Ghosts

by Tess McLennan

  After the meeting, I exited the building, the cold chill of winter air on my skin. The sense of exhilaration I felt inside the meeting was gone. I walked down the dark street, Saxon’s sermon still ringing in my ears. I felt dull and lifeless again – as though the meeting was a dream, and it happened merely minutes before. I’d left all my good vibes inside the function room.

  I walked to the side street where my car was parked, and got in. Then, second-guessing, I got out again and walked out of the tiny street, and to the stretch of busy main road. Without hesitation, as soon as the road was clear, I ran out onto the tar, and quickly made my way to the slim patch of concrete dividing the opposing lanes of traffic.

  Cars and trucks whizzed past me, as I balanced on the tiny traffic island. One man on a motorbike yelled something, inaudible as he zoomed past.

  “Use the overpass!” I heard someone else yell from a car window.

  Vehicles passed close behind and in front of me, the wind from their speed tossing my hair around like a windstorm. I put my arms up in the air and closed my eyes. Pure exhilaration. No more fear – I had a purpose, I had a purpose, I had a purpose…

  Everything you do or say, then should be done in the name of Lord Jesus, as you give thanks through Him to God the Father.

  IMOGENE

  I stared down at the page for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t bring myself to look over at Henry – I knew his face had drained of all colour, turned a ghostly white.

  “She’s gone crazy,” I said in a strained whisper. “She’s completely lost her mind.”

  “Have you ever read the book of Colossians?”

  I shook my head. I had never even owned a Bible.

  “When we were younger, we always went to Church with our grandparents. Our parents never went themselves – and I still find it odd. Anyway, the book of Colossians is a letter written by Paul to the people of Colossae, opposing the teachings of some rogue Bible-bashers. It’s all about giving yourself to God, the old life and then the new, and not being deceived by false preachers or something.”

  “So you think that the TGHL are the rogue Bible-bashers?”

  “Who disguise themselves as preaching the word of God through Paul and the Colossians… maybe.” Henry lay back on the bed, his hands over his face. He was clearly becoming exhausted with the whole ordeal.

  “So this is about religion? She’s holed up in a Church somewhere?”

  “No, Imogene… don’t you see?” Henry sat up suddenly.

  “No, what am I supposed to see?”

  “It’s a cult, she’s joined a cult! And they’re using the biblical antidote to the cult as their cover!”

  I opened my eyes wide with disbelief. “Then what’s the deal with her standing in the middle of traffic?” That part was what troubled me the most out of the whole diary entry. The possibility of Aggie joining a cult seemed absolutely absurd, although not entirely impossible. Again, I struggled with the cliché of the idea, the drama, the ridiculous thought of it all. Then again, those sorts of peculiarities weren’t new in Miller Creek. A cult was just the extreme end of the insanity.

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out for certain.”

  And that’s when we decided, we needed to find Cameron Ivenhoe.

  PART 2

  “See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ.”

  —Colossians 2:8

  14

  AGGIE

  12/4/14

  Things were moving quite quickly with the TGHL. We were preparing to enter The Land. My pregnancy, on the other hand, was moving at a snail’s pace. I never hated something so much in my entire life.

  I knew I should have been more cautious – but I got mixed up in the heat of it all, and well, I became sloppy. I always thought I was the exact opposite of sloppy. My appearance, my attitude, my words … everything was always so classy, so refined, so polished. Being pregnant was the absolute opposite of refined. It was a vile experience, and I felt like I’d lost control of my entire body.

  The sex with Saxon was unbelievable, so much more gratifying than with Cameron. Saxon was wise in so many ways, and he knew how to please a woman in a way only a wise man could. Cameron was just a boy compared to him. Of course, Saxon began to believe that the child we were to bring into the world together was destined to walk with him as the next messenger of God, and I intended to be right behind them at the Temple of God’s Holy Light.

