by Matt Hayward
“Yes, it is.”
I had no other answer for him. He came up with something in his hands, and it took me a second to recognize it. A filthy and torn comic book. Then the name clicked.
“Ghost,” I said. “I get it now.”
It was Casper The Friendly Ghost. On the cover, a shocked Casper had just walked through a painted fence, coming away with the paint stuck to him. It said Look For Me On TV along the top, the text hardly decipherable anymore. It also stated that it cost 12c. I nodded to my new friend to show him that I understood.
“Ghost. It is good. Do you like Casper?”
“Ghost, good. Is...”
He trailed off as he opened the pages and smacked them aside, transfixed by the pictures. He slammed his index into some of the them and looked to me to make sure that I saw them, too. I nodded and smiled to show him that I did. I winced again as he walked to the edge of the water and fell to the packed earth, once again not seeming to notice the pain. Picking up my rod, I made my way over to sit by him and start my fishing.
He watched, interested, as I opened the packet of cheddar that I pulled from my pocket. I didn't know if using the cheese to fish would work, but I wanted to try. My new friend began to drool as I broke off a corner and began to ball it between my thumb and index finger, preparing it for the hook. The sharp smell was out of place with the fresh green scent of the clearing.
“You want some?”
I broke off a good-sized piece and handed it to him. He took it without a word and held it to his glasses for inspection before popping it into his mouth. As his jaw worked, his breathing became noisy.
“Good, huh?” I asked.
I tried a piece myself as I pulled up my rod and skewered the ball of cheese onto the hook. When it looked secure, I released the line and cast into the slow, black current. Then I placed the rod down and fixed the catch to hold the line in place. I almost looked like I knew what I was doing.
“Good,” My new friend said, a trickle of spit working its way down his chin. “Is good. And, look, Ghost!”
He threw up the comic, the pages flinging out dry dirt. “Ghost so good.”
“Yes, Ghost is good.”
We stayed that way for a while, and I shared one of my chocolate bars with him. He ate it greedily as he swatted through the Casper comic for the tenth time already. When the day got too hot and the glaring sun became too much, I made my way home. I said goodbye to my new friend but I don't think he understood. His brow furrowed and his head cocked to the side. Then, when I got up to leave, he tried to follow me. That worried me. I said not to do it, that I would be back tomorrow, and he seemed to get that, at least a little. Standing there by the river, he watched me make my way back up through the ferns. I could feel his eyes dig into my back the whole way. I didn't look back but I shouted goodbye over my shoulder. I never got a response.
¨¨¨
“A retard?”
Alan stared at me with an idiot look on his face. “A real retard? Our age?”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“He seems nice, stop calling him that.”
“Well, that's what he is right?”
Alan could be a dick.
He was right, of course, and he was just acting his age, but I didn't like to hear it out loud. His curiosity and excitement were what I had expected when I told him, but I still didn't have to like it.
Alan had told me what'd happened with his dad that Saturday. The old man had been too hung-over to carry out his work deliveries, confirming what I'd already expected, so he'd gotten Alan to go along and unpack the goods at the stores while he sat in the cab, his cap pulled over his eyes as he tried not to vomit.
Alan called to my house at eight in the morning, his freckled face cooked from the baking sun. We watched a couple of cartoons as I told him about my new friend.
“We're going there today, yeah?”
“Of course. Just be nice to him.”
Alan snickered. I had a bad feeling about this. I knew that deep down he was a good kid, but his brothers had a way of rubbing off on him when he was around them for too long. It sounds cocky, I know, but sometimes I think without me as a friend, Alan would have been a bastard of a child, just like his brothers.
“And his name's Ghost?” He asked.
“That's what he said, and he seems to like it. So yeah, his name's Ghost.”
We set out at ten. The day wasn't too hot yet, but I had lathered myself with sun cream, expecting the worst. The light smell the cream gave off always made the day seem undeniably like summer. I still love that smell.
