by Amy Cross
“No,” I reply, “I didn't know anyone who was there.” It's a lie, of course, but I'm so used to lying about my past, I don't know if I even can tell the truth anymore. “I think I might spend a little more time down here, though, just looking around.”
“Drop by later,” she says with a faint smile as she heads back over to the stairs. “If you're still in town, anyway. It'd be cool to talk some more. I get off my shift at nine, so we could go hang out in the bar or something.”
“Maybe,” I reply. “I don't know if I'll be here.”
“You know we could always -”
She pauses, as if she's not sure whether or not she should finish the sentence.
“Always what?” I ask, barely even able to concentrate.
“Ben has a truck,” she continues. “If you're really interested in that compound... I mean, I told you how creepy it was the last time we went out. If we wait until after dark, we could go take a look.”
I open my mind to tell her to go to hell, to remind her that it's not some kind of fairground or tourist freak-show, but at the last moment something holds me back. The thought of seeing that place again is simultaneously horrific and enticing, and even though I know it's probably a bad idea, I can already feel a part of my mind starting to warm to the idea.
“Sure,” I say finally, as a sickening sensation starts to churn in the pit of my stomach. “What time?”
“Come meet me at the diner around eight,” she says as she places a key on the railing. “We'll go from there. Lock this place up when you're done and drop the key back at the front desk.”
As she heads back upstairs, I find myself strangely reluctant to follow. Staring at the old photo, I can't help thinking back to the time when I lived at the compound, and in particular to the days that followed when I was lost and alone. The whole thing feels like it happened so many lifetimes ago, which I guess in some ways is true. After all, I've died a few times since.
Ten years ago
“Do you mind if I sit here?” I ask, standing on the other side of the fire as an old woman warms her hands in an alley.
I wait for a reply, but she continues to stare into the fire as if she's transfixed by the flames.
Even though I know I should keep moving, I realize I can't bear to drag myself away from the warmth of the flames. Sitting cross-legged on the dirty, damp floor, I lean forward a little, while telling myself that I'll only stay for a few minutes. I've been wandering the city for hours, looking for somewhere to rest and for someone who might be able to see or hear me, but so far I feel as if I'm completely alone.
Once or twice I've made eye contact with someone, and I've even had a few people make comments, but there was something strange about those people, almost as if they were ghosts. I don't know what I'm supposed to do next, although I'm pretty sure that Mom is nowhere nearby.
And then suddenly, the old woman starts to sing some kind of old song in an Irish accent. I sit and listen, and for the first time in ages, maybe even the first time I can remember, I actually start to feel normal. I spent so long living at the compound with Mom and Mr. Kenseth and all those other people, I never really knew what the rest of the world was like. Even though I know it can only last for a few minutes, I allow myself to sit and listen to the old woman's song.
Today
“The thing you've gotta remember about those lunatics,” the old man shouts, struggling to make his voice heard over the noise in the bar, “is that they were basically hippies. I mean, they were a few decades too late for the whole flower power crap, but they were hippies. They believed in all that free love stuff. Hell, they were having orgies out there and all sorts of depraved behavior.”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” I mutter, taking a sip of my soda.
“My uncle did loads of research into the Attaroth cult,” Debbie says, nudging me in the ribs as she finishes her latest shot. “He's, like, the local expert.”
“Is that right?” I ask, turning to her uncle: sitting on a bar stool with a pint of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he's a white-haired old guy with several missing teeth and an expression of dumb self-satisfaction.
“I'm thinking of writing a book on 'em,” he explains, shifting his position on the stool as if he's scratching an itch. “Thought I could self-publish it.”
“Or get an actual publisher,” Debbie adds. “You know, make it a real book.”
“Clay Layton!” the barman shouts.
Looking over, I see that he's holding the receiver of a phone; when we make eye contact, he waves for me to go over and join him.
“Your Sugar Daddy wants you again,” Debbie says with a smile.
Ignoring her, I head over and take the phone. I already know who's going to be on the other end, and I'm not particularly looking forward to hearing his dulcet tones again. He always sounds so... smug.
“Clay baby,” he says as soon as I put the receiver to my ear, almost as if he can already see me, “I never had you down as a drinker. I hope you're not getting too tanked up before your night out.”
“What do you want?” I shout, raising my voice partly so I can be heard and partly because I'm annoyed.
“I just thought you'd like some encouragement. So far, you're doing a very good job.”
“All I've done is hang around all day,” I tell him. “Why didn't you tell me that Silverglade is the new name for Rover's Ridge?”
“Would it have mattered?”
“It would've given me the opportunity to chew my legs off instead of walking here.”
“But at least you've stayed put.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No,” he replies, “but most people would've made some kind of pointless attempt to rebel anyway, and I would've had to demonstrate that they have no option. Tell me, why are you being so docile?”
“I'm just accepting my fate,” I reply dourly, as I spot Debbie ordering another shot. “I'm conserving energy by not fighting against someone who can pretty much force me to do what he wants.”
