Ghost Rider

by Bonnie Bryant

  Lisa drew her horse to a halt to look, just look. Around her, her friends did the same, for they’d all seen him at the same moment.

  The stallion rose then, rearing regally on his hind legs. His forelegs pawed eagerly at the vast expanse of sky in front of him. A breeze lifted his mane, brushing it back. The sight took Lisa’s breath away.

  The horse landed back on all fours. Without hesitation he turned around and disappeared down the other side of the hill.

  “You’ve just got to have him,” Stevie said.

  Kate nodded, unable to speak.

  CHOCOLATE HAD PICKED up a stone in her shoe on the way back from Christine’s. Lisa had to get it out, or the horse’s hoof would be tender and painful by morning. Stevie, Carole, and Kate hurried to help Phyllis serve dinner while Lisa worked at Chocolate’s hoof with the pick.

  She’d removed plenty of stones and usually thought of it as a sort of a challenge. As long as her horse wasn’t upset, Lisa was willing to work away at it. Chocolate seemed to understand completely that Lisa was doing this for her benefit. She didn’t even flinch while Lisa tried to dig under the stone.

  “Need help?”

  Lisa looked up to find John standing there.

  “No, I think I can do it,” she said. “It’s just that this stone is lodged in there something awful. It’s Chocolate who may need help.”

  John stood by the mare’s head and began patting her. She seemed to welcome the assurance.

  “There’s a sharp point on the stone, and it’s stuck in a ridge or something in the shoe. The only good news here is that the part that’s pushing on Chocolate’s foot is round and smooth. All I need to do then is to”—she gritted her teeth, grunted, shifted the angle of the pick, and worried it back around the stone—“get this thing just so that”—she had it; she eased the handle of the pick until she felt the resistance of the stone, then with a swift and smooth motion she flexed the tool—“the stone will”—it popped out—“pop out,” she said proudly.

  “Nice work,” John said.

  Lisa lowered Chocolate’s foot and patted the mare affectionately. Chocolate regarded her and then blinked. Lisa was pretty sure that was as close as she was going to get to a thank-you from Chocolate. “You’re welcome,” she told the horse. Then she unhooked the lead rope from Chocolate’s halter and slapped her flank gently, telling the mare it was time to run free—until tomorrow. Chocolate obeyed willingly.

  Lisa turned to John, then, though she didn’t really know what to say to him. This boy had a way of turning up when she least expected him.

  “You did a good job with the crepe paper this afternoon,” she said. That sounded pretty lame to her, but it was the best she could come up with right then.

  “Yeah, and you did a wonderful job holding the ladder,” he returned. She shrugged and blushed. It was clear that John wasn’t the kind of boy who would let her get away with being lame. She wished she hadn’t made the remark about the crepe paper, but it was too late to take it back, and John was on to something else.

  “I want to show you something,” he said. “Come with me.”

  Before she could say anything, he took her hand and led her into the barn. Lisa wasn’t used to having a boy hold her hand. It gave her a nice chill and made her knees feel a little funny—a little off balance. John did seem to have a way of making her feel off balance no matter what he did.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Remember the mare?”

  “Of course.”

  “The vet was wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “About how long it would be until she foaled.” John drew to a stop at the box stall where he had been sitting with the edgy mare just a little less than twenty-four hours earlier. The stall was still occupied, but now there was more than just a mare. There was a mare and a foal.

  “Oh, when was it born?” she asked breathlessly.

  “This afternoon. Isn’t she a cute filly?”

  Lisa nodded. The filly seemed to know that they were talking about her. She looked curiously at Lisa, her bright eyes taking in everything. Then she flicked her skinny little gray tail and turned all her attention to her mother. It was, after all, supper time.

  “She’s adorable!” Lisa said. “Thanks for showing her to me.”

  “I knew you’d love her.”

  Lisa crossed her forearms on the top of the door to the stall and put her chin on her wrist so she could watch the filly and the mare.

