Ghost in the Machine

by Patrick Carman

Timing is everything when you’re deceiving your parents. If they show up at just the wrong moment, every thing blows wide open. The close calls add up, until it feels like the end is inevitable. It feels like the truth is going to get out there eventually. The only question is when.

  I made it upstairs with the envelope in my sweating hand without Henry opening his door. But when I turned to face my room at the top of the stairs, someone was standing in front of it.

  It scared me so bad I nearly jumped down the stairwell and screamed for Henry to save me.

  But then I realized it was my mom. Not necessarily a great situation, but better than having a killer standing in front of you.

  “What’s wrong with everyone in this house?” she said.

  “I was just getting some water in the kitchen,” I told her. (I hate lying all the time. It’s getting way too easy to come up with what I need on a moment’s notice. Lying on demand was never a skill I intended to cultivate. Honest.)

  “Did you see your dad down there?” she asked.

  And this is the timing part I’m talking about, because just then the sound of the screen door squeaking drifted up the stairs. My dad was home. And I could tell that Mom hadn’t known he’d gone out.

  She was his problem now, not mine.

  “Get back in bed,” she said.

  I think she figured he and Henry had snuck out to have some last-minute fun or something. It didn’t matter to me. All I knew was the focus was off of me, I was back in my room behind my closed door, and I was holding an envelope that was supposed to arrive at a secret Crossbones meeting but never did.

  Thursday, September 23, 7:15 A.M.

  I had a terrible dream last night. Dr. Watts wasn’t dead. He was only sleeping. Sarah turned around and Dr. Watts sat up. He’d been using the blue rock as a pillow and he picked it up and held it over his head.

  “You’re not allowed in here.”

  Sarah turned at the sound of his voice and Dr. Watts bashed my best friend in the head with the blue rock. The blue rock turned red and I woke up.

  I couldn’t go back to sleep for a while. There was no noise in the house. It was crazy quiet, which always makes me try really hard to hear the smallest sound. It’s a bad habit, because I do hear things if I listen too carefully. I thought maybe I heard my dad’s whisper, closer than it should’ve been from under my door. And I’m almost sure I heard the sound of a marker writing on a wall. Maybe I was half asleep — I don’t know.

  I’m just glad it’s light outside.

  There’s no word from Sarah, and I’m guessing she took me up on my recommendation and left the camera at Longhorn’s and got some nerve-calming sleep instead. I bet she went home and collapsed and forgot to set her alarm. She must be exhausted.

  Still, it bugs me that I haven’t heard from her. I saw the ghost of Joe Bush just like she did. It was out there, away from the dredge. It’s been in my room while I’ve been sleeping.

  Of course, she’s the one who found a dead body. Not me.

  What if Sarah never made it home last night?

  What if she wandered down a dead-end street and came face-to-face with whatever it was we saw on her camera?

  I shouldn’t have let her go out into the dark alone.

  A real friend would have walked her home.

  She’s fine.

  She’s probably on her way to school, mad at me for not opening this envelope.

  I was too afraid to tear it open last night.

  I think I’ll wait until after breakfast.

  Thursday, September 23, 10:00 A.M.

  I need to get a few timing issues down straight before I open the envelope. Everything is starting to feel connected.

  Okay, here goes:

  Last night was Wednesday until midnight and then it was Thursday. The Crossbones met last night right after midnight.

  Henry is scheduled to leave in a few hours, also Thursday. Things are going to get awfully quiet around here after that. Good thing I’ll be back in school on Monday.

  Another story ran in the paper this morning about burning down the dredge. They’ve moved it up again. It’s now scheduled for “demolition by flames” on Saturday afternoon — two days from now, leaving two nights to visit it. After that, no one is visiting the dredge ever again.

  I guess my point is that every thing is converging. The Crossbones meeting, Dr. Watts’s death, the burning down of the dredge, Henry going home, the house getting quiet, me going back to school. Where’s Bonner in all of this? I’m so sure he’s involved in some sort of shady business with this whole thing. In fact, I’d bet my life on it. I can’t wait to see what he says at the Crossbones meeting.

  Now, to the envelope.

  Thursday, September 23, 10:24 A.M.

  I’m going to just lay this out there as straight as I can, because I don’t know what else to do with information this important. What was in that envelope feels like the kind of stuff that could get me killed. Part of me wishes I’d never opened it and that Sarah had never found it. The other part of me is feeling like we’re incredibly close to piecing together the hidden past of the dredge and that this is the most interesting and exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. I think it might be even more incredible than Sarah and I could have imagined.

  There were three pieces of paper in the envelope.