We stopped at the sludge marsh out behind the school and had a couple of hops on the low pine branch, but getting to The Brook was the real adventure that day, and we quickly abandoned the sludge to make tracks. The real reason for the trip had become settling our burning curiosity about my new discovery. The new kid in town.
We practically fell through the slope of ferns and out into the clearing. A startled animal smashed into the oily river and scattered away beneath the bridge, leaving a trail through the black water. I watched it go, its tiny legs kicking beneath the surface. Shouting after it, amazed, I wondered what in the world it could be. Alan told me it was an otter. That was the first time I'd ever seen one.
“Where is he?” Alan asked, growing impatient.
“We just have to wait and see.”
“Imagine he was really a ghost. Like, actually imagine. You were out here and he came to you, and he didn't really exist. How cool would that be?”
The idea had come to me that week, actually, but cool wasn't how I'd describe it. I imagined the kid finding me and haunting me, like in the many horror novels I'd read that summer. I could see myself entering the bathroom for a piss late at night, only to find Ghost standing behind the door with his mouth lulling open and a vacant look in his eyes.
Pushing the image from my mind, I made my way to the lonely pine and searched for the scattered earth pile that Ghost had dug. It didn't take me long because he hadn't bothered to pack it back in all too well. I spotted the corner of the Casper comic poking out and pulled it from its grave.
“See? His comic. He does exist.”
“Is that Casper?”
“Yeah.”
We sat at the river edge and flicked through the book, not really interested in the story, but doing something to pass the time. After about ten minutes we began to talk louder, trying to get Ghost's attention if he lived nearby. We threw big stones into the water and whooped when they cracked off others beneath the surface with a satisfying thunk. Then there came a hooting, a happy sound.
Alan tensed. “He's not weird, is he?”
“He's fine,” I told him. “Relax.”
My new friend came hopping through the ferns on the far side of the river, his arms flapping at his sides. He had on the same white shirt that he'd worn the day before, only now it was filthy from exploring outdoors. He saw us, and his face lit up.
“How's he going to—” Alan's question got cut short as Ghost splashed into the water and wadded across. He didn't seem to be bothered by the change from land to water. Working his way over, the water rippled and lapped at the embankment with each step he made.
Ghost shouted out, a ticklish laugh beneath his voice. “Ghost!”
I laughed too, and as he slogged up the bank on our side of the river, I handed him his comic book. He took it absentmindedly and without breaking stride. He had his eyes set on Alan.
Making his way over, Ghost stood face to face with my friend, his nostrils laboring heavily. That string of troublesome snot came again but Ghost snorted it back like a pro. Water dripped from his clothes.
“Hi,” Alan said. “My name's Alan.”
“Alan...” Ghost's mouth stayed open. “Is good.”
Alan laughed. “You know you're a retard, right?”
I couldn't believe it. “Alan!”
“What? I'm only asking.” He turned back to
Ghost. “Like, you know what that means? That you're retarded?”
Ghost's face scrunched tight. If he was annoyed or upset, I couldn't tell. “Cats,” he said.
Alan howled and clapped his hands together. “Cats, he said! Cats!”
I could feel the anger getting ready to burst out of me like a coke that just had a mint dropped inside of it. My fists clenched, and I shook. The words came out before I had time to stop them. “Shut the fuck up, you absolute idiot!”
My throat went raw from that, and my voice echoed throughout the clearing. “You're the fucking retard here, you know that?”
Alan went pale. Ghost stood aside, his face unreadable. I'd scared them both. In truth, I'd scared myself.
“I'm, I'm sorry,” Alan said. “Honestly.”
My heart punched my ribcage, my chest heaving. The adrenaline in my body made me a little sick. “Say it to him then. Not to me.”
“I'm sorry.”
Ghost seemed to understand, his face lighting up again. That made me happy to see, and the sudden change of mood made the outburst I'd had seem silly.
“Is good,” Ghost said. “Alan.”
We stood in an awkward silence as the babbling river continued, undisturbed.
Alan broke the tension. “Come on. I've got an idea.”
He took a penknife from his pocket and my urge to vomit returned. My voice sounded very far away to my own ears. “What are you doing?” I asked.