  “You know, a newborn horse is an amazing creature,” she observed. “They usually stand up within a few minutes of being born and walk almost immediately. When I compare that to how long it takes the average human to do those things, it’s not hard to understand why horses are so much more fun to ride.”

  John laughed. “I never thought of it that way, but you’re probably right.”

  “Were you here when she was born?” Lisa asked.

  “I was,” he said. “I’m glad I was, too. The mare didn’t turn out to need any help, but I wanted to be here in case she did. The vet said she had more than a week to go, but I didn’t think he was right.”

  “How did you learn so much about horses and foaling?” Lisa asked.

  John seemed to hesitate, but he answered. “My mother was a horse breeder,” he told her. “She taught me everything I know. It’s part of the legacy she left me.”

  “Left you?” Lisa asked.

  “She’s dead,” he said. And the way he said it warned Lisa she shouldn’t ask any more. His tone of voice was like a door slamming in her face. This was the mystery, she recalled. It had something to do with John’s mother. There probably was an answer, but Lisa wasn’t going to get it from John. She was slightly annoyed that he trusted her so little. She wanted to change the subject, and she wanted to take the upper hand.

  “We saw the stallion again tonight. Twice in fact.”

  “Still running free?”

  “As you very well know,” she said.

  “Why should I know?” he asked. “I don’t know when they round up the horses for the adoption.”

  “Very good,” Lisa said. “Nice try. But we saw you. You were there when the coyotes were calling.”

  John looked puzzled. “When was that?” he asked.

  “About four-thirty,” Lisa said. “Just about exactly the same time you climbed on the stallion’s back and rode him.”

  “Somebody was riding him?”

  “Yes, John. We saw somebody—or something—mounted on the stallion.”

  John was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. “I’ve heard talk of incidents like that,” he said.

  “Come on, John,” Lisa said. She was getting a little tired of his mysterious tale and wished he would just loosen up and tell her the truth. “We saw you.”

  “You saw somebody,” he said. “I believe you. But you didn’t see me. I was here. I came home on the school bus, and I never left the mare’s side. The filly was born at five o’clock this afternoon.”

  Lisa looked at the filly, and she knew that John would never have abandoned that mare in the middle of foaling just to play a trick on some girls. No way.

  EVEN LATER, AFTER it was all over, Stevie and her friends couldn’t believe how much work they got done by the time the fair opened. It seemed like a mad rush to finish everything, and Stevie wondered if they’d ever manage to get their own costumes on, but somehow they did it. At exactly eighteen seconds before noon on Saturday, they were ready. They were still breathless from the dash, but three blind mice and the farmer’s wife all stood in line waiting for the first guests to arrive at the high school basement.

  “Where’s Christine?” Lisa asked.

  “She’s still getting dressed,” Kate said. “She was very mysterious about her costume. All I know is that her mother seemed pleased with all the work she’d done.”

  “Greetings, girls.” It was a boy’s voice, but it was a man’s costume. Stevie looked, gasped, and giggled. It had to be John,
but there was no true way to recognize him. He was dressed as the headless horseman! He was wearing black jeans, black boots, and a very large black turtleneck that rose up over his head. Stevie suspected he was using one or two sets of football shoulder pads to hold it up, and the effect was really good. He’d also managed to find a black cloak with a bright red lining, which helped mask the slight oddity of his big, high shoulders and his relatively small, short arms.

  “Has anybody seen my friend Ichabod?” he asked.

  Lisa laughed. “I think he’ll be here in a few minutes. Why don’t you join us on the receiving line and scare the daylights out of all the kids who are about to arrive.”

  “Gladly,” he said, standing next to her.

  “You all have done a wonderful job,” Phyllis Devine said in the moment of quiet before the storm when the doors would open. “I think we’ll have a great financial success, but I know that, no matter what, we’re going to be running a party here this afternoon that no child is going to forget. It wouldn’t be the same without all the help you have given. So I want to thank you all—say, where’s Christine?”