  So basically, while Robert Boyle was trying to discover a way to change gold into something else, he actually discovered something entirely different. This is kind of common in science, I guess, searching for one answer and stumbling onto another. Boyle never did figure out how to turn copper into gold or gold into iron, but he did figure out two other very interesting things. The first was how to quickly and easily separate gold from anything else, so that gold particles embedded in rocks could be freed and purified. Second, he figured out how to chemically alter gold in order to liquefy it without the use of heat, so that particles of gold could be liquefied and gathered together into larger units without a change in temperature. All of this was done through chemical alchemy, and all of it remained secret, even after the publishing of the lost Boyle papers. It was Dr. Watts and Joseph Bush who thought to expand on Boyle’s ideas and actually put them to practical use. Dr. Watts conducted the experiments, and Joseph Bush wrote the paper and put the theories to the test within the dredge itself.

  Clearly, Joseph Bush was a lot smarter than anyone imagined.

  The papers give no details of the actual use of these theories and practices, so I’m left to wonder about a lot of things. Did the secret society find out about these processes? Did Joseph Bush use the processes only to have other members of Crossbones turn on him? Did the members of Crossbones steal some quantity of gold from the dredge? If so, where did they hide it? And why are so many members of the Crossbones dead? Are they killing each other off in search of what — or where — Joseph Bush hid? Or is someone outside of Crossbones killing off Crossbones members?

  One thing stands above every thing that fell out of this mysterious envelope — the ghost of Joe Bush. It wants revenge, and for some reason it’s turned its gaze on me and Sarah.

  Thursday, September 23, 12:13 P.M.

  Henry’s gone, which bums me out.

  Things are already getting quieter around here.

  He said he wished more than ever that he could stay.

  “I’d like to see them finally put an end to that thing. It’s going to be quite a bonfire out there in the woods. I hope you’ve got a good volunteer fire department in this town.”

  This made me think of Sarah, since her dad happens to be a volunteer firefighter. He’ll be standing there watching when it goes up. Him and all his buddies.

  I wonder if they’ll let me and Sarah go, and if they do, will we be able to stand next to each other while the phantom of Joe Bush gets burned into oblivion?

  I say this as if he’s not already dead. I wish he were alive so I could ask him a few questions.

  “Tell Sarah to record it for
me, will ya?” Henry asked as he gave me a good-old-boy sideways hug. He didn’t seem to remember I wasn’t allowed to see her. I think he was just holding on, trying not to get upset at leaving. A second later he was gone, big old cowboy hat and all, heading back to New York. We wouldn’t see him again until next year.

  To make matters worse, I still haven’t heard from Sarah.

  I’m worried something might have happened to her.

  But her parents would have called here.

  She’s at school.

  She’ll contact me this afternoon, I’m sure of it.

  Thursday, September 23, 4:13 P.M.

  My dad took Henry to the airport and my mom is at work. This house is SO silent. I took the envelope to the blue rock and left it for Sarah so she could read it. On the way back I stopped at the café for pie and coffee and stared out at the library for an hour. Then I came home, watched game shows on TV, and fell asleep outside on the porch sofa.

  It’s almost 4:30. I should have heard from Sarah by now. What’s her plan to get the tape? What’s she doing? Does she realize we only have tonight and tomorrow night and that’s it? After that the dredge is gone, and all the secrets with it.

  I’m tempted to call her, but that would be really dangerous.

  I’ll watch the History Channel instead. That’ll kill an hour.

  Thursday, September 23, 8:13 P.M.

  This is driving me crazy. Why won’t she call or email or throw a rock at my window? Nothing. Just dead air (bad choice of words). My dad and mom aren’t talking much. They’re taking a deep breath with Henry gone, trying to get used to the silence. Me? I’m smothered in silence! I can’t take any more being alone and quiet all the time.

  Thank God I start school on Monday. After that I’ll talk to Sarah all I want.

  We’ll come up with something so my parents don’t find out.

  Thursday, September 23, 10:13 P.M.

  Daryl Bonner just stopped by. That park ranger’s got a lot of nerve. It’s ten o’clock at night! Who stops by at ten for a chat on the porch?

  I crept down the stairs so I could listen, because it occurred to me that maybe he had Sarah locked up or had heard something about her. Park rangers can’t lock kids up, right? That’s totally against the law.

  Anyway, he didn’t lock her up. But he was looking for her. I couldn’t hear much, but I heard enough.

  “With the burn day coming up, I’m ner vous she’s going to try to get back in there. Why? I have no idea. Just keep an especially close eye on Ryan, will you? I’m not saying he’s going anywhere, but she might try to contact him if she’s got some sort of plan that includes the dredge. I sure wouldn’t put it past her.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on my boy,” Dad said. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  I felt like a prisoner under house arrest.

  What gave him the right?

  But I could see why my parents were so nervous. To hear it from Daryl Bonner, Sarah was completely out of control and might drag me down with her. She was the friend no parents wanted their child to have.

  If only they knew I am just as involved as Sarah is. She is out in the open, where everyone could see. But I’m lying and sneaking around every bit as much as she is.

  Friday, September 24, after midnight

  She’s out there tonight, doing something. I know it. She’s in Longhorn’s or Dr. Watts’s house or the dredge.

  She just doesn’t trust me anymore. Why is she holding out on me? Why not at least check in and say hello? I can’t understand what’s gotten into her.

  I’ve never felt this alone.

