Vintage: A Ghost Story (7 page)

Thunder sounded overhead as I walked back from Trace’s and I cursed not being smart enough to listen to the news and know about the weather. The wind picked up, too, tugging at me.
Trace’s question of whether or not I had seen other ghosts bothered me. I think she held something back from me, but I had no idea what or why. Maybe she was finally envious of me? She had been waiting to see some thing like Josh for years, especially if she really did believe her house was haunted by the ghost of her older brother.
I remember asking her about Second Mike’s odd name. Trace and I had been hanging around the elementary school playground at night. She had sat on the swing while I rested atop the slide with my feet dangling over the edge.
“So tell me about the First Mike.”
She had remained quiet for a while. Made me nervous. I didn’t know back then how much she liked to pause for dramatic effect.
“My older brother?” She swung slightly as she spoke. “I don’t remember him at all, which is sad. I was a waif when he left us.”
“What did he die from?”
The creaking of the old chains stopped. “That’s just it, he didn’t die. Or maybe he did, we don’t know. He literally left us, ran away at eleven.”
“Damn.” My insides shuddered. Was I so different from First Mike? I had run off.
I remembered the torment the night before; I should have been sleeping but instead packed so I could leave before my parents woke. I was so afraid of what would happen when I walked out the door, not completely sure my aunt would take me. If not for her, I’d be alone. Homeless. Was that what happened to him? There had to be something wrong that made him want to go. “Why do you think he left?”
Trace shrugged. I wondered how hard it was for her to talk about First Mike. “It nearly killed my mother. She stayed in bed for days, not crying, not sleeping, just lying there in the same clothes, the same curled-up position. My father had to stay home to watch over both of us; he lost a good job because she just gave up.
“My earliest memories are all of him and the closed door of my parents’ room. I would have nightmares about that door.”
I slid down the slide and went over to Trace. I knelt down in the patch of sand underneath the swing and rested my head on her shin. She slid her fingers through my hair.
“About a year later my mother must have fooled them into thinking she was better, and told my father she wanted another son. I don’t think he knew what she planned to do. But he should have never let her name the baby Mike again. Things got worse. She wouldn’t let the baby out of her sight. She became paranoid something was going to happen to him.” Trace sighed deeply. “This went on for years. He couldn’t go outdoors unless she went with him. Mom even refused to let him go to nursery school. Dad finally stepped in, and she went berserk.”
Which was worse, a mother who despised her son or one that was insane and smothering? Mine or hers? “What happened?”
“She had to be committed. Ancora. It’s been nearly ten years since last I saw her—that’s fine with me. Second Mike goes up there every so often with Dad. I think he feels responsible.”

The neighborhoods I walked through were quiet at night. I saw few cars pass by. As I cut through the parking lot of a darkened strip mall, I glanced up at the windows at my huddled reflection. Lightning flashed, making the glass opaque for a second. After I blinked, I saw in the glass a faint figure standing right next to me. I jumped.
Josh’s pale skin seemed to glow against the darkness. His face, his full lips, those lashes, all captured my eyes. I realized he would always stay that way, eternally beautiful. How couldn’t I envy such a fate?
“I want you to come along with me.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around my hand, turning it cold.
I swallowed hard, a little frightened at his touch. “Where to?”
He smiled but remained quiet as he led me outside.
I don’t remember much of the walk, how long it took or the direction we went. Nothing we passed looked familiar, as if he found some secret route through the deserted town. I felt like I sleepwalked the entire way, noticing little other than Josh holding my hand, slowly turning my arm and side to ice. No pain, just a seductive loss of body warmth.
We stopped at a crumbling stone wall. Standing on my toes and pulling myself up with my hands, I could see over the edge. Rows of stone markers. My ghost had brought me to a cemetery.
“Why are we here?” I waited for an answer but there was none. I looked back and Josh was gone.
“Great,” I muttered and started walking beside the wall until it ended in a wide gap that may have once had a gate. The paved road leading into the grounds was choked with weeds.
Another bout of thunder and lightning startled me. I caught a glimpse of someone walking through the cemetery. Josh. He must have slipped through the wall, like ghosts in movies do, and wanted me to catch up.
The graves hadn’t been tended in years, which saddened me. It was disrespectful to the dead. Was it any wonder there were so many unhappy spirits out there? Some stones were overgrown or toppled and a few were scarred by vandalism. Josh moved faster than I did, but then he must know where he was headed and didn’t need to worry about tripping over a fallen marker.
As I passed a row of very small headstones that had sunken into the ground, I heard soft sobs. I had lost sight of Josh. I tried to remain calm. I told myself that I had been alone in cemeteries at night before, and always felt safe and peaceful. Yet the words run false in my head. This time felt different.
The weeping came from close by but I could not see another soul. The wind blew an acrid scent right into my face and I began coughing. The smell of smoke and something worse, like badly charred meat.
I took a few steps back, hand over my mouth, careful not to step in the patches directly in front of the little markers. The graves of children. Near the last one, the air above the headstone had grown luminous. An indistinct shape, as if captured moonlight, hovered. By its glow I could read part of the inscription.
Paul Barnes September 17, 1911
—
December 3
,
1916
. Dead grass obscured the rest. The cries came from the light. I remained as quiet and still as possible, watching. When the spirit made no further move, my curiosity got the best of me. I slowly knelt down, keeping an eye on this new ghost, while pushing aside the brittle stalks.
Like an Ember Gone to Sky
. I looked at the other markers in the row.
Gerald
.
Thomas. Anna. Margolis
. All but one, the mother’s, Beverly Barnes, shared the same date of death.
The stink in the air and my face and hands feeling blistering hot for a mo ment made me turn back. A fire. The children must have died in a blaze. I watched the spirit begin to fade away until it was all but invisible, yet the sobs remained behind a while, growing softer and softer.
My ears, though, seemed ready and open to other voices. I heard snippets of talking, whispers from the empty air.
“Josh?” I called out. My own voice sounded weak and halting.
Instantly the cemetery went quiet. Even the wind seemed to have paused. Then the shouting began; yelling, pleading, demanding, all calling out to me. I covered my ears and screamed for them to stop but they wouldn’t. It only became louder, the voices more desperate. I ran but I had lost direction and wasn’t sure which way was out.
My foot struck something and I pitched forward. I was lucky I didn’t crack my skull open on a nearby tombstone but my hands and cheek burned where they scraped against the hard earth. Voices trailed off behind me.
I rose up and saw a pale figure with its back to me. Relief doused much of my fear. I ran over. “Josh, I’m glad I found you.”
Even as I spoke, I realized the young man wasn’t dressed the same. He wore an old military uniform and held a widebrimmed hat in his hands. One second, I looked at his back, the next, he faced me. He was older than Josh, much older as far as I could tell. I screamed at the sunken cheeks and the shallow pit where the man’s nose should have been. “She was so kind to me.” The voice slipped through clenched teeth.
I screamed.
The ghost moved so quickly, its hand reaching out to me, the fingers slipping deep into my shoulder. I expected pain, and there was some, but mostly I felt pulled from every sensation around me. Gone was the fear, the darkness, the cold wind and the sound of thunder.

