Gap Year in Ghost Town

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Gap Year in Ghost Town Page 23

by Michael Pryor


  ‘Blame old episodes of Doctor Who.’

  ‘I was brought up in England and even I don’t talk like that.’

  ‘And now you’re putting it off.’

  ‘I am. This place gives me the willies, that’s why.’

  I threw the car door open. Outside, traffic was steady on the highway. Plenty of big trucks, B-doubles, mixed in with cars and 4WDs and utes. Some of the occupants might have caught sight of the shrine and wondered who had died there. Maybe they spent a moment feeling sad and valuing what they had. I hoped so. It’s more likely, though, that they were worrying about getting where they were going.

  ‘Look to our flanks,’ Rani said. ‘Any potential threats?’

  ‘Not that I can see.’

  ‘If there were an ambush, where would it be?’

  I pointed. ‘Behind the central tree, the one with all the stuff around it.’

  ‘You’re getting the hang of this.’ She held up her wrist with the bracelet on it. ‘Any indication of ghost presence now?’

  My pendant was quiet on my chest. ‘I can’t feel anything.’

  ‘No Watcher, but no Evans family ghosts, then,’ Rani said. ‘Thank goodness.’

  I was really glad that there wasn’t even a hint of a potential ghost anywhere near the crash site. That would have made the whole thing messed up in a big way, and since it was already a horrible mess we didn’t need any more.

  I crunched over the gravel and then had to skip around the puddles the rain had left. Then I realised that these puddles were mostly in what had been tyre tracks – the heavy, braking, swerving tyre tracks that had taken the Evans’s car on its last, fatal journey.

  I stopped and shuddered.

  Rani saw the direction of my gaze. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah, I know that people die every day, in circumstances even more tragic than this, but this one really bites.’

  ‘It does. It’s so common, something like this, that we forget how it hurts those left behind.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘I think she would rather have died in the crash as well.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Road accidents affect so many people, so often.’

  ‘Accident,’ I repeated. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket. ‘I’ve never understood that. When I spill my cup of coffee, that’s an accident. When I bump someone’s arm so they spill their coffee, that’s an accident. A road smash where people are killed or maimed and lives are ruined, that’s something more than an accident.’

  Rani touched me on the arm. ‘I’m going to suggest something radical in these ghost-hunting times. Let’s not split up.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Side by side, we drew closer to the crash tree. Some of the more recent floral tributes had started to rot, while the oldest had been swept aside. Others had fallen over. Rani crouched and righted one of them, a large bunch of carnations in a vase, then she wiped her hands. ‘Anything?’

  I had one hand on my pendant, and I’d been casting around. I felt a very low level ghost presence. ‘Not sure. Let’s do a circuit.’

  It took a while, but when we were about ten metres away from the crash tree, my pendant twitched and I stopped. ‘I’ve got something.’

  ‘You too? My bracelet came alive for an instant. I thought I felt something but wasn’t sure.’

  ‘It’s not near the tree, though. It’s that way.’

  The median between the north- and south-bound traffic was still a nice healthy runway of gum trees, with scrubby undergrowth, and some rocks that probably dreamed of being boulders when they grew up. We walked towards a stand of skinny young gums. They stood out from the more mature trees around them and must have been planted much later.

  As we grew nearer I started shaking my head.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Rani asked.

  ‘What are we going to do if it’s up a tree?’

  ‘Climb, unless you have a chainsaw hidden on you.’

  We were about five metres away from the stand of trees.

  ‘I have it,’ Rani breathed. ‘Very faint. Ground level. No climbing required.’

  ‘Let’s box it in,’ I suggested, and Rani nodded with approval.

  With swift gestures, she indicated the route she’d take to the left – and that I should circle the trees to the right. I gave her a thumbs-up, which probably wasn’t standard military protocol, but she got my meaning.

  I could see Rani through the stand of trees, which was only four or five metres across. The ghost presence I was sensing was right in the middle, where the trunks were clustered thickest, where a tangle of greenery tried its best to wrap itself around them.