  Friday, September 24, 6:15 A.M.

  Hallelujah — she sent me a video!

  SARAHFINCHER.COM

  PASSWORD:

  GEORGELUTZ

  Friday, September 24, 8:15 A.M.

  Now I know why she was so quiet — and it’s not because she was mad at me or had stopped trusting me. We’re the same as before.

  And the tape?

  We have all the pieces now.

  And she’s right — this is our last shot.

  I need to know: What is my dad up to? What was Joe Bush up to?

  I have all day to think about what a nightmare this is going to be. Even Sarah looks frightened, which frightens me even more. I try to lie to myself. I try to think that maybe last time in the dredge wasn’t as bad as I think it was. And there is this part of me that’s so curious. What’s hidden down there?

  It could be something really important.

  Like the evidence of a murder.

  Or a stash of gold.

  Friday, September 24, 8:23 A.M.

  Nine hundred bucks an ounce. If there’s even one pound of gold hidden in a cave up on the mountain somewhere, it’s worth fifteen thousand dollars.

  I wish I could trust my dad and my mom. I wish our park ranger wasn’t such a creep.

  But most of all? I wish there wasn’t a ghost waiting to kill me when I get to the dredge.

  Friday, September 24, 11:23 A.M.

  Taking a nap since I’ll be up all night.

  Friday, September 24, 3:15 P.M.

  By the way, that georgelutz password was a real find. Sarah really knows how to freak me out. The Amityville house was messed up. I feel like I have a lot in common with George Lutz. I know exactly how he felt.

  Friday, September 24, 4:43 P.M.

  Daryl Bonner just knocked on the door. I tried to act like I wasn’t home, but he yelled my name and it startled me. Nothing like dropping a can of Coke to alert others to your presence.

  “Come on out,” he said through the screen door. “I just want a word with you.”

  I swear this guy acts like he’s a police officer, which is maybe why I’m so confused about how much authority he has. I feel like he could haul me off to jail and get away with it.

  Anyway, the Coke was fizzing all over the kitchen floor, so I asked him to wait. When I got out to the porch, he was standing with his hands on his hips, staring down Main Street.

  “Tomorrow, things are going to get a lot safer around here,” he said. “But tonight’s a different story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Sarah. She’s just crazy enough to try and go out there again. Why are you two so interested in the dredge anyway?”

  Why would he think I’d tell him?

  “We’re not,” I said. “We’re just bored.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

  “Just promise me you won’t go out there tonight. Can you do that?”

  I am so deep in trouble that one more broken promise won’t hurt.

  “I promise I won’t go out there tonight,” I said.

  He didn’t believe me.

  “Trust me, Ryan. You don’t want to be anywhere near there tonight. Just stay away.”

  I could already imagine him giving this same lecture to Sarah. She’d go along, just like I did, lying through her teeth. What gave him the right to tell us what to do anyway? He had a lot of nerve.

  I began to think Sarah’s idea of going at 3:00 A.M. made a lot of sense. That’s so late it’s almost the next day. It was our best chance to get in quietly, open the secret room, and enter the five-digit alchemy code into the cryptix.

  Friday, September 24, 9:43 P.M.

  Dad and mom are home. They’re sitting on the porch downstairs. I sat with them for a while and we talked about a few things. My dad was surprisingly chatty.

  I really wish I knew what he was up to.

  I really wish I knew he wasn’t a killer.

  Apparently, Dr. Watts’s body was found — I don’t know whether it was because of a call Sarah made or if some neighbor came across him. Whatever the case, it’s big local news. (In Skeleton Creek, any death is big local news.) Dad doesn’t look too upset — but at the same time, he doesn’t look too guilty, either. And in the video from last night, he hardly looked like he’d just killed a m
an. So either he’s innocent … or he’s an amazing deceiver. I want to believe the first. But I’m fearing the second.

  They were a little nicer about Sarah and school for a change, like they knew we couldn’t dodge each other entirely. A glance or a hello would be impossible to avoid. Their message was clear: Just keep it to a minimum and stay focused on your work. Don’t get tripped up. Come home right after school.

  I asked Dad what time they were burning down the dredge and he said early, about eight in the morning. That bothered me a little, because it meant a lot of people would be out there at the crack of dawn to get a good seat and see the flames. We’d have to get in and out of the dredge fast.

  I turned in for the night and left them sitting together.

  So quiet, those two. I guess a lot of years married can do that to people.

  But they seem happy, generally speaking. My dad, especially.

  Like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders.

  Friday, September 24, 11:13 P.M.

  New email from Sarah.

  Saturday, September 25, 1:30 A.M.

  The password, in case someone comes in my room and finds my journal tomorrow morning because I’ve turned up missing, is fatheraristeus. Just go to www.sarahfincher.com and put in those letters — fatheraristeus — you’ll find us.

  There’s nothing left to say.

  It’s time for me to go.

  SARAHFINCHER.COM

  PASSWORD:

  FATHERARISTEUS

  Saturday, September 25, 9:30 A.M.