Haunting Blue

by R. J. Sullivan

  That night, I curled up on Mom’s leather chair in the darkened living room, the single spotlight lamp behind my shoulder illuminating the stack of papers on the coffee table before me. Mom had crashed early—a little after eight—to be fresh for her weekend trip.

  Outside, the wind howled—rattling the windows and shaking the blinds with unusual ferocity. I unfolded the handout, trying to read the first article regarding the legend of Gunther Stalt. I’d barely glanced at the material since the first day of school.

  This afternoon, Chip had tried to assure me that the test would probably not focus on Gunther all that much. After all, Gunther remained the homegrown legend, discussed over and over, year after year. An easy “A” for the rest of the class.

  The first blurry photocopied article, dated July 15th, 1979, offered an overview of the November 10th incident of the previous year, encapsulating the events of the daring daylight robbery at Perionne National Bank. Since the money was never recovered, it remains the only unsolved bank robbery in the town’s 130 year history. Remembering that Hap had said something to the same effect, I ran a highlighter across this sentence and turned the page.

  The next article showed a copy of the front page of the Perionne Gazette the day after the actual robbery. The headline read “Two Dead in Daring Bank Heist.”

  I read the story, trying to absorb the facts. All in all, the crime was pretty cut and dry. They botched it. Crimley calling out Gunther’s name, for instance, struck me as tragic and comical at the same time. How did Gunther manage to disappear without a trace?

  I turned the page and found myself staring at an article dated a week later, providing a bullet-point overview of the robbery and its after-effects, while reminding the community about a theoretical getaway driver.

  So the questions remained: Had Gunther died? Where had the stolen money disappeared to? Did Gunther manage to get past the roadblocks and take it across state lines, or was the money still somewhere in town?

  I rubbed my eyes, checking over my outline, certain I’d snagged all the facts regarding the legend.

  I sighed, turning the handout pages to Section Two. These articles involved the various—and numerous—sightings of the “ghost of Gunther Stalt.” I held between my fingers a stack of thirty pages. No longer fit for the front page, the Gazette buried these bits of gossip on the middle or back pages. Based on Hap’s assessment of the ghost sightings, I treated the stories the same way.

  Since the robbery, witnesses claimed to see an apparition with a hook for a hand in various cornfields and alleyways around the town—often witnesses of questionable sobriety or mental capacity. I stared again at the Gothic sketch of a wraith-like comic-book ghost reaching off the page.

  I flipped to the next article—a three-part series of interviews with Gunther’s mother, in which she admitted to hearing her son’s voice from the Netherworld. He apparently whispered in his mother’s ear, telling the deep, dark secrets of Perionne society. Strange and bizarre stuff, the reporter assured us, much of it unsubstantiated gossip that could not be printed in the article.

  The accompanying photograph of Gunther’s mother, with her familiar features, made my head spin. I stared at the image of Sylvia Stalt, already ancient back in 1985. Her listed address, even at the time? Right fucking next door, thank you very much.

  The door rattled from a sudden gust of wind, making me jump and emit a squeaky gasp. Good going, tough girl. I walked through the darkness to shut the blinds and block out the moonlight.

  Through the slits, I could see the empty rocking chair on the porch next door, swaying back and forth. I shut the blinds on the eerie scene, trying to shake off a chill that wouldn’t leave me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I spent the rest of the week anticipating my date with Chip. I surprised myself at how much I was looking forward to it. As I slogged through my classes, Friday evening lingered on my mind. I counted the hours ’til I could put the schoolwork away and spend quality time with my buddy outside of a school setting. Even the backdrop of a broken-down amusement park beat the hell out of the cafeteria.

  Friday finally blew in on a not-too-bitter early October breeze, carrying a billow of dark clouds that overcast the sun. I’d wrapped my leather jacket over a bundle of clothes, stashed them in my locker, and, after school, changed in the restroom.

  The jacket fit snugly across my chest and cropped across my rib cage. I wore a tie-dye T-shirt that extended a bit further down than the jacket. A rim of skin showed around my waist, revealing the top of my hip-hugging blue jeans. The high-heeled black stripper boots and a pair of cheap sunglasses, hiked up over my forehead, and my super-spiked blue hair completed the scandalous image.

