by Marina Cohen
In the daytime the tunnel of trees was dark, but now it was pitch-black. Sam looked at what should have been patches of sky. Everything was dark. New moon, he thought to himself. As he ducked into the tunnel, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.
“This way,” Sam whispered. He could barely make out Mike, who was only a metre or so away. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when the shrill cry of a screech owl sliced through the silence.
“Dude, relax,” Mike said.
Sam had to get a grip on himself. He couldn’t let Cody see how nervous he was, or AJ for that matter.
The old weeping willow was just ahead, a black silhouette against the charcoal-grey of the open field beyond. Its hanging branches were so thick they were almost trunks of separate trees forming a kind of monstrous cage. Sam picked up his pace. The main road and open fields past the willow would put his mind at ease.
They were almost under the old tree when a shadow sprang from behind the trunk. Sam’s heart nearly leaped into his throat. His knees turned to jelly.
“Yo, Maestro,” Cody called. “What took you?”
“You said midnight,” Sam said a little peevishly. He hoped Cody didn’t notice he was catching his breath.
“Midnight. The Witching Hour. Bhwahaha!” Cody slapped Sam upside the head and then began humming a pathetic rendition of B-rated horror movie music.
Mike stepped forward.
“Who’s this guy?” Cody demanded, clearly taken aback by Mike’s sudden appearance.
“This is, uh, Mike. He’s up from Toronto.”
Cody remained silent, as if he were trying to calculate a really tough math problem.
Sam started to think Mike might have been right. Lost: one idiot. Return to village immediately.
“Where’s AJ?” Sam asked, looking around hopefully. “And Javon,” he added quickly when he saw Mike give him the eye.
“AJ’s not coming. She doesn’t like me doing stunts. Gets too worried about me. You know how it is.”
“Right,” Sam said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
“So, you cool with stunts … Mikey Mouse?” Cody asked, taking a step forward.
“That’s good,” Mike said. “Really good. Take you long to think it up?”
“Shut your mouth, city rat!” Cody growled.
Oh-oh. Nothing seemed to be going the way Sam had planned. AJ was supposed to be here, and Cody and Mike should be hitting it off, not about to kill each other.
“Come on, guys,” Sam said. “Be cool. This stunt’s gonna be a blast. Right, Cody?”
Mike and Cody stared at each other, neither saying a word.
“Where’s Javon?” Sam asked, still trying to defuse the situation. He scanned the darkness, half expecting another figure to jump out at him, but in that instant, as though in response to his question, the sound of an ignition ripped through the silence and a set of headlights switched on, illuminating the old willow and its three prisoners.
Who’s in that car? Sam wondered. And what’s it doing here? But when Cody laughed and clapped him on the back, he knew it could only mean one thing.
The driver’s door opened, and a dark figure emerged. The headlights were fiercely bright, so all Sam could see was the shadow of a lean figure with broad shoulders and a toque perched high on his head.
“Let’s roll!” Javon said.
Cody shoved Sam toward the car. He could see Javon clearly now. The guy was grinning like a madman. Sam hadn’t thought for a moment that the stunt would involve a car. He eyed the old Honda Accord. The black paint was covered in rust patches. The tinted windows were peeling, and even in the darkness the tires looked practically bald.
Sam glanced over his shoulder. Mike hadn’t moved an inch. He was still standing under the willow tree, arms crossed. “Come on, Mike, let’s go.” But Mike ignored him.
“Forget him, man,” Cody said, giving Sam another push toward the car.
Sam pulled away and turned. “What’s up, Mike? Let’s go.”
Mike half smiled. “You kidding me? I’m not getting in that piece of junk with those idiots.”
Sam couldn’t believe this was happening. His world was crumbling. Mike was supposed to make him seem cool, not leave him dangling like this.
“Mmm … do I smell KFC?” Cody said. “Forget the chicken, Maestro. Let’s go.”
Sam took a few steps backward toward Mike. “What’s your problem?”
Mike shook his head. “There’s no way that guy has a driver’s licence. Do you have any idea what you could be getting yourself into? I’m telling you, these guys aren’t worth it.”
Sam moved closer and dropped his voice. “Why are you bailing on me? I thought you were my friend.”
“Dude, this is bad news. You do whatever you want, but I’m outta here.”
“Hey, girls!” Cody shouted. “What’s the deal? You going for a manicure or are you riding with us?”
Sam glanced back at Cody, then at Mike. His head was pounding. His brain was telling him Mike was right. But so what? Mike lived worlds away. If Sam was lucky, he’d see Mike once a month. He’d have to see Cody and Javon every day. If he went with them, they’d accept him. If he didn’t, they’d make life at school a living hell. AJ would think he was a total geek. Why couldn’t Mike just go along? Why did he have to make such a big deal? If he was such a good friend, he’d know what this meant to Sam. If he was such a good friend, he’d go along. Mike was abandoning Sam when he needed him most. Easy for Mike — he had nothing to lose. He still had friends. He wasn’t the one who would have to face Cody, Javon, AJ, and the whole freakin’ school on Monday.