  I squinted. There it was, so faint that it was hard to make out. Our Watcher. The more I concentrated, the firmer its outline grew – old-fashioned ankle-length dress, a bonnet, a soiled bandage around her throat. Early settler in the area? Traveller on the road between Melbourne and Sydney?

  Then I had to put a hand out and steady myself against the nearest trunk.

  Perspective. It had taken me a moment to realise how big this ghost was, and it had finally clicked that she was tiny, just above waist height. She was a kid.

  I put both hands to my head and closed my eyes. Why did she have to be a little kid?

  I couldn’t move. I knew, intellectually, that ghosts aren’t people. Head Anton was repeating this, with emphasis, loudly while Heart Anton was saying, ‘But – a little kid!’

  Kids don’t deserve to die. Not many people deserve to die, true, but kids…

  When these deaths spawn ghosts, it just makes it worse.

  This one had hair that hung in twin braids down past her shoulders. She was barefoot, like a lot of ghosts, and she stood in the middle of the trees, hovering above the leaf litter, with both hands clasped in front of her and an expression on her face as if she were waiting to see the headmaster and she wasn’t really sure why.

  In no way did she look like Carl, but the way she was unguarded, the way she was unfinished, reminded me of him so much. My heart felt as if it was being crushed by stones.

  She didn’t move as I drew closer. Even though I had to lurch through the trees, she just stood there, forlorn, with that eucalyptus smell all around, sometimes dusty, sometimes green, depending on which way the air stirred.

  That was the word for her, all right. Forlorn. Lost and lonely and without hope.

  Rani was there, on the other side of the ghost, making her way closer. I knelt, my arms outspread. ‘It’s okay,’ I whispered and I really, really hoped it was. I’d forgotten what we’d come for. I wanted to help this tiny one, badly, to offer her something, to give her a hug, to let her leave and seek her rest.

  She shivered and closed her eyes. I reached out for her, but as I did, she reached for me.

  Our hands touched. She saw me as a friend.

  That confirmed that I couldn’t play around with this family business. I had responsibilities, I’d worked that out – but I’d forgotten to include one group. I had a responsibility to the ghosts.

  Ghost hunting wasn’t something I could dabble in. I had to take it seriously because it was a serious, humbling business. These creatures, these ghosts, mostly didn’t want to be here and they took it out on us. By helping them pass on I was doing them a favour, but I was doing more than that – I was giving them hope. This world, for them, was unpleasant, a struggle, a torture. I was helping them leave and, when it came to it, they were glad.

  This tiny ghost, this ghost of a child knew my struggle and she understood my commitment. She saw me as a ghost friend.

  Wow.

  In that rush of contact, a bunch of other stuff washed over me. I saw the wild and furious Stacey Evans corralling this poor kid ghost. I saw the threat of pain and torment if the Watcher didn’t do what she was tasked with. I saw that the Watcher would meet Stacey once a week, and where.

  The Watcher let go of my hands, which were cold but not useless. I nodded and pressed my hands into her tiny chest. I twisted.
She went in a cloud of memories of parents, a farm, a kitten, and hot, dry wind on her face, gritty enough to make her squint.

  I sagged in the middle of that stand of trees while the traffic flew past on either side.

  Sometime later I understood that Rani had her hand on my shoulder. We stayed like that for a while, then she gave me a tissue.

  ‘I hate tissues.’ My voice was thick. ‘One decent blow and they’re history.’

  ‘I don’t have a handkerchief, otherwise I’d give it to you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I wiped my eyes, blew, and the tissue was history.

  As I knelt on the ground in the middle of the trees, Rani waited for me to get myself together.

  Eventually, I stood up. ‘Should have realised,’ I said. ‘Stacey comes here to get a report from the Watcher. Watcher doesn’t leave and find her.’

  Rani patted me on the shoulder, then squeezed it. ‘We should have worked that out.’

  ‘Only one ghost here. More than enough.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be much of a system if the Watcher had to abandon her post and find Stacey every time someone turned up.’

  ‘The bad news is that our Watcher couldn’t tell us when Stacey will be back,’ I said.