  I sauntered down the hallway, where Chip waited for me, his back against a row of battered lockers. He straightened when he saw me, and I couldn’t help but enjoy his bug-eyed gawk.

  Chip took my hand, and we gabbed about nothing-much while we hoofed it to the park. Once there, Chip sprang the eight bucks for a pair of enter-all passes—little bracelets of plastic clipped around our wrists.

  I held out my wrist and grinned at the shocked expression of the woman in the ticket booth. I guess she didn’t appreciate the latest in skanky ’ho fashion.

  Chip and I strolled along the main paved walkway. The groups and couples shuffling back and forth gave us a wide berth. Chip pretended he didn’t see the stares and gawks, and I ignored them. In my peripheral vision, I spied Clinty and a couple of his gang draped over a park bench like damp laundry. As we walked past, they turned to glare at us.

  I couldn’t help it—feeling their eyes upon me, I strutted, putting an extra swing to my hips. I recognized several of the gawking faces—boys I’d seen in the halls or doing chores in the yard.

  The walkway appeared to loop in a gradual curve, circling the park. Chip leaned close. “What first?”

  I’d already spotted five variations of the “spin-and-barf.” We hadn’t eaten yet, but I wasn’t ready to shake up my intestines. Spotlights brightened the roller coaster framework. Craning my neck to take in the coaster—immodestly called the Whirlwind—I could only see a portion of the first drop, which rose high above us. The train reached the top of the hill, and we could hear the sudden acceleration of the wooden cart. The click-clack of the rails increased, and the car dropped over the abyss. Loud, distant screams echoed with the plunge.

  I dipped my head toward the Whirlwind. “Oh, come on, Chip. I’m a big coaster fan. I hit King’s Island and Holiday World at least twice a year. This is bound to be a disappointment.”

  The walkway forked toward the coaster line. Chip shrugged. “I’ve ridden those coasters, too, and I actually prefer the Whirlwind. It’s older and in disrepair, which actually gives it an advantage in offering thrills.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Popcorn, ice cream, and a threat to life and limb. What more can a girl ask for? Oh, wait. I guess I shouldn’t ask until I get the popcorn and ice cream.” I grinned. His fingers tightened on mine. A flush ran up my body, and I felt oddly like Prom Girl Barbie™ on her date with Quarterback Ken. Strange.

  We reached the back of the line, and a few hostile faces turned toward us. No comments, but some of the twenty-something guys leered openly, and I saw someone’s girlfriend elbow her companion for gazing too long. I untangled Chip’s fingers from mine, and slipped my hand around his upper arm, gripping affectionately.

  Up ahead, I recognized the friendly face and dumpy profile of Phil, Chip’s D&D friend. Phil held hands with a petite redhead I didn’t recognize. They leaned against the metal bar partition in the long line for the first car. Phil waved at us from across the line, and I waved back. The redhead, taken aback, gave Phil a perplexed look. He whispered a few words to her, and then she smiled at me. The cars loaded up, and we eased forward.

  We shuffled our way around the partition and caught up with Phil and his date.

  “Hiya, Fi-Fi!” Phil reached out and gripped my arm. “I want you to m
eet Mary Rowan. Mary, this is Fi-Fi Shaefer, the new girl I told you about the other day.”

  “Ah...” Mary glanced around. I tried to ignore the turning faces, the watching eyes, the barely heard whispers all around us. Mary waved in my direction, and I waved back. Her bright red hair and pretty face worked to her advantage. She carried her stocky, compact body with exactly that sort of small-town demeanor that screamed “loving and loyal, serious relationships only.”

  I tried not to instantly hate her. To her credit, when she spoke in her hard Indiana drawl, her voice sounded genuine and unchallenging. “Hi...Fi-Fi. Yer every bit as flamboyant as I’ve heard, and Phil told me ’bout your run-in with Clinty.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  Mary hurried on. “I’m real sorry about that. Must not ’a given a good impression of our town.” She spoke with a sincerity that made me blush.