  “I’m right here,” she said, entering the room from behind them. When the girls turned to look, they were stunned. Christine Lonetree was dressed as the young Indian boy from the story that John had told. She was wearing a completely white outfit that was topped by a white cape. On the back of the cape Mrs. Lonetree had painted a flying eagle.

  Lisa’s eyes flitted to John, still standing next to her. She wondered what he thought. She couldn’t see his face behind the long neck of his “headless” top, but she could hear his low whistle of admiration.

  Before anybody could say anything, the doors flew open and young children filled the room. The rush was on!

  CAROLE LOVED BEING in charge of pony rides. She was always happiest around any kind of a horse, but now it was even truer because the kids were having such fun. Most of these children were familiar with horses, so that made the job a lot easier. Even better, though, was the fact that they were all in costume and were having their pictures taken by Frank Devine. The pony was sporting a witch’s pointed hat, and it seemed to go perfectly with the costume that each child wore—everything from the Incredible Hulk to Sleeping Beauty (snoring loudly). Carole saw to it that each child had a fun ride, got a good picture, and learned a new fact about horses.

  “You tell their age by how their teeth have worn,” she said to one rider.

  “There’s no such thing as a white horse, just gray, no matter how white the horse looks,” another learned.

  “English riders have their stirrups shorter than Western,” one child heard.

  “Horses don’t have any nerves in their manes, so you can hold it for balance if you need to, and it won’t hurt the horse. Of course, that’s not good riding style, but it may be excellent safety sometime!”

  All of the kids seemed to like what they were learning as well as what they were doing. Although Carole knew she wanted to work with horses for the rest of her life, she’d always thought her choices were among owner, breeder, trainer, and vet. Today she was having so much fun teaching, she was beginning to think she ought to add instructor to the list.

  “Smile now,” she told the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle in the saddle. Somewhere under the costume she was sure the child was smiling a lot.

  “WHAT HAPPENED TO you?” Kate asked Christine.

  “I think I just got trampled by two sugarplum fairies and a robot,” Christine explained, rubbing her shoulder, which had gotten slightly bruised. “Those fairies were determined to get to the costume parade!”

  Kate giggled.

  When Christine’s shoulder stopped throbbing, she laughed, too. “It means they’re having a good time, and that’s what this is about,” she said philosophically. “At least I think that’s what that means.” She rubbed her shoulder again.

  “What those two fairies don’t know, however, is that you’re one of the judges of the costume parade!”

  “I am?”

  “You are now,” Kate said, tugging at Christine’s cape. “And there’s work to be done.”

  “OF COURSE IT’S your pumpkin, and you can do whatever you want,” Phyllis Devine said to a teary-eyed ghost. “It doesn’t matter what that vampire next to you says. If you want a happy pumpkin, you get a happy pumpkin.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  The ghost turned to the vampire and stuck her tongue out at him.

  “JUST GUESS,” STEVIE said. “You really can’t possibly count all the candy corns just by looking at the jar. You’re supposed to guess.”

  “Is it more than two thousand?” the panda in front of her asked.

  “Guess,” Stevie repeated. “Actually, you can guess as many times as you want. It only costs you a quarter for each guess, and the more guesses you make, the better chance you have of winning the dollhouse.”

  Once again Stevie pointed to the photograph of the adobe dollhouse that had been getting so much attention. The panda reached into her pocket and pulled out six tickets worth twenty-five cents each. Then she took six slips of paper, carefully wrote her name on the top of each, and wrote 2,000; 2,001; 2,002; 2,003; 2,004; and 2,005.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s more than two thousand,” she told Stevie earnestly as she tucked her entry forms into the cigar box.

  “I hope you win,” Stevie said. She meant it, too.

  MRS. LONETREE HANDED a clean paintbrush to Superman.