A look of shock spilled across Alan's face. “You're not serious, are you? It's for the tree, dumbass. I want to carve our names in it.”
The relief that washed through me felt better than pissing on a full bladder. I laughed, loud and nervous. I knew Alan was a good friend, but still, when I hadn't seen him for a while and I knew he'd been hanging out with his brothers. It always took him a while to come back down to my level. Thankfully, he seemed his normal self again.
“The single one,” He said, pointing with the closed knife at the lonely pine in the clearing. “I didn't see any names on that one.”
“It looks smaller than the rest,” I said. “Maybe it was only tiny when those teenagers used to come here.”
“Maybe. Still, looks like a good place for our names.”
Alan made his way to the pine and Ghost and I followed. I tried to read my new friend's face but it wasn't possible. I hoped he felt comfortable with us, even with the knife out. We stopped at the trunk and Alan popped the blade from the hilt. The metal gleamed as the sun crossed it, blinding me for a split second. Ghost looked amused, his eyes large. I'd seen it hundreds of times before. Alan began to work on the trunk. He clasped the penknife hard in both hands and slammed it into the bark with a dull thud. He'd done it a little harder than I'd expected and his face went red and ugly.
“You all right?” I asked.
“Yup.”
Dragging the knife down diagonally, Alan sent splinters of wood to the carpet of pine needles by our feet. He pulled the knife free and slammed it in a second time, this time going down in the opposite direction. He sliced cleanly across after that, finishing the first letter of his name. I grew a little worried at how much he seemed to enjoy stabbing the tree. Ghost watched silently.
It took Alan a long time to finish his name, but he worked restlessly on getting it done. Had Ghost and I left, I doubt he would've even noticed. I think he'd have stayed there all day, stabbing that tree until someone came looking for him.
When he finished, he stood back and folded the blade into itself. He panted, sweat beading and slipping down his red face. “What'chu think?”
The carving in the tree read: ALAN - OWEN - GHOST.
The writing belted around the bark, coming full circle, and we walked around it, reading the three names over and over. I don't think Ghost knew what it read but he seemed amused, anyway. For some reason, I just knew that Ghost rarely got new experiences. It was written on his face and stamped in his reactions.
“It's great,” I said, and I meant it, too. The letters were bold and clear and deep. “Well done.”
“Thanks.”
Muted footsteps clomped the tarmac up on the road. More than one pair of feet, by the sound of it. A bad feeling washed over me right away, my stomach fluttering uneasily and my mind reeling through possibilities of who it might be. Ghost called out, not a word, just a sound, and I shushed him by holding up my hand. My mouth went dry.
I looked to Alan, eyes alert. I whispered, “Your brothers?”
He shook his head in response, jerking his shoulders.
“Alan!”
The call echoed out, startling a rook from the foliage overhead. It sounded like an older kid, maybe thirteen or so, judging by the depth of the voice. One of Alan's brothers, for sure. My friend's name got called again.
Stepping forward, Alan sighed. “What?” He shouted.
I shot him a look.
“What?” He said. “What do you want me to do? They're going to find me anyway.”
There came a rustling from the ferns as the newcomer pushed his way through to our clearing. More rustling followed, making my legs turn to jelly. I had been right, there were two of them.
Alan's older brothers Jerry and Lenard fell into the clearing, smirking and looking stupid. I took a step back. Ghost did, too.
“What are you faggots doing here?” Jerry said. He had a white t-shirt and jeans on, like someone transported from the Rock 'n' Roll fifties instead of the mid-nineties. Lenard stood behind his brother with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He was a brick of a kid, fifteen years old and going on thirty. A beer gut bulged from his too-small shirt that could match his father's. Jerry continued, “Found the old spot, huh? S'nice down here. Quiet and stuff. No one to hear much at all.” He shot Lenard a knowing look and they both laughed. “And who's this?”
Jerry made his way forward, arms swinging. He looked like the biggest prick to ever strut the face of the earth.
He studied Ghost's face. “You retarded, are you?”