  ‘Ghosts and time don’t go well together.’

  ‘She only knew that Stacey had come sometime in the past and was certain to be coming again.’ I looked around. ‘So, tactically, do we set up camp here or do you have something else in mind?’

  ‘I have a possibility’ She took out her phone and held it up for me. ‘Bec found that Stacey Evans has a Facebook page, remember?’

  The page was full of shared grief and tributes. They went on and on as I scrolled. I felt grubby, intruding on the heartfelt messages of loss and sorrow. ‘You’re hoping that a woman who has merged with a Rogue ghost and assumed magical phasmaturgical powers is still monitoring her Facebook page.’

  ‘I’m sure she looks at it hundreds of times a day.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Look around. This whole place is a sign of obsession. She’s not letting go – her whole existence is dedicated to not letting go. She won’t be able to stop looking at her page.’

  Rani took her phone back.

  ‘And now you’re sending her a direct message?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m writing on her page. We want her to see that what I’m posting is public knowledge.’ She finished, and she wiped her hands on the sleeves of her coat. ‘There. The local council and the roads authority are clearing up this site because it’s a safety hazard.’

  ‘They’re not.’

  ‘No, but she doesn’t know that.’ Rani surveyed the flowers, the photos and the keepsakes. ‘She’s going to come running.’

  ‘And foaming at the mouth. I hope you’re ready for her.’

  ‘I hope you’re ready for her, Mr Smart Guy.’

  ‘You bet. I’ll hit her with a zinger, then follow up with a snarky remark and, while she’s staggering, I’ll pummel her with a quip or two and hope that all of this covers up my abject fear.’

  ‘I trust that you’ve something more useful than that.’

  ‘I’m working on it.’

  Rani flicked the hilt of her sword. ‘Because, if you can’t, and she unleashes Rogues on us, there’s only one thing I can do, in the end.’

  ‘Swords are for slicing.’ I picked some dry leaves off the lapel of my jacket. ‘You got any water in that car of yours? I’m gasping.’

  ‘Plenty.’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but water’s another thing you girls always have around.’

  ‘Another?’

  ‘Tissues. Every girl I’ve ever known has a secret stash of tissues within reach. Usually a kilo or two, with an emergency back-up supply hidden somewhere.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were so wise in the ways of female kind.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say “wise”. I’m a keen student, though.’

  She raised an arched eyebrow. The archiest. ‘I’m sure.’

  So we sat in the car, drank some water, and talked a little. Not much, as we were both on edge waiting for the murdering magician to scream up alongside us.

  Lunchtime came and went. Rani had water, but nothing to eat apart from some sugar-free gum. I eat most stuff, but I draw the line at that. You might as well chow down on a bicycle tyre.

  I outlined a plan, too, the one I’d worked up while sitting there. Hey, it meant it was mmm…fresh, okay?

  Rani took my plan, studied it, screwed it up and tossed it out of the window. Metaphor.

  She came up with another plan. It burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp. But the next one stayed up.

  Pop culture reference.

  After that, Rani spent a lot of time with a whetstone and her sword. She found it soothing. I found it soothing too. I mean, when I go into a dangerous situation involving violence and/or vicious ghosts, I like to do it with someone whose sword is really, really sharp.

  As the afternoon stretched on I began working on a back-up, back-up plan involving a travelling circus and clown disguises. Then, as it was drifting into evening, that time when the sun gets low enough to make long tree shadows stretch across the landscape, I checked the rear-vision mirror for the billionth time and caught the sight of a 4WD gunning our way.

  I don’t know why my stomach knotted. It might have been the way it was rocketing along. It might have been the way it was swerving and veering around the rest of the traffic on the road and the way that it had no lights when most of the other motorists were starting to turn theirs on. But mostly it was the way that when it skidded to a halt the tyres were smoking and, for a few seconds, it looked like it was going to plough right into the back of Rani’s car.

  Tyre smoke is nostril-singeingly bad, but I followed Rani’s lead in using it to cover us while we bailed out and ran for the crash tree.