  “I don’t hold the town responsible for the actions of one bully.”

  We stood in an awkward silence, which she eventually broke. “Perionne ain’t so bad. We just take a while getting used to some types.”

  I nodded.

  “I won’t jump to conclusions if you won’t.” Though I remembered all-too-well the attitude I wore the first day of school. Not whether there’d be trouble, but rather who would it come from, and how soon.

  Rather than jumping at my challenge, Mary continued in her apologetic tone. “We’re not exactly throwing Clinty a ticker-tape parade. In fact, that fight earned you a little fan club.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to argue, partly because she was Phil’s friend, and I liked Phil. “Forget it.”

  Phil interrupted, clearly anxious to change the subject. “So, has Chip taken you on ‘The Pirates of Perionne’ boat ride yet?” I saw a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

  “Ah—no, why?”

  “We’re doing that next,” Chip said. I could feel his entire body bristle through my hand on his forearm.

  Phil chuckled and moved closer to me. “Be careful with him on that. It’s like his personal obsession. In an unhealthy kind of way. I don’t even think he realizes the ride’s just an excuse to make out.”

  I smirked. “Oh, well. Maybe I can enlighten him.”

  Chip pulled me forward, away from the couple. “Come on, Blue. The line’s moving.”

  Playing up the moment, Phil cupped his hands to his mouth, calling out. “He’s weird. He thinks that pirate ride is the greatest thing ever created. Check out his notebook. Sketches, notes, diagrams. Weird, I tell you! I mean, I thought Wolverine was a pretty good movie, but...okay, maybe that makes me weird.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Maybe?”

  Phil grinned. “This is a whole other level.”

  “Phil…” I teased, “I’m told it’s one of the best rides of its kind.”

  “Blue!” Chip sounded betrayed.

  On a roll, I barely noticed. “The mannequin effects are truly outstanding.”

  Phil laughed. “Did you believe him?”

  I shrugged. “I just figured it was a pickup line.”

  Chip hunched his shoulders. “It wasn’t!”

  I turned to look at him. “Relax, dear. It’s okay that it was a pickup line.”

  Phil made a twirling motion with his index finger pointed to his head. “He even tried to hack the blueprints. Threw a hissy when we found the blueprints were pre-internet.”

  Mary’s quiet voice interrupted us. “That’s enough.”

  I tugged at Chip’s arm, pulling him against me and speaking with a seductive purr. “Golly, Mister Farren. Is the ride as good as all that? I’m always up to trying a new, good ride! Meow!”

  Mary called. “Phil, the line’s moving.”

  Chip waved at the departing couple. “Sorry to see you go.”

  I wiggled my fingers at Phil and Mary. They pushed forward with the crowd, and we walked the opposite direction.

  I strolled after Chip, who stomped ahead, pulling away from me.

  I caught up to him and grabbed his hand. “So, Chip. How come I keep hearing your name associated with the word ‘hacker’?”

  “Oh, lay off already!” He yanked his hand away. The bitter undertone in his comment took me out of teasing mode.

  “Hey, come on. We were only kidding.” The way he’d withdrawn from me stung—more than I’d expected.

  “He was being an asshole, and you were egging him on.” Chip said.

  I stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop. I couldn’t believe the pout hanging on his face. “We were kidding. Come on, will you lighten up? You’re supposed to be silly.”

  Just when I thought I’d be stuck with a sullen date, Chip’s mood changed, like he flipped an internal switch. He reached out and put his hand over mine. “You’re right, Blue. Let’s forget about it.”

  Satisfied that my irresistible charm had won him over, I practically skipped alongside him while we closed the gap in the line.

  He grinned in my direction. “Did you see the folks watching you talk with Mary Rowan? If that keeps up, you’ll be getting invitations to the sleepovers in no time.”

  “Now who’s teasing?”

  We entered the gate for the second car, and I saw the loading and unloading process for the first time. I found something oddly disturbing about the cars.

  “Where are the bars? I only see a leather strap.”

  “Bars?” Chip’s eyes squinted.