  We often talked about scripture after sex. “The Bible is merely interpretation and execution,” Saxon said one day. “God does not dislike pleasure. John 10:10: – ‘The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.’”

  We made love again after that.

  I thought back to the overlap between Saxon and Cameron. For a while, I had slept with both of them, letting them use my body for their own greedy pleasures. It wasn’t entirely one sided – I felt pleasure like I never had before. But when Cameron began to fail in pleasing me in the way Saxon did, I ended it. When it became purely about his satisfaction, I’d had enough. By then, I’d climbed bigger mountains than Cameron Ivenhoe. Also, after reading Colossians 3:5 – ‘You must put to death, then, the earthly desires such as sexual immorality, indecency, lust, evil passions and greed’, I realised what a terrible situation I’d put myself in. I prayed to God to forgive my terrible sins.

  When I found out I was pregnant, I was shocked. When I started to show, people stared at me. People in Miller Creek probably knew everything about my tomcatting, more than I even know myself.

  There was a day when Cameron barged through my front door, demanding to know whether the child was his. I expected him to run in the opposite direction the instant that he had heard, through the grapevine of Miller Creek, that I was pregnant. But even people like Cameron Ivenhoe come with surprises. I told him it wasn’t his, he cried that he loved me (a phrase he’d uttered so often, I stopped bothering to refute it). He then fell to his knees in front of me, clutching me tight around the waist.

  I pushed Cameron away, and asked him to leave. He asked if he could be there at the birth and I slammed the door in his face. He didn’t come back again.

  At first, I was conflicted about who the baby really belonged to… Cameron or Saxon. But I began to feel this power, this energy inside of me. An energy I believed could only come from somebody remarkable like Saxon, something that Cameron was most certainly not. When I told Saxon, he cried with joy. He arranged a party in celebration, inviting all the current members of the TGHL, like we were the King and Queen of a Royal Family in medieval England. I never told him about Cameron, and I doubted I ever would. Cameron was nothing but a speck on the horizon to me. A wisp of a good time, good sex, good love, and then good night.

  Everything you do or say, then should be done in the name of Lord Jesus, as you give thanks through Him to God the Father.

  15

  IMOGENE

  Henry slammed on the brakes of the car, and threw open the door. He knew nothing about cars that would help him in this situation – deserted bushland, and miles away from home. He spat a few swear words into the air, hoping it would help to diffuse the bomb that was ticking inside him. Nothing ever seemed to help. The car had always been a useless piece of metal. He would never be able to tell what was wrong with it.

  Sandwiched in the backseat sat Clem and Cameron Ivenhoe. Clem was pissed off at something Cameron had said earlier and neither of them had said a word in hours. Cameron hung a cigarette out the car window, while Clem sat next to him nervously biting her nails. She was fighting off the urge to ask him for a cigarette, because it meant she would have to break her silent treatment towards him, and Clem hated doing that. So far, Aggie’s description of Cameron from her diary had been spot on – he frequently spoke without thinking, he made obnoxious jokes, and worst of all, he said
things to intentionally hurt each and every one of us. But by now, our skins were as thick as a leather saddle, and anything he said seemed to wash off our backs like cool summer rain.

  I sat in the front seat of the car, head pounding in my temples from a headache that had started from the minute I’d woken up. I longed for a cold drink of water, but I had no idea where we were. None of us did, and Henry was already so angry at the car, I didn’t want to infuriate him any further by questioning his map reading skills.

  We found Cameron Ivenhoe in the abandoned house on Miller Hill. Situated a few kilometres outside of Miller Creek, kids would pedal their bikes furiously there to hide from their parents, teenagers would throw ridiculous alcohol-fuelled parties inside it. However, the novelty of celebrating in a haunted, dilapidated wreck soon wore off, and the house stood motionless on the hill for years, all signs of life faded away. Every town seemed to have one of these houses – Clem and I used to make up ghost stories about it every time we drove past in the car, never giving any thought to the people that may have lived there decades before, or what their fates may have been.

