The path before me was barely visible under an overcast moon. Approaching the black iron gate I slowed to a stop, and shone my light on the letters that spelled out, Carlsbad County Cemetery.
A voice to my left made me snap around, “It’s haunted you know.”
In the beam of my flashlight stood a pale girl about my age. Straight brunette hair hung to just past her shoulders. She winced holding up a hand to block the beam. “Excuse me?”
I lowered the beam so it was aimed at her feet. “I know it’s haunted, or that’s what the locals say. That’s why I’m here. Legend says that a ghost always makes an appearance around midnight every night; ”
“Uh-huh,” she said, then added, “I’m Rachel,” as she turned and stepped through the large gate. “You coming? You don’t want to miss all the action, do you?” she said looking at me over her shoulder.
I followed her past a series of large pale gravestones. A sliver of silvery moon peaked out from behind a thick veil of dark cloud cover. She stepped into a shadow, and I lost sight of her. As I stood looking around for a sign of her, she called, “Over here.”
I saw her dimly waving me over from the shadow under a large tree. Somehow she’d located a marble bench and was waiting impatiently for me. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw that she was patting the seat next to her.
“Turn off your flashlight for a bit. Maybe the ghost will rear it’s ghastly head if the light is off.” She’d said ghastly with a little too much relish.
“K.” I said, pressing the switch watching all traces of light vanish in a moment. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Do you think we’ll see one?” She asked as I looked out over the cemetery. I looked out into the cemetery grounds and slowly glanced back and forth over numerous pale grey stones and into the surrounding woods. I thought that the moon must have come out from behind the clouds because everything seemed to be lighter, the shadows deeper. From my vantage, under a canopy of leaves, I couldn’t tell. “I dunno, maybe.”
“You’re a skeptic.” she said, amusement played at the edges of her voice.
“Not a skeptic, necessarily,” I said. “I prefer ‘realist’. If I can see or touch something, then I know it. If I can’t see it, well...”
“That’s baloney,” Rachel sneered, “You can see the moon, but how do you know it’s real? What if it’s just an illusion, or some technological miracle? Sometimes we need to trust that a thing is real, even if we can’t see it, touch it, smell it, hear it, or taste it.”
I snorted, leaning forward under the curtain of leaves, looking at the moon which was now full.
“It’s right there!” I said pointing.
Rachel didn’t move out of the shadows to look, but gave me a look that said, You’re not getting it.
“Men have been on the moon,” I thrust an open palm toward it, “Astronauts have stepped on it, put a flag on it, drove on it,” I said.
“...or so they claim...,” she looked up and away from me, her lips pursed in protest. “You’re trusting that they’re telling the truth. Believing that what they told you is true.”
“But...” I started. She held up a hand, stopping me short.
“Have you been to the moon, I mean, you personally, have you been there recently?” Rachel was now looking at me with interest. After a pause, she said, “No? Then you’re trusting that what they’ve written in the history books is accurate.”
I didn’t answer right away, I was thinking, but Rachel took my silence to be defiance, and added, “It’s okay to trust,” she said with less passion, but no less conviction, in her voice, “And it’s also okay to experience a thing in order to believe it. Seeing can improve our knowledge, but we ought to believe without seeing from time to time, that builds trust.”
“I can’t argue that. Though...” and this time I held up a hand, silencing her, “I still prefer the hands-on approach. Experiencing a thing is the best, most practical way of getting the facts.”
“Okay,” Rachel said, smiling slightly, “we agree.” She stuck out a hand, and I took it. Instantly her hand shot back out of mine. It was my turn to smile.
Rachel’s eyes scanned me, first in disbelief, then methodically.
“My parents will never believe me, when I tell them I’ve met...you.”
“Then it goes back to what you said about trust. They’ve never seen me, but will they believe, second hand?”
“You make a good point,” she said, standing and moving into the moonlight. The light seemed to glisten on her pale skin. She tilted her head far back, as if basking in it’s glow. “...and you didn’t tell me you were the ghost everyone in town is talking about.” She glanced sideways at me, then closed her eyes and tilted her head back again, facing the moon.
“I was enjoying your company, and our conversation. Why spoil the moment?”
Rachel blindly made a check mark in the air, “That’s two for you. I’m glad you didn’t spoil it,” She smiled sincerely, then her expression turned melancholy. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said.
“Go?” I asked.
“Yup, I’ve got to run. And I’m sorry for not telling you the whole truth about me. Though I’m not sure you would have believed me anyway.” She smiled a Cheshire cat smile, rows of canine sharp teeth shone in the light of the full moon. “G’night Ghost,” she said, and this time I heard a hint of a growl in the back of her throat. She sprang forward running with incredible grace and speed. In a moment she was on all fours, and sprinted into the darkness. By the time she reached the edge of the woods, mere moments, her human form was gone, and in it’s place, a large majestic wolf.
I watched the spot at the edge of the woods where moments before she’d disappeared. All evening something had been nagging at the back of my mind. As I stared out into the darkness it dawned on me; when we’d first met, in spite of the night being overcast, she wasn’t carrying a flashlight. I laughed as in the distance I heard the baying cry of a werewolf.
“There goes the neighborhood,” I mused.
Ken Chandler
"Ghost Story"
Copyright © 2009
Background (Spoiler Warning):
This piece was a writing assignment given by my Sister-in-Law, Beth Williamson, for the "Creating Story" Blog (whom she is the proprietor, and I am a part-time participant). For her topic she chose to have us write about "ghosts", in their various forms.
I love a good Halloween tale, and thought it would be fun to do another one of my "Twilight Zone" endings. You know the type... where you think you know what's going to happen, then, FLOP! the story line takes a header and puts you on your ear. I'm fairly confident that most of my readers will get half way through the story with the impression that the girl is the ghost and the kid is just an adventurous boy from town. If you figured it out before hand-- well then you're a psychic, or you read the ending first.
Whatever the case, I hope you enjoy my token effort to add to the spirit of Halloween. Thanks for reading!
Ken
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