The way Sam saw things now there was only one way to go. Glaring at Mike, he tossed him the house keys. “Leave the door open. And don’t bother waiting up.” He turned and walked toward Cody, who jabbed him in the arm.
“I’m totally stoked, man,” Cody said. “Are you stoked?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Stoked.” Sam peered over his shoulder. Mike was watching him. “Whose car is it?” he asked, willing his voice to sound as casual as possible.
Javon laughed. “You worry too much, Maestro.”
Sam stuck out his chin. “Who said I was worried? I was just asking. I didn’t know you even had a driver’s licence.”
Cody snorted. “You’re too funny, Maestro. Driver’s licence! Good one!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The wheels burned rubber as Javon threw the Accord into gear and slammed his foot hard on the gas. The car took off and sailed up the deserted Tenth Line, taking the potholes and bumps like a jet-ski crashing over waves.
Cody, who was riding shotgun, cranked up the volume of the radio, blasting a rap song that Sam had never heard before into the night air. Sam reached over and yanked his seat belt, but Cody, looking back, yelled, “Won’t do ya no good, Maestro! You’ll be taking it off soon enough.”
Sam managed a weak smile but snapped the buckle in place all the same. Are we going to street-race? Is that what this is about? He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Mike was right. This was bad news.
“Cool music,” Sam said above the thudding base.
“It’s sick, man!” Javon agreed.
The car was going way too fast, and Sam was getting really worried. He tapped his foot nervously. He’d seen enough news reports on crazy teen driving gone wrong. Still, he forced himself to sound casual. “So, uh, who is it?”
Cody looked at Sam and rolled his eyes. “You been listening to that classical junk again? Don’t you know I-90 when you hear him?”
“Right, I-90. Sure, I know him. So what exactly is this stunt? I mean, what are we gonna do?” Sam rubbed his fingertips nervously. His palms were sweating.
Cody and Javon exchanged grins.
“Don’t get yourself all knotted up,” Cody said. “Chill. You got your phone, Maestro? You ready to get me some good pictures? And you can make a video, right? I wanna upload a vlog.”
Take pictures? A
short video? Is that all he wants me to do? Sam breathed deeply and let the air out slowly. I can take pictures. No problem. Sam’s pulse was finally slowing down when Javon yanked the wheel hard and pressed his foot to the floor. The tires shrieked as the car spun around, doing a doughnut in the middle of the road. Then they took off again, heading back toward town at alarming speed.
As they passed the entrance to Sleepy Hollow, Sam searched for Mike, but he was long gone. For a moment Sam thought about pushing open the door and throwing himself out. It took every ounce of willpower to remain seated. I’m only taking pictures, he kept telling himself. Sit tight and this will all be over soon.
When they got to the top of the hill where Sam and his father had first seen the riderless bike, Javon hit the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. Cody fiddled with the music, switching tracks until he found the song he wanted. Then Javon put the car into neutral, and they began coasting downhill.
“You ready to ride this whip?” Cody asked as the Accord rolled forward.
Sam still didn’t have the foggiest idea what was actually happening, but he dug out his phone and powered it up. “Yeah, man, I gotcha,” he said, his voice quavering slightly on the last word.
The music shook the entire car. Two voices rapped alternately — the main guy sang the lyrics, and the other, a deep voice, created a haunting rhythm in the background:
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
The car moved slowly at first, then began to pick up speed.
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
Near the bottom of the hill, Cody and Javon opened their windows.
“Let’s do it!” Cody shouted. “Let’s ghost ride, man!”
They both climbed out of their windows onto the roof of the vehicle. Sam couldn’t believe what was happening. These guys are nuts!
But before the thought passed from his brain to his lips, he sensed stomping on the roof above him. He opened his window and stuck his head out. Cody and Javon were dancing on the roof of the gliding car!
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
“Boo-yah!” Javon screamed into the night sky.
“Hey, Maestro, get up here!” Cody cried. “Start taking those pictures, man!”
Sam’s brain scrambled through the thought process. What do I do now? I can’t go up there. These guys are lunatics! What do I say? How do I get out of this?
The road had levelled off. The car was travelling at top speed now, but soon it would slow — if they didn’t go off the road entirely, Sam thought, as the car drifted into the opposite lane. He unfastened his seat belt, lurched forward, and steadied the wheel. Good thing the road was empty.
“Get up here, Maestro — now!” Cody yelled. “Take the pictures!”
Take pictures. That was it. That was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Those pictures. At this exact spot. Those pictures of …
“I’ll bust your grille if you don’t get your butt up here right now, Maestro!”
Take a picture, thought Sam. Just one. Quick. Take a picture and this nightmare will end. He took a deep breath. Then, clutching his phone, he pulled himself partway out of the car, sitting on the window, gripping the roof with one hand and aiming the cell with the other. Cold wind numbed his face. The road was dark.
Click.
A picture of the top of Cody’s head. Sam hit the options key, found Maniac on his list, and pressed send.
Click.
This time he got one of Javon’s feet and the roof of the Accord. Again he scrolled down the list of M’s, found Maniac, and punched send.
The music was getting to Sam. It seemed to be all around him, inside him.
