The Ghost In The Girl, page 4
“None taken,” I mumbled. I looked over my shoulder again. There was no doubt in my mind. An alarm in my head was going off. We were being watched.
“They want to get ghost molested, so they went to find her,” Wiz said. He stopped walking suddenly. “You’re not really heading to the trails, are you?” he asked.
“What? I don’t know. Keep walking.” By that point, I wasn’t paying much attention to Wiz at all. I had gone into a subdivision that backed up against the trails, true. Why? I had a bad vibe. A big, bad, bearded, fat man, hippie vibe.
Five minutes earlier, about three blocks from the Oceannaire, I had seen the same big hippie who had been watching us, a little too intently if you ask me, while we all got in the fight at the coffee shop. He stood behind a Jeep and stared as Wiz and I walked up the sidewalk across the street from him. I didn’t think anything of it then. But, a moment earlier, when I felt like we were being watched, I turned and saw the same dude behind the same Jeep parked across the street from where Wiz and I were walking again. I got very nervous.
“It’s getting pretty dark,” Wiz said. “I know there aren’t a lot of pedophiles and killers around here, but it only takes one, you know? Wouldn’t want to get unlucky cutting across on a deserted trail when we could just take ten or fifteen minutes longer and stay on the street.”
“Yeah. I don’t know. I think we’re being followed,” I said.
Wiz stopped again. “Are you messing with me?” He had been wearing his goggles on his forehead since the Oceannaire. He pulled them down on his eyes. “Because it’s not funny at all.”
I took a couple of fast steps and crouched behind a Toyota. “Come here,” I said. “Did you see the hippie? That big old fat dude at the coffee shop?”
Wiz’s shoulders crept up to his ears. He nodded. “Beard,” he said.
“Yeah. Seriously. Come here,” I said.
Wiz moved and crouched next to me. Not more than five seconds later, a Jeep came round the corner. It skidded to a halt. The hippie pulled himself up using the front roll bar. He seemed to sniff the air.
“Pedophile?” Wiz whispered.
“What is he sniffing for?” I asked.
The hippie’s head swiveled in our direction. Wiz and I ducked fast.
“Where the heck you think you’re heading to, Charlie Wilkins?” called a gravelly voice. “You’re not going to cut up through them trails and over across Olivenhain, are ya?”
“He’s talking to you,” Wiz whispered.
“Yeah no shit, Wiz,” I said. “Okay. Okay. I’m going to talk to him.” My heart pounded in my chest.
Wiz put his hand on my shoulder, pulled down. “Don’t do it,” he said.
“I have to. What if he has my dad’s bike?”
“What?” Wiz asked.
I stood up, my shoulders and head clearing the top of the Toyota. “Okay . . . Okay, dude. Did you take the bike?”
“No, I sure didn’t. I got no bike.”
“Shit. Fine. Why are you following us?” I shouted.
“Uh, to make sure you get home okay?” the hippie said. “You got a lot of company, right?”
“Company? Yeah. You!”
“Ha ha. I know you’re your dad’s kid. I know you got the sixth sense, right? You can feel them shadows and shreds traveling the sewer lines, can’t you?”
“What the hell is he talking about? What the hell?” Wiz gasped.
“Go away or I’ll call the cops, man,” I said, holding up my phone.
“No need for that, little dude!”
“I’m calling 911 right now!” I shouted. “Pedophile on the prowl!” I took several steps up the hill, onto a stubby cul-de-sac where the Natural Trails area connects to city streets. “Let’s go, Wiz,” I said. “That fat ass won’t be able to deal with the trails.”
“Listen,” the man said, holding up his hands. “If you go up in there, he’s going to scare you, okay? Tunnels open to the surface in there. But . . . but he doesn’t have much power for real. On a normal day, he can make a lot of noise, but as long as you stay away from the cottage itself, he can’t hurt you. So, just be cool, got it? Don’t freak and run off a cliff or nothing.”
“What is he talking about, Charlie?” Wiz asked, standing straight up, revealing himself from behind the Toyota.
“Hi buddy! You must be part of the team, huh?” the man asked Wiz.
“Team?” Wiz said.
“Just go away!” I shouted. “Come on,” I said to Wiz. Then I turned and began to jog into the growing dark, to the trails.
“Wait, little dudes. Just come back here,” the man shouted.
“Stick it in your ass!” I cried over my shoulder.
“Yeah!” Wiz shouted. “All the way in!”
“Ha ha! Will do!” shouted the man. “Hey! Charlie! When you get home, look for that book! The guest book, okay? You know that book? We need it! Hey . . . hey! Why don’t you just come back here?” the man cried.
But we were cruising away up into the Natural Trails Park.
“What book? Guest book?” Wiz asked.