I’m lying in a hard bed, much of me under a thin sheet. Afternoon light slips in through a nearby window, but it makes everything look cold. The place stinks with sour air. Hospitals are where people come to die. It’s bullshit if you think anyone walks out well from such places….

Every time I breathe in, there’s an odd whistling sound… and pain, so much all I want is to stop…
A woman comes over to where I lie. She’s a beautiful vision all dressed in white. The nurse. I wonder if her short blonde hair feels soft to the touch. Would her skin? I turn my head to focus on her long legs in their stockings. “Such beautiful legs,” I wheeze out…
She should smile at that. Girls always smiled at a compliment from me in the past. Only, I can see something in her eyes when she looks at me now. Pity. I know the girls will never smile at me again. My hand, shaking as if palsied—at only thirtyfive it should not tremble so—slips out from beneath the sheet and moves slowly up to my face. The fingernails are long and scratch my cheek. They should touch my nose but find only a ragged hole and agony…
She grabs my hand and murmurs something, her words more soothing than the morphine they give.
The ache suddenly stopped. I found myself back in the old graveyard at night. The soldier’s ghost had vanished.
The memory of lying in that sick bed hadn’t left me. What had just happened? I seemed to have borrowed a moment from his life, one that seemed so real it might as well have been my own. I could still smell the dying in whatever ward they had me. I leaned over and almost retched, gasping in cool night air. I said a silent apology to the grave I nearly soiled. The marker was decorated with a nurse’s cap below a name I could not make out.
When my head cleared, I stumbled on, absently touching my own face now and then to make sure it was still whole and my own. I leaned against an old tree to catch my breath and get my bearings. The bark scratched my bare neck.
I heard angry muttering from above me. I looked up and in the swaying branches right above me hung a body. The legs thrashed about. I screamed.
“What, no stomach for it?” Another ghost suddenly appeared and startled me. I could see through the scroungy young man. His ragged clothes looked turn-of-the-century. He grabbed one of the hanged man’s legs. “Come on now, ol’ Edward’s left us coin to help.”
I shook my head and watched as the ghost grinned, showing a mouth full of broken and missing teeth. He pulled down hard and I heard the crack of a neck breaking. It echoed through the graveyard.
“There now. All’s well. ’Cept, I hate to be sharing.” The ghost reached into his shoe and took out a knife. The blade looked very real. I swear the moonlight reflected off the metal.
He slashed at me. The knife bit into my stomach, like an icicle. I looked down and saw my shirt ripped open and blood spilling out. I clutched my self and ran. His mocking laughter filled the air.
I hid behind a mausoleum. Chest heaving, I grimaced and moved my hand aside, sure that I would see my innards slipping out. But there was no cut, no wound. My shirt and flesh were intact. My fingers still searched, having trouble believing that I wasn’t injured. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. Why was I seeing all the spirits and, even more frightening, why were they so intent on me?
I had to get out of there. I had taken only a few steps when I finally saw Josh. He sat on the ground, his back to a grave marker. When he saw me, he smiled. “I found myself. Looked all over last night but I finally found my self.”
When he stood up I found myself reading the chiseled letters :

Still scared, I wanted to leave the graveyard before another spirit came, but I couldn’t abandon Josh. He looked so forlorn staring at his own grave. I’d stay just a little while longer. I worried that maybe freeing him from the highway had been wrong.

“You’re not alone anymore.” I kept my hands underneath my arms to warm the fingers. Standing so close to him made everything that much colder.