Ghost Ride

by Marina Cohen

  Miranda stepped into the doorway. She, too, had been crying. Now she smiled weakly and reached out to hug him. He rolled his eyes but let her do it just the same.

  “Where’s Dad?” Sam asked as the three stepped inside the house. His eyes scanned the hallway, the stairs, and the living room. No sign of Mr. Perfect.

  Sam’s mother and Miranda exchanged an odd glance.

  “He’s upstairs, Sam,” his mother said softly. “In your room. He’s been waiting there for you.”

  He took a deep breath. “I have to face him.”

  His mother nodded and let him go.

  Sam climbed the steps as though he were headed for a hangman’s noose. His legs felt like anchors, and the old wooden steps complained under his weight. The door to his bedroom was shut. He grasped the handle, and with a trembling hand, turned the knob and let the door glide open. A waft of cold air blew past him.

  The room was dark, and the curtains were drawn. At first Sam thought his mother had been mistaken, that his father wasn’t in there, after all. He was about to flick the light switch when he heard a fluttering sound. For a moment he thought he spied a figure stepping out from behind the curtains. Then he blinked, and it was gone.

  “Come in,” his father’s voice said.

  Sam stiffened. He searched the darkness. The words had come from the direction of his bed. He did his best to interpret the tone in his father’s voice, but it was dry and flat, revealing few clues.

  “Come closer.”

  Sam’s eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to make out his father’s silhouette seated on the edge of his bed. He took a step into the room. It was like walking into a tomb. Sam shivered and watched the hall light catch a puff of air as it escaped his lips. He took another step toward his father, then stopped. The hall light reflecting in his father’s eyes revealed the same blackness Sam had seen in them back on the Tenth Line.

  “Why, Sam?” his father asked.

  Why what? Sam thought while opting to remain silent.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Sam said nothing. He feared what his father might do if he answered the wrong way.

  Taking a deep breath, Robert sighed. “A guy makes a mistake, Sam, one stupid little mistake, and then he spends the rest of his life trying to make up for it. I did everything right. Everything. I never spoke out of turn. I was honest, polite, kind, considerate. I held doors open for people, gave tons of money to charity, never drank or smoked or gambled. I tried to make up for it, really I did.”

  Sam was lost. What in the world was his father talking about? What mistake had Mr. Perfect made?

  “Ah, but you wouldn’t let me forget it, would you, Sam? You kept reminding me, pushing me, poking me. The Kronan — it was all you talked about. So tell me now. How did you know?”

  What was he talking about? Sam searched for the right words, but his father continued almost as though he were talking to himself.

  “It was that Barns boy, right? He told you, didn’t he? And his father told him, I’ll bet. Good ol’ Big Mouth Barns. He could never keep a secret, could he?”

  Nothing was making sense. Who was his father talking about? Cody’s father? Had he known Cody’s father? Had they been friends?

  “I wish I’d never met that guy,” his father continued. “Wish I’d never listened to him.”

  Sam’s pulse quickened. He moved toward his father and sat on the bed beside him. Something inside told Sam to remain silent, but he spoke, anyway. His voice was soft and low. “What happened, Dad? What did you guys do?”

  His father put an arm around his shoulder. It felt heavy. “It was a prank, Sam, just a stupid prank. We wanted to do some ghost riding, that was all. We never meant for anyone to get hurt … killed.”

  Killed? Sam’s head began to spin. His father was a murderer? How was that possible?

  “I should’ve known better. Norm tried to warn me ...”

  Norm? The principal?

  “He told me George Barns was no good, but I didn’t listen. I wanted to be part of the cool kids, so I tried to prove myself to them. We met at midnight …”

  Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was coming next. And yet somehow he couldn’t help but feel he already knew.

  His father’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “We took that bike — the Kronan — and we sent it down Vinegar Hill. George went first. He jumped off all right. Just sent that bike down and whoosh! It flew like a bird, glided forever. It took ages to get it and climb back up that hill. Then it was my turn …”

  “But you didn’t get off,” Sam whispered. “You spread your arms. You closed your eyes and pretended you were flying. That’s why you didn’t see the car and the truck until it was too late …”

  Sam stopped. He recalled sailing down the hill on the bike. He remembered seeing the vehicles collide, smelling the gas and oil, experiencing the whole bloody accident as if he’d been part of it. Sam had thought it had all been a hallucination, but it had really happened — just not to him.