“I don’t know what the hell,” I said.
We didn’t have much time to wonder about the hippie dude, though, or his weird ass questions, or what the hell he meant when he said, “He’s going to scare you . . .”
CHAPTER SEVEN
We climbed into the hills. The damn terrain was tough to deal with. Wiz was not remotely stoked about the situation. We ducked low-hanging branches and we tripped over dips and holes in the ground. We both jacked on the flashlight on our phones, which allowed us to see a little bit ahead, but not much. It was getting dark, very fast.
Wiz stopped at the base of a small rise. “Why are we in here?” he spat. “I don’t even know what direction we’re going in. The compass on my phone is all messed up. It’s like we’re going through electromagnetic fields, or something.”
“We’re fine. I’ve been through here a lot. I think . . . I think I know where we’re going. Just keep walking,” I said.
“Oh good. Great. I’m really feeling better about this,” Wiz said.
Then, as we scrambled up a scrubby hill, navigating all these jagged rocks, both our phones, for no apparent reason, buzzed like we were getting texts.
“That’s weird,” I said.
“Yeah,” Wiz said. He leaned over onto a large boulder next to a sharp-tined bush to the trail’s left. The boulder seriously looked like a skull—two giant eye sockets, anyway. “Really. Did you get a message?”
“No,” I said, staring at the boulder. Then my phone shocked me, like literally zapped my hand! “Ow,” I shouted.
“This is very strange,” Wiz whispered. He held up his phone. It sprayed an arc of sparks from its charging port, which bounced off the skull boulder.
“Jesus! Ouch!” I got shocked again. I dropped my phone into tall, sharp grass. The flashlight went out all together. Then Wiz’s phone went dark, too.
“Something entirely odd is going on,” Wiz said. His voice cracked.
I nodded. Tried to catch my breath. Not that Wiz could’ve seen me nod, because the darkness around us intensified. I mean it was freaking blackness! This is not how it tends to get dark in Encinitas, either. We get some really good, long sunsets. I reached down into the grass, trying to find where I dropped my phone.
“No snakes, please. No snakes, please. No snakes,” I whispered, pretty sure I was a moment away from grabbing a rattler, getting bit, probably dying, and so I wasn’t particularly aware of the temperature dropping steadily. But Wiz was.
“Hey. It’s getting really cold. Like . . . like ice.”
I found my phone. Pressed the on button. For a moment, the light shined into my face. I could see my breath, in Encinitas, in late spring! I turned to look at Wiz, who stood behind me, illuminated by my phone. “I don’t think this is good,” I whispered. Then my phone turned itself off.
“No,” Wiz whispered into the dark.
“Yes. It’s really cold here,” said a child’s voice.
“Did you say that?” Wiz asked.
“No,” I said.
“So cold,” said the child’s voice.
“Oh no. Oh shit, Charlie,” Wiz mumbled into the dark.
I couldn’t see anything, or I might’ve run away. I was seriously about to shit my pants. I could tell Wiz was in the same boat.
“You don’t want to be here, Charlie Wilkins,” the kid’s voice said. It was closer.
“It knows your name,” Wiz whispered.
“No, I really don’t want to be here,” I said, throat closing with fear. “Go away, kid, or whatever you are . . .”
“You’re the sixth generation, not the fifth. You don’t have to be here,” the voice said, even closer.
“Dope!” I shouted. “I’ll go!”
The thing, the voice, spoke again, “Paula is the fifth. Leave her be and you are safe.”
I could feel the ice of the kid’s breath on my neck and that was it. Even though I couldn’t see shit, I grabbed Wiz’s arm and yanked. “It’s on me, bro! It’s on me!” Then I took off, pulling Wiz along.
The thing, the kid voice stayed with me. “If you save Paula, you will take her place!” it cried in my ear.
I smacked at my face with my left hand, trying to smash the thing like a bug (it didn’t have a body!) and pulled Wiz with my right (he was screaming like in a horror movie). We sprinted into total darkness, up over a hill and then into an opening where there were fewer trees.
“This is a cemetery!” Wiz cried.
We skidded to a halt. “Maybe we lost it?” I said.
Then a shimmering light appeared in front of us. A glowing boy’s face, so pale white it was translucent, with deep-set black eyes, a tall forehead beneath, like, an old-time paperboy’s cap, and a pointy nose and small, blackened, rotting lips.
“Ah!” I screamed. We both ran the opposite direction, up a rise. Somewhere there my foot caught on a rock and I fell hard onto my chest, sliding across gravelly soil. The boy was on me immediately. “Stay away from Paula of the fifth,” it whispered in my ear. “Or you will take her place and you will be so cold.”
“Get away from me!” I screamed. I rolled over onto my ass and crab-walked backwards.
“Stay away