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
One more and this would be over. Sam located the video icon and clicked. He began videoing Cody and Javon dancing. The video was perfect. He could see everything. Cody. Javon. The roof of the car. The night sky. Perfect.
Sam fingered the options key and scrolled through the M’s. But before he could transmit the video, he caught sight of something. His heart skipped a beat. Lights. A pair of headlights. In the distance. Coming right at them.
The Accord had drifted once again into the opposite lane. They were going to collide head-on.
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
The headlights were approaching quickly.
Three hundred metres away.
Some idiot with his high beams on. Sam tried, but he couldn’t budge. Cody and Javon didn’t seem to notice — or care. They were too busy dancing like fools.
Two hundred metres away.
Sam willed himself to yell. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. He had to get down and grab the wheel or they were all going to die. He had to move, but he couldn’t. He was stuck, immobile in the light that was getting larger. Brighter. Wrapping itself around him. Swallowing him.
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
The song kept pounding away. Sam couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
One hundred metres away.
Ghost ride …
Ghost ride …
Ghost … ride ghost … ride ghost …
Ride ghost …
The only thing Sam managed to move was his thumb on the send key. He transmitted the video, then shut his eyes and braced himself.
Ride ghost
Ride …
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The music stopped. The wind was on Sam’s face. He was flying — no, gliding. All sense of panic and desperation had evaporated. He was soaring like an eagle, awaiting the impact that never came.
One of his hands gripped the roof of the car and the other his cellphone, but wait, something had changed. Both hands were now wrapped around something completely different. What was it? Bars?
Handlebars.
Sam snapped his eyes open. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was dreaming … dreaming or … dead.
He was no longer in a car. He was on a bike. An old bike. The one in the photo he’d taken — the Kronan. He wasn’t wearing a toque, and his arms were different. They felt like someone else’s. His clothes weren’t the same, either. He was coasting downhill in the middle of the road, all alone, heading toward a pair of headlights that were almost on top of him. Behind him he heard a sound. An engine. And there were lights, as well. Getting brighter. Another vehicle was approaching from behind.
He was trapped.
For a second time he was sure he was going to die. Only this time it didn’t seem to matter. It was all so real and yet so dreamlike, as though every move he made wasn’t his own, as if he were a stowaway in someone else’s mind and body.
Everything unfolded in slow motion.
Sam was going to be sandwiched between the two vehicles. He heard a loud, long horn blast — the vehicle behind him was a truck, an eighteen-wheeler! There was no time to think. He couldn’t pull to the right or the left. Either way he’d be hit.
He lifted his arms to shield his eyes. The bike drifted to the right. The wheel wobbled. He was going down, striking the gravel hard, skidding along the road. The exposed skin on his hands and cheek scraped across dirt and rocks. And though he could sense a layer of his skin tearing off, somehow he didn’t feel any pain. He was off the road and in the ditch. But it was too late. The damage was done.
Sam watched in horror as the truck jackknifed. The car swerved to avoid the much bigger vehicle and lost control. It went under the eighteen-wheeler in a sickening clash of metal against metal. The car was dragged under the truck until both slammed into the field on the other side of the road. Everything fell silent.
Scrambling to his feet, Sam could see that the car’s headlights were still on, slicing through the darkness. He staggered toward the wreckage. The roof of the car had been ripped off like
the husk of a ripe ear of corn. The truck was on its side in the ditch. Twisted metal and broken glass lay strewn across the field. The stench of gas and oil was thick in the air.
Sam moved in closer.
Closer.
A leg was sticking out of the truck driver’s cab. The roofless car was red — some kind of big old Ford, like the kind he’d seen in his grandfather’s old photos. Sam made out two bodies in the front seat. His first instinct was to race to help, but he quickly realized it was no use. The front seat was covered in dark liquid.
Oil?
No, not oil.
The body of a woman lay slumped over the wheel, a twisted, tangled mass. Her face was unrecognizable, but still there was something familiar about her. The woman’s dress. He’d seen it somewhere before. He reached down and touched her. Blood was everywhere. So much blood. It was on his hands, shirt, jeans. Then his gaze drifted to the figure beside her … His eyes were looking at something, but his brain refused to register it. It was right in front of him, but his mind fought his eyes. Suddenly, it clicked, like the last piece of a puzzle, and the image became clear.
Sam’s whole body shuddered violently as he stepped back. He’d played a lot of violent video games. Watched a lot of TV crime shows showing autopsies. Saw a lot of news reports. But nothing could have prepared him for this.
Bile rose in his throat. He choked it down, gagging and coughing as he scrambled, stumbling backward. It was as if a huge snake were coiled around his chest. Squeezing. Squeezing. He turned to run, but fell to the ground. He slammed his head against the road, trying to shake loose the image. That image. That horrible, disgusting picture in his mind.
The one passenger. The one beside the woman. There was nothing but a bloody stump where there should have been a head!
“Come on, Bobby!” he heard someone shout behind him. “Come on, man. Let’s get outta here!”
Whose voice is that? Is that Cody?
It sounded like Cody, but not exactly. Sam lifted his head, but all he could see was a dark shadow.
Who is that? And who is Bobby?
“Come on, man. Grab your bike. We gotta get out of here. We gotta —”