  “See now,” Robert began again, his voice calm.

  But the hall light glinted in his father’s eyes, and Sam didn’t like what he glimpsed.

  “You couldn’t possibly know that now, could you, Sam? No one knew that. Not even George Barns, because I never told anyone that. I told them my pants had gotten stuck in the chain. Only I knew what really happened. So how could you possibly have found out?”

  His father’s grip was tightening again.

  “Stop, Dad, you’re hurting me.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” he mumbled. “No one knew but me …”

  Sam tried to push his father away, but the hold was too tight. His collarbone ached. Tears of pain welled in his eyes. “Stop, Dad, stop!” he pleaded, his voice like a rusty hinge.

  “You have no idea what my life’s been like,” his father said. “No idea what I’ve lived through, what I’ve done. Don’t you get it? I didn’t mean for those people to die. It was an accident. I’m sorry! Dear God, if I could only take it all back!”

  Finally, with all his might, Sam dug his nails into his father’s hands and pried them loose. Then he stood and moved away from the bed, rubbing his aching shoulders.

  Robert got to his feet. For a second it looked as if he was going to lunge at Sam, who braced for the attack. Then, as though someone had flicked a switch, everything changed. Robert sank onto the bed, seemingly pressed down by the weight of his terrible actions.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so very sorry for everything I did to you.”

  Sam was confused. His father was apologizing, but not to him. And as soon as the words left Robert’s lips, something else occurred. The darkness lifted from his eyes. The blotches on his skin faded. He was transforming. In an instant he appeared normal again, the way he had been before they’d come to Sleepy Hollow.

  His dad reached for him. “Sam,” he sobbed, “I … I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened to me. I … I don’t know. Sam, please, forgive me!”

  Sam sat on the bed beside his father and hugged him. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s going to be okay.”

  “No, it will never be okay again.”

  Finally, Sam understood everything. Why his father had tried so hard to be so perfect. Why he had wanted him to be perfect, as well.

  “It was an accident, Dad. Just an accident. It was a long time ago.”

  “It wasn’t the accident, Sam. I walked away from those people like they were nothing. I washed that blood off my jeans like it was ordinary dirt. It was an accident, all right, but I should’ve stayed. I should’ve taken responsibility. I should’ve owned up to what I’d done. But instead I left, and it’s been haunting me ever since.”

  Robert McLean stood and took off the scarf and heavy wool sweater. Sam noticed the room was no longer cold. “I know what I need to do now. I need to talk to the police. It’s the only way to set this right.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A
week later the sign was up and the real-estate agent had the key. All was settled: the McLeans would stay at a hotel in Toronto until they could find a new home there.

  Sam accompanied his father to the police station and listened again to the horrible story of the stupid prank that had ended two people’s lives. He watched the police officer take notes and tell his father they’d look into it. The officer said he wasn’t even sure there would be any charges, given Sam’s father’s age at the time of the accident. His father seemed so relaxed, so at peace with himself, when it was all over. The curse had been lifted.

  When Sam mentioned the prank Cody and Javon had played on him, the police officer was very interested. “Great! We’ve been trying to catch a couple of local thugs who have been jacking cars, taking them for joyrides, and leaving them abandoned in fields and ditches. You’ve just provided us with a solid lead.”

  Sam was all smiles as they drove back to Sleepy Hollow to pick up his mother and sister and head out of town. They were leaving for good, and he couldn’t have been happier.

  The only thing Sam felt sorry about was that he was leaving AJ behind. When he’d seen her at school the last time, they’d talked. She told Sam she had no idea what Cody and Javon had been planning until it was all done. AJ had wanted to tell Sam that it was a stupid prank — even had a big fight with Cody about it. They’d broken up. She was the one who had put the note in Sam’s locker. But the note had gotten ripped when Sam pulled out his binder, and AJ’s signature and phone number were torn off.

  “I don’t get it,” he said to her. “You knew about the prank from Cody’s blog.”

  AJ shook her head. “I don’t go on his blog, Sam. I think his stunts are stupid. I think his whole blog is stupid.”