Ghost stared at him. His lower lip began to quiver and it made something inside my chest go tight. The reason he'd met these assholes seemed like my fault.
“Can he not speak or something?”
“Is ghost... Alan.” Ghost said. “Is good.”
“What the actual fuck?” Jerry and Lenard doubled over, smacking their knees like they'd just heard the funniest joke on the planet. Their faces turned red, and I wanted to be able to sink through the dirt.
“Where are you from, kid?”
Once again, Ghost could only look at Jerry, not knowing what to do. His mouth moved but no sound came. His eyes began to water behind those dirty frames.
My voice came from nowhere, and I was surprised to hear it, myself. “Oh just fuck off, you asshole.”
They turned on me.
Jerry went into mock-shock, lifting a hand to his chest and fanning his face. “My, my, Alan,” he cried. “Your friends aren't very nice. And who do we have here? His boyfriend?”
I didn't respond. I couldn't. I felt scared and angry and lightheaded.
“I'll get you to answer, you little shit.”
Jerry's arm shot out before I could even register what happened and Ghost went down like a sack of potatoes. He'd smacked the kid on the forehead, sending his glasses flying.
Ghost's head thumped the dry dirt, his blonde hair fanning out. His glasses lay by his feet. I screamed and ran to his side, skidding through the dirt and falling to my knees. And that's when I got kicked. Hard.
The air shot out of me as Jerry's work boot connected with my stomach. Hard leather smacked soft flesh, and I went over. Winded, I gasped for air, blind spots dancing across my vision. I panicked when I couldn't catch my breath.
The sounds of the world faded away from me, replaced by the blood thrumming in my ears. I thought I had to be a goner at that point. A good twenty seconds passed before my stomach stopped tensing and I finally managed to suck down some oxygen. I got control of myself and shook my h
ead to clear it. My clothes were filthy and covered in pine needles from flailing back and forth in the dirt. I hadn't even realized I'd been rolling around. My mind must have been concentrating on simply trying to breathe. I looked beside me and Ghost sat up straight, his face housing a mixture of terror and hurt.
I looked to Jerry, who now had a cigarette lit between his lips. He puffed out grey smoke that swirled into the hot day and grinned. One eye squinted against the smoke, and he looked to Ghost, who stared at the lighter with fascination. Jerry flicked his silver Zippo and sparked the wheel, igniting a fat, healthy flame. He clicked it shut and did it again, eyes trained on Ghost.
“The retard is hypnotized by the flame. Look.”
I watched Alan, who stood by the lonely pine, not meeting anyone else's eye. I could tell he felt ashamed. And I felt angry. I knew he couldn't have told his brothers about our plans to come here because I'd only told him about Ghost earlier that morning. They must have followed us, looking for some fun.
“You like it, huh?” Jerry asked. He tossed the Zippo at Ghost. It skidded in the dirt and hit off the bottom of the kid's trainer. Slowly, Ghost scooped it up and examined it, turning it over in his hands. It seemed to calm him down. He appeared happy again.
“Now, you,” Jerry said, pointing a finger at me. “Speak to me that way again and you'll lose your fucking teeth. Understand?”
At that moment I wanted to charge him, and fuck the consequences. But I knew not to. It wouldn't have done anyone any good. So instead, I nodded, because I knew that would at least make them leave, and at that moment, that's all I wanted.
“Good.” Jerry hocked a spit by his boots. “Now you faggots know that when I ask you a question, you give me an answer. That right?” He waited and I nodded. “Good. We'll see you girls around.”
They strutted back through the ferns. Jerry only stopped long enough to flick the butt of his cigarette in Alan's direction. It missed him by a mile, but the message was clear. After that, the two brothers disappeared through the foliage and left us in stunned silence. It felt like a physical weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
I wish I'd seen Ghost pocket that lighter. I'd been too busy watching the Porter brothers leave and hadn't even considered he might do it. Too many other thoughts were running through my head. Had I seen it, I would have stopped him, of course. But I didn't. To this day I hate myself for that.