“Is that why you let old man Kenseth touch you all those years ago?”
I look down at the bar, and for a fleeting second I swear I can feel that disgusting old man's hands running across my skin.
“I'm sorry,” Attaroth continues, “that was a low blow. I'm all for having prophets and disciples spreading my word, but not when they're combining their activities with some less salubrious business. Kenseth was an idiot, but the world is full of idiots. His real crime was... Well, you know full well. You weren't the first unfortunate soul who ended up being affected by him. Of course, I blame your mother for not -”
“Is this a social call?” I ask.
“I just wanted to say good luck tonight,” he replies. “I know you're heading out to the scene of the old crime, so to speak. Why are you doing that, Clay? It seems somewhat self-destructive, even for you.”
“I figured it's what you want me to do.”
“And you're happy to do something just because you think it'll please me?”
I pause for a moment, watching as Debbie downs her latest shot. If I don't wrap this call up soon, she'll order another and then she'll have trouble walking.
“I don't have a choice,” I say finally. “I don't even have the illusion of choice. You want me here, so I'm here. I've spent the past ten years trying to delay the inevitable, but I'm tired of that. Now I just want to get it over with so I can...” I pause again. “I don't want to be like this anymore.”
“Like -”
Before he can finish, I set the receiver back down on the phone's cradle. I guess at least I can tick that off my bucket-list now: putting the phone down on a god.
***
“Fuck,” Ben says a little while later, as we sit in his cold truck and stare ahead at the darkness. “Doesn't it give you the shivers, just looking at it from here?”
“It's so still,” Tom adds, “like... Like it's waiting for us.”
“I don
't believe in ghosts,” Debbie mutters, “but this place...” After a moment, she turns to me. “What do you think, Clay? Are you having second thoughts? Instead of being out here with these idiots, we could still be in the bar, lining up shots and... Well, not much else to be honest, but at least we wouldn't be so cold.”
Staring straight ahead, all I can do is watch the darkness and wait to see if anything moves. So far, I can't really see anything at all. After driving out from town, we parked up at the old gate to Kenseth's compound but we've been sitting here for a few minutes now, as if no-one wants to be first to open the door and head out there. I have no idea how much of the old buildings was destroyed ten years ago and how much was left standing, but buildings aren't my main concern: I'm worried about ghosts, and one ghost in particular.
“Fuck you,” I whisper, imagining Attaroth's grinning face.
“Huh?” Debbie asks.
“I mean let's do this,” I reply, opening the door and stepping out into the cold night air. As the others climb out, I close and zip my coat, before taking a few steps forward across the uneven, partially-frozen grass. Up ahead, I still can't make out any shapes in the darkness, but I know they're there. After all, where else do ghosts go after they die? They've probably been here all along, wondering why they were left down here instead of being whisked off to Attaroth's magical plane of existence.
“Remember last time we were out here?” Ben asks, turning to the others. “Remember that sound with the -”
“That was nothing!” Tom replies with a grin. “You two were just shitting your pants the whole time, imagining stuff out there in the dark -”
“There was a noise that night,” Debbie says, interrupting him. “You heard it, Tom, don't say you didn't.”
Taking a few steps forward, I spot a faint shape in the darkness, as if part of a white wall has been left standing. The others are still talking, goading each other and trying to score points, but I'm trying to drown out their incessant chat since I feel as if they're just treating this like a joke. I know it's probably a mistake for me to be out here, but Attaroth is clearly steering me toward something and, besides, it'd almost feel disrespectful for me not to come and at least take a look around. I've always wondered what happened to this site after the cult was chased away, and over the years I imagined all sorts of different uses that might have been adopted with the land and the ruins; to my surprise, however, it seems that everything was just left to rot.
“Hey,” Debbie says, suddenly nudging my arm, “you okay?”
“Seen any ghosts yet?” Ben adds, as he and Tom strike off ahead, quickly disappearing into the darkness.
“Told you it's creepy,” Debbie continues. “If you really don't like it, you can always wait in the -”
“No,” I reply, starting to follow the others. “I want to be here.”
“Some people really reckon there are ghosts,” she explains as she follows me. “Like, no-one ever comes out here, especially not at night. Apart from us idiots, anyway. But people who drive past sometimes say they see stuff, like ghostly images watching them or...” She pauses for a moment. “I mean, there was one guy who came to the diner late one night, right before we were closing, but I let him stay and have some whiskey 'cause he was shaking like crazy. Turned out he'd had to change a tire right by the gate, and he swore he heard voices coming from this place and cries for help. I know people make shit up about ghosts, but I saw the look in his eyes and I swear he was totally genuine.”
“Here's the main bit!” one of the guys shouts up ahead.
As if on cue, I spot a large section of the main building looming out of the darkness. My chest tightens as I remember what this place was like when my mother and I lived here, but I force myself to keep walking until finally I stop next to a shallow crater that seems to have been left in the middle of the lawn. It takes a moment, but suddenly I realize that I've found the old pond again, where I used to spend hours every day whenever I was allowed down to the bottom of the garden.