  Sam couldn’t believe it. “But … aren’t you Homegirl?”

  AJ wrinkled her nose. “Who?”

  Sam sighed. He had been so sure Homegirl was AJ. Who else could it have been? AJ had put the note in his locker, but who had sent all those emails?

  Anyway, it didn’t matter. It was all over now. He was leaving Ringwood and AJ and Sleepy Hollow behind. She did give him her phone number and email address so they could stay in touch.

  While everyone was loading up the car, Sam took a final look around Sleepy Hollow. He noticed the old woman rocking back and forth in her chair on the verandah, and suddenly he remembered something he wanted to ask her. Sam drifted toward the old porch. “Hey there,” he began.

  “What do you want?” she asked crustily.

  “I was just wondering …”

  “Spit it out, boy. Don’t waste my time.”

  “I was just wondering … you said that lady, Hector, Heckly …”

  “Hecate?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. You said she was coming back to Sleepy Hollow and that she’s a witch.”

  The old woman grinned. “So? What’s it to you?”

  “Well, I was wondering which house she was coming back to.”

  “Why her house, of course. The house she’s always lived in. The one she left empty a few years ago when she moved out west. Number five, of course.”

  Number five? Sam was confused. “But Maeve and Walter live at number five. Are they moving, too?”

  “Who?” The old woman laughed as if Sam had told the funniest joke. “Maeve and Walter? You can’t mean Maeve and Walter Moon?” The old woman chuckled. “You sure are one confused boy. Those people never lived at number five. They lived at number four, not five.”

  The woman was nuts. Really wacko. How could Walter live at number four when he, Sam, lived at number four? The woman was definitely senile.

  “I think you’re mistaken. I live at number four, not Walter.”

  “Of course you do — now.” She peered directly at him as though she could see. “Walter lived there a long time ago. Before the accident.”

  “A long time ago? Accident?” Sam felt as if he were falling backward down a dark elevator shaft.

  “Everyone knows all about that accident, but that goes back some thirty years. Tragic. Terrible. He and that mother of his were driving to see a sick friend. Bringing ’em lasagna, I think. They were cut off the road, and the car flipped. They both died. Some say the kid lost his head in the accident. Ripped clear off his body.”

  Sam felt woozy. He struggled to comprehend what the woman was saying. Impossible. It couldn’t be.

  “Yup. Number four. Those two lived at number four, all right … and some say they still do …”

  She winked, and Sam nearly dropped to the ground. He steadied himself and glanced at his bedroom window. For a split second he thought he saw the curtain flutter.

  The Volvo station wagon left the tunnel of trees for the last time. Sam didn’t dare look back. Instead, he powered up his cellphone.

  “Hey,” Sam said.

  “Hey,” Mike replied.

  After Sam told Mike the entire story and apologized for being such an idiot, Mike had forgiven him. And what was more, Mike believed him — or at least pretended to. Funny thing was, Mike was the one who had received the video by accident but had had no idea what it was supposed to be about. Mike was below Maniac on Sam’s email address list.

  “Check this out,” Mike said. “I was telling my granddad all about your ghost-riding stunt, and you know what?”

  “What?”

  “He said that crap is so old. Said that some punks pulled those stunts even way back when he was a kid.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No way. He said only difference was they didn’t call it ghost riding back then.”

  “Really? What did they call it?”

  “Stupid.”

  Sam could almost hear Mike crack a smile.

  As the black Volvo rolled out of the tunnel and away from Sleepy Hollow, bright sunlight beamed through the car windows. Sam took a deep breath. It was over. They were leaving for good. The station wagon turned right and began cruising down the Tenth Line one last time. Sam gazed out the window and watched as the lazy landscape drifted past. In the distance ahead he saw the blue Mustang approach. It zipped past them as if they were standing still. Sam glanced back over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of the driver for the first time. It was Ms. Wolfe, his English teacher!

  Cate Wolfe. Cate … Hecate?

  Her licence plate read: homegirl.

  A shiver jolted up Sam’s spine, and in that very instant his father turned on the radio. Loud bass hammered against the windows, and a hollow voice sliced through the dreamy solitude:

  Ghost ride …

  Ghost ride …

  Ghost ride …

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