  Rani took up position on one side of the tree and faced the road, making sure that the ground behind her was unobstructed. She’d need plenty of room to back away. She settled her feet in a solid stance, unsheathed her sword and waited.

  In the growing gloom, I hid behind the tree. It was part of the plan, okay?

  I heard Stacey Evans scream. None of this, ‘You, again!’ or, ‘This time, prepare to meet your doom!’ She just screamed as if her heart was being torn from her chest.

  ‘Mrs Evans!’ Rani called. ‘We want to help you!’

  Stacey screamed again and it was raw as a bleeding wound.

  By this time, I’d crept around the tree. Stacey Evans was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and she had a black leather handbag over one arm. The T-shirt was inside out and back to front. The jeans hung loosely around her hips and her hair was writhing on her head like seaweed in a storm. As Rani backed away, she tottered forward on stiff legs.

  This was part of the plan, Rani backing away. It let me circle around the tree until I was behind Stacey, to her right, only three or four metres away – a quick few paces, that was all.

  That was when Stacey fumbled at her handbag and pulled out a bottle of mineral water. For a second, I was almost patting myself on the back for my observation about girls and water, before she undid the cap and shook the bottle, from side to side, as if she was dislodging something thick and gluggy.

  My pendant went crazy. Rogues sprayed out of the bottle, lots and lots of Rogues.

  Stacey Evans had invented portable Rogues.

  Rani and I had thought that Stacey might have a Rogue or two with her in the car, but the horde of spectral forms boiling out of a plastic bottle was not part of the plan.

  Rani’s job was to deal with Stacey’s spooky bodyguards while I did my bit. Now, my view of Rani was blocked by the mass of howling Rogues, and this was looking like a really bad allocation of roles.

  I thought about trying to help Rani by throwing myself on the Rogues in a senseless sacrifice but that would be, well, senseless. If I was ever going to make a sacrifice it was going to be a sensib
le sacrifice, for certain.

  I left Rani to do what she did best. I barrelled into Stacey, knocking her flat on her face and then I sat on her. It’s funny, but that was really hard. I felt like jumping up and apologising – ‘I’m so sorry’ – but I went ahead with our plan. I clamped her between my knees, and while her arms and legs flailed and her hair thrashed like a nest of furious snakes, I plunged my hands through her back.

  Okay, so that was a risk based on Rani’s observation that Stacey Evans hadn’t felt quite there. And what was the worst that could happen? I’d break a finger, she’d turn on me and I’d get Rogue-slapped?

  Yeah, well, the worst that could happen was the worst that could happen.

  The reality not exactly as anticipated. When I ease into ghost substance, there’s no resistance, really. Maybe about the same as walking through fog. Pushing my hands into Stacey’s substance wasn’t like touching a ghost, or touching a human; it was like trying to push a finger through plasticine. There was an added ‘Ick!’ factor because I was, sort of, pushing through her flesh.

  Double ick.

  I did it though, while she kicked and screamed and tried to reach back to claw at me, and I tried to pin each flailing arm with a knee. I clenched my teeth and strained, little bit by little bit, and pushed. ‘Steady,’ I gasped. ‘It’s okay.’

  I groped for the Rogue that had possessed Stacey, and that’s when I nearly fell off her. The sense of two beings at war inside her was nausea-inducing. One was lost and calling for help. The other was red hot and raging, cackling at the freedom it had found and almost exploding with glee. I sought for it. I grasped it. I clutched it and then wrenched as hard as I could.

  Stacey screamed, then she spasmed beneath me in two great heaves and went still.

  I shook my head, carefully. Rani!

  She had backed against a tree, ten metres away. She was still fighting a swarm of Rogues.

  They hadn’t disappeared when I’d ended the Rogue’s possession of Stacey Evans. That part of the plan had just gone out the window and been replaced by panic. On my part, at least, while Rani fought like a demon.

  Awkwardly, I rolled off Stacey. She was breathing, but not. I fumbled around and checked the pulse at her neck – first aid training – and it was strong. And now she felt like a human being, not a fuzzy, doughy half-human/half-ghost thing.

 

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