“What do you think it is?” Debbie asks. “Ben thinks maybe it's something an alien ship left behind.”
“It used to be a pond,” I tell her, making my way around the crater and heading toward what's left of the main building. I'm starting to get my bearings now, even in the darkness, and it's almost as if my muscle memories are returning and allowing me to find my way expertly around the site. When I reach a partially-destroyed wall, I immediately recognize it as the western corner of the main building.
I used to play hide-and-seek here with some of the older women.
“Anyone seen any ghosts yet?” Ben shouts.
I turn and look across the dark lawn. I don't see anything so far, but I swear I can sense something watching me, like a pair of eyes or... maybe lots of eyes, all staring at me from the darkness. Most people are scared of seeing ghosts, but I'm scared of not seeing them. After all, they're always around, but at least when you can see them you know where they are.
“What was that thing's name again?” Debbie asks, her voice reaching me from several meters away. “Adderoth? Atteron?”
“Attaroth,” I whisper.
“Kenseth was the name of the old man,” one of the guys tells her. “Did you ever read about him? He was a total freak. Like, he was into some dark shit. I still don't get how someone like that could persuade so many women to come and basically sit around, treating him like a king.”
“He was very persuasive,” I whisper, “and they were desperate for some kind of meaning in their lives.”
Hearing a faint twitching sound, I turn and look into the darkness. There's nothing to see, at least not yet, but I'm more convinced than ever that there are ghosts here, which means...
“Mom,” I whisper.
Hearing another sound, I turn again, and this time I spot a figure standing nearby, staring straight at me. It's not Debbie or either of the guys, and after a moment I realize that it's hazy, as if it's not really quite solid. Taking a step closer, I stare at its vague white features and finally I'm able to make out its face. I don't recognize the ghost, but from the way its standing and staring at me, I guess it definitely recognizes me.
A moment later, I spot another figure standing a little further off, and then another. Turning, I realize that there are ghosts all around, all watching us.
“Damn it,” Ben mutters, suddenly coming over to me. “I really thought we might see something tonight.”
“You don't see anything?” I ask.
“Do you?”
I look around at more of the ghosts.
“It's freezing out here,” Debbie says as she joins us, with Tom in tow. “We're not gonna spend all night out here again, are we?”
“Just long enough to test this,” Ben replies, taking what looks like a plastic screwdriver from his pocket and twisting the tip, which causes a small green light to flicker to life. “I bought it online, it's a ghost detector.”
Debbie rolls her eyes.
“Seriously,” he continues, waving the device around as if it's some kind of magic wand. “It's based on actual science, it detects certain types of particle that are said to be linked to ghost sightings, and it also picks up on localized areas where the temperature suddenly dips, which is another sign of supernatural activity.” Turning, he waves the device in another direction, this time pointing it straight at one of the many figures that are now standing all around us. “It's got a pretty good range.”
“Anything?” Tom asks.
“Give it time.” He takes a step forward until he's standing right next to one of the figures, but as he continues to wave the device around it's clear that he's starting to feel a little disappointed. “It's supposed to beep when it detects something,” he mutters. “I guess it's still warming up.”
“Or there are no ghosts tonight,” Ben suggests.
“Or it's a cheap piece of garbage,” Debbie adds.
As they continue to play with their dumb toy, I make my way across the lawn, looking
at the faces of the various ghosts. It's hard to really make out their features, and I definitely don't like the way they seem to turn and watch as I pass, but I have to see if my mother is among them. Ghosts usually burn when I'm around, but I guess that's more to do with Attaroth, and he isn't here this time. When I reach the far end of the lawn, I turn back and find that all the ghosts have turned to watch me. It's almost like a macabre reunion of old friends, and I wouldn't blame them if they're a little pissed off at me for still being alive.
Well... alive, or whatever the hell I am.
“Hey,” I whisper.
I don't expect an answer, and I don't get one.
“You've got it upside down!” Tom calls out, as he and the others continue to fiddle with the ghost detector.
Making my way around the edge of the lawn, I keep looking for some sign that my mother might be here, but I'm already starting to lose faith. I've encountered enough ghosts over the years to know that they're more than capable of speaking, so I don't understand why none of these figures are attempting to say anything to me, especially if they're able to recognize me from ten years ago. I also don't get why my mother, if she's here, wouldn't make contact, but as I reach the edge of the ruined building I start to realize that for some reason she's missing.
Taking a step forward, I almost trip over a small ridge in the grass. Looking down, I realize that the entire lawn seems so rough and unkempt, whereas it used to be very flat and tidy. I guess no-one has been looking after the place, but still, little ridges are criss-crossing the place almost like scars.
“I'm picking something up!” Ben says suddenly.
Turning, I see that he's pointing the device away from all the ghosts, in the exact most wrong direction. The sight would be funny if it wasn't so pitiful.
“You're insane,” Debbie says, making no effort to hide her boredom. “There are no ghosts here. There would be, if ghosts were real, but they're not so there aren't.”