt looked down at the play pistol still in his hand and back at his dog.
“Matt, are you coming?” his mom hollered.
“Sure, Mom.” Matt shoved the pistol into his holster and strode into the house. As the door shut behind him, he picked up the phone. “Hey Dad, what’s up?”
And the wind moved on.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Weston Ochse visited the Black Hills every year when he was a kid. He’s been to all the places and seen all the things in this tale. He’s even some of the ghosts. His mother is really the Witch of Cleghorn Canyon. His adult novels include Blood Ocean, the zombie novel Empire of Salt, the coming-of-age Bram Stoker-winning novel Scarecrow Gods, and SEAL Team 666. Visit him online at www.westonochse.com
Yvonne Navarro sees ghosts every day of her life. She married Weston in the Mount Moriah Cemetery in the city of Deadwood. The ceremony took place beside the graves of Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane. Her adult novels include Highborn, Concrete Savior and AfterAge. She’s also written novelizations for the movies Elektra, Hellboy, Species I & II, and Ultraviolet. She also wrote Buffy the Vampire Slayer tie-ins and won the Bram Stoker Award for The Willow Files Volume 2. Visit her online at www.yconnenavarro.com
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