  I watched while the couple in front of us pulled the single belt across their laps and clamped the end into a metal hook attached to the side of the car. “Oh, you mean the restraint? This coaster doesn’t have one. The safety commissioner was supposed to oversee the installation of modern harnesses three years ago.”

  “And?”

  “Perionne hasn’t had a safety commissioner in office for five years.”

  “You’re not serious!” Nothing in his tone suggested amusement. I turned toward him in indignation. “I’m going to go sliding all over that seat. There’s room for three of me in there.”

  “That’s because you have no butt to speak of.” His inflection never changed, but I could see a twinkle of humor in his eyes.

  I swatted his arm, but without anger. “That’s for peeking. Is that any way to talk to a lady?”

  Chip chose to ignore that opening. “Relax, Blue. I’m here to protect you.”

  “Yeah? So why am I not filled with confidence?”

  The train pulled forward. I could see the couple, still laughing, their faces flushed, struggling to remove themselves from the car.

  I tried to be a good sport, but in spite of myself, I cringed when the coaster pulled forward, and I saw the wide seat I had to step into. Chip, not exactly a bulky guy, dropped down into the rickety wood car and slid across the ripped, red upholstery seat.

  Biting the bullet, I dropped down next to him. His arm slipped across the back of my shoulders. Our clones could have fit on either side of us, and the four of us would have been quite comfortable.

  Chip reached over with the leather strap, pulling it across our laps and tucking the eye over the metal hook attached to the train just outside the seating compartment, then gave the belt a hard, meaningful tug.

  “Oh. Oh, hell, no!” I tugged at the strap, examining the slack…the gaping slack…across my lap. “Chip, I’m serious. This won’t hold me.”

  “Blue, relax. After all, you’ve ridden the big coasters at King’s Island and Holiday World. This is bound to be a disappointment.”

  “Oh, you! Fine, I promise I’ll never use your words against you again. Let’s just—”

  The car jerked forward, and I fell back. A gust of wind flew into my face, and the rest of my complaint vanished down the back of my throat as the coaster chugged away into the darkness.

  The car shook when the train tipped up the incline, and I dropped back against the seat, my feet flailing in open space, just out of reach of the floor. I heard more preliminary screaming and the monotonous click-clack as the coaster starte
d the ascent.

  I had no leverage.

  Sheer terror jolted through me.

  My left hand gripped for dear life against the side of the car. The other hand found a wad of Chip’s shirt. “Shit!”

  I turned to see a wide grin on Chip’s face.

  “You’re enjoying this, you pig!” I grinned back, elated and terrified all at once.

  Chip squeezed my shoulder, and I could feel his legs press toward the floorboards. “Hold on.” He kicked down and secured his feet. I pulled against him to wiggle firmly into the seat just as the car’s click-clack slowed—indicating the coaster had reached the top of the hill and righted momentarily. I pressed my legs against the interior. The rest of my body braced for the inevitable plummet.

  I caught an aerial view of the town, splayed out across the distant horizon—a tiny spot of suburbia dotted along a stretch of highway and farmland. Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed the sight.

  The bottom dropped out beneath me, and wind whipped into a vortex across my face.

  I heard a whisper blow over the air.

  Bluuuue...

  Icy terror caught in my throat. My breath seized up.

  The train dropped into a violent descent.

  Fierce velocity pressed against me. Click-clack sped into a deafening clatter.

  The strap dug into my abdomen, burning. Flutter winds darted up my legs.

  I could no longer feel the seat under me. I flew through the darkness, my screams mingling with the euphoric terror of the other passengers.

  My sunglasses, forgotten until that moment, spun off my head, never to be seen again.

  The coaster dipped out of its first decline and charged uphill. I slammed into the seat, the pressure forcing tears from my eyes. They streaked across my face, and I didn’t dare let go to wipe them away.

  Up and down, and up, the coaster threw me around, rendering me bruised and breathless.

  I hated it.

  I loved it.

  Then, we hit a corkscrew, plummeting into total darkness.

  The world twisted, turned inside out, and then righted itself.

  The coaster fell like a tornado, a constant, spiraling decline.