  “You can paint whatever you’d like on our mural, but a lot of the children have chosen to paint themselves, in their costumes. I think a nice place for Superman would be—”

  “Right here,” he said, pointing to the top of the mural. “I can fly, you know.”

  “I know,” said Mrs. Lonetree. “Let me get you a chair to stand on so you can put yourself in just the right place!” She did that. She also brought him the red, blue, and yellow paints so he’d make himself the right colors. The mural, a piece of brown wrapping paper that was eight feet tall and twenty-five feet long, was taped to one very long wall of the basement. Anybody who wanted to was invited to come and paint anything they wanted on it. It was another one of Stevie’s bright ideas, and it was working beautifully. The youngest kids weren’t very good at drawing ghosts and goblins, but to most viewers’ eyes, the scribbles of color were just as pretty as the neat ballerina next to them.

  “Can I have some orange?” Superman asked.

  “Sure,” Mrs. Lonetree said. “What’s going to be orange?”

  “Oh, it’s the sun that Superman is melting in order to be able to fry some bad guys who are trying to steal all the television sets in Metropolis so nobody can watch cartoons.…”

  He was interrupted by a little girl. “Hey! Don’t get your old sun all over my balloon that’s supposed to be taking Dorothy back to Kansas!”

  Superman promised to be careful.

  Mrs. Lonetree smiled. This mural will be very special, she thought to herself as she went to fetch the orange paint.

  * * *

  AAAAAAAARRRHHHHHH!

  It was a bloodcurdling scream—just exactly the kind everybody wanted to hear coming out of the horror house. It was immediately followed by joyful giggles.

  “Don’t do that again!” one child chided.

  “What? I didn’t do anything!”

  “You didn’t?”

  That was the sort of conversation Lisa had been hearing ever since she’d taken her position behind the black curtain in the horror house. Her job was to reach out and tickle kids from behind after they’d passed her. They somehow always thought it had been done by whomever they were with.

  “No,” the companion said.

  “You did too!”

  Then she’d scoot up a bit, reach out, and tickle the other person.

  “What was that?”

  “It wasn’t me!”

  That was when Lisa would scream. It was more fun than she could remember having for a l
ong time, and the best part of it was that the kids loved it, too. Usually by that time they’d figured out that they weren’t alone, and they’d start laughing. Some of them could hardly walk because they were laughing so hard. Their enjoyment was a real tribute to Stevie. If Lisa had ever doubted it, she knew for sure now the truth of the notion that Stevie was a genius. Nobody else could have possibly come up with such a wonderfully scary and funny horror house as this. And that was before the kids even got to the part where the vacuum cleaners blew out at them, or where they landed on Styrofoam peanuts.

  “Now follow me this way,” came a familiar voice. It was John. He had volunteered to be a guide in the horror house. Each pair of children going through the house had a guide just to be sure they didn’t get lost or too scared. Also, it was a way to guarantee that they wouldn’t counterattack!

  Lisa reached out at just the right minute and tickled one child. Then, as the argument got going between the visitors, she tickled the other. Pretty soon they were both laughing. The headless horseman seemed to turn in her direction, and if she hadn’t been sure that she could not have possibly seen it, she would have sworn that the headless horseman had winked at her.

  Once again she was struck by what an interesting mix of characteristics John Brightstar was. He had seemed so serious and distant last night, and now he was acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She was so intrigued by her observations that she almost forgot to tickle a leprechaun.

  * * *

  IT FILLED STEVIE’S heart with joy to look at the overstuffed cigar box of entries for the Kount the Kandy Korn Kontest. Mrs. Lonetree’s dollhouse had brought every single child to the table. Several of the children had spent as long looking at the photograph as they had looking at the jar. Stevie particularly recalled two girls who had invented an imaginary family and had begun playing with them in the dollhouse just as they stood at the table. Whoever won it was going to be the happiest child in Two Mile Creek. Now all Stevie had to do was be sure that everybody who wanted to enter the contest had a chance and then figure out who had won.