  I expected to have more trouble finding Cameron. I even swallowed my pride and paid a visit to Britney Ivenhoe, who quickly figured out we wanted something from her, and remained tightlipped, not knowing exactly what she wanted in return for helping us. Britney acted as though she was holding onto a state secret, but the information was insignificant in comparison to what we needed it for. I let Britney bask in the glow of importance for a short while. It was her friend who told us in hushed tones when Britney left the room that Cameron was camping out in the house on the hill. She was clearly tired of the childish mind games too.

  Henry and I left Britney’s house and drove out of town towards Miller Hill. Whatever driveway there was, or road to the house was filled with rocks and weeds, and with a bit of hesitation, we left the car, and after jumping through the rusted barbed wire fence, began to hike up the winding hill. The uninhabited countryside could often be as frightening in the daytime as the night, the eerie silence only broken by our heavy breathing and the call of the birds in the distance.

  The house looked bigger up close than it had from our car windows. It had the characteristic look of a typical haunted house, the film cliché version – broken window panes, peeling paint out front. Broken toys lay scattered in the front yard, a small red wagon filled with rust, an old Barbie Doll with the head torn off. I didn’t know if I believed in ghosts, but seeing this house made me reconsider.

  I was glad I wasn’t alone.

  We made our way up the sagging front steps, and opened the screen door. The mosquito netting was hanging off the wood, blowing in the breeze. I called out to Cameron, fearful for who might answer. My throat burned with thirst.

  Suddenly, something jumped out from behind the door, throwing me hard against the wall. A bearded figure came at me, his face twisted with rage and contempt, as he grabbed me by my arms and twisted them behind my back.

  “Who are you?” he snarled. “Are you one of them? ARE YOU ONE OF THEM?” He was almost bellowing and my eyes began to water.

  “Cameron!” Henry yelled. “Cameron! Let her go! We’re on your side, we want to help!” The words tumbled out in a panicked jumble.

  “Who are you?” Cameron snarled again. “What do you want?” He twisted my arm even tighter.

  “I’m Aggie’s brother!”

  Suddenly Cameron’s face had the look of an animal tranquilized, and he let go of my arm. It began to throb, and I could feel bruises forming where his fingers had been pressing.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly. “Thought you were someone else.”

  He retreated into the next room. Henry and I followed him.

  The place was a hovel. Cameron had obviously been set up in this dump for a while. I half expected the walls to fall down around us where we stood.

  “What do you want?” he asked again. This time his tone of voice was more resigned, more defeated. “Aggie isn’t here.”

  “Well, we know that,” Henry answered, surveying the room. Aggie wouldn’t have been caught dead in a place like this. “We want your help.”

  “Help with what?” Cameron looked like he hadn’t showered in weeks. The smell of his skin was pungent, and hung in the air like laundry on a line.

  Henry pulled the journal out of his bag. “She left us this. The TGHL? You know about it, you know where they are.”

  “No, I don’t.” Cameron shook his head. Henry narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

  “Yes you do. It says so in here. In Aggie’s writing.”

  Cameron shook his head. He then strode quickly over to the window, looking left and right through the broken panes, as though he was making sure the coast was clear. “Don’t say their name in here.”

  “Whose name?”

  “Can I trust you?” Cameron ignored Henry’s question.

  We both nodded together. Cameron then led us up another set of rickety stairs to the second level. We entered a dark room, with windows boarded up and walls cushioned with old mattresses to block out sound. A makeshift padded cell. A disheveled sleeping bag lay twisted in a heap on the dirty floor.

  “We can talk in here. They won’t hear us.”

  “Who Cameron? Who won’t hear us?”

  He pressed a dirty finger to his lips, then lit the candle sitting in the middle of the floor. Cameron shut the door behind us, shrouding the room in darkness.

  “Oh come on,” Henry cried. “Are you going to pull out a Ouija board next?”

  “Shut up,” Cameron growled. “This is the only place in the house that we can talk and not be heard.”

  “You’ve already said that,” Henry snorted. He was beginning to irritate me.

  We sat in a circle on the floor around the candle. Henry told Cameron about the journal, Aggie’s disappearance… I told him about the strange men I’d seen Aggie with that day at the diner, how she’d run off after my exhibit. However, I left out the part about the text messages and seeing Rhys at the Yarn & Wool.

  “So what do you want from me?” Cameron asked, crossing his legs.

  “What is the TGHL?” Henry asked frankly. “Who are they, and what do they want?”

  Cameron looked at the floor, and said nothing.

  “Cameron, you have to help us. Please,” I pleaded. “Aggie could be in trouble.” I knew mentioning Aggie more often was bound to make an impact. I gathered from the journal that Cameron’s love for Aggie was real, not imagined like she had thought.

  He took a deep breath, and began to speak.

  “The TGHL is a cult, although they portray themselves as a new age religion at first. That’s how they pull you in… And if Aggie is with them, she’s most likely in more than just trouble.”

  Henry’s eyes widened in fear.

  “Their leader is Saxon Montana. He has been travelling around for longer than anybody knows, preaching the word of God. Nobody knows a thing about him, where he came from, where he has been… but people will often take the first hand offered to them in their time of need, and that is how Saxon works. His winning hand is preying on people in their darkest hour, those looking for something bigger to believe in, something or anything to guide them to a better life… He claims to be the messenger of God, that the TGHL can heal your soul, that religion is the only way to peace and serenity, to pull you out of the all consuming darkness. And while they are busy worshipping him, he goes through their pockets.

  “He makes them think they’re seeing results, that their belief in him is making their lives better. They become besotted with him, most of them do whatever he says after that, the chance at a better life becomes like a drug to them, and they fear if they stop, they’ll plummet further down in the depths, far from where they started, unable to ever resurface. Saxon makes them do things that in their normal judgment they would question. But these people are completely overcome, and that’s when he decides that they’re ready.”

  “Rea
dy for what?”

  “The Land.”

  I remembered reading that phrase in Aggie’s diary somewhere.

  I began to ask Cameron what he meant, but he continued talking. I shivered, holding my hands over the tiny candle flame.

  “And what do they do on The Land?”

  Cameron shrugged. “I never got that far.” He paused for a moment. “Nobody ever seems to realize that the TGHL is just pure manipulation… of their fears, their doubts, and most of all their ignorance.”

  “Everyone but you,” Henry spoke up.

  Cameron stared at him.

  “You realized they were manipulating you. And you ran.”

  Cameron shifted his feet. “Yes. Which is why I’m here, and not there.”

  “Where is there?”

  “The Land. The Land is where they go once he’s converted them, or whatever you’re supposed to call it. I was supposed to go –“ He stopped suddenly and got up. He walked to a boarded window and peeked through the cracks. He then sat down in his place again. “But I stayed behind. It was a gut feeling more than anything – but I couldn’t stop Aggie from going. Even though it’s my fault she’s in there in the first place.”

  I remembered the conversation from the diary where Cameron had first told Aggie about the TGHL.

  “I told her about the TGHL because Saxon asked me to seek out a partner for him. And she was so perfect for it.”

  Henry twisted his mouth in an angry grimace. “So you basically sold my sister to this weirdo?”

  “Not sold. No money was exchanged. She was so down on her luck, depressed… I thought I could help her. And she took the bait so easily, and once she was in, I couldn’t stop her. Even when I finally realized what was happening. It was too late.”

  “Jesus Cameron, you’re the reason she’s in this mess,” Henry shouted angrily. He got up and started pacing the room. It was clearly taking all his energy not to beat Cameron to a pulp. I begged him not to yell, I was starting to feel like the walls were watching us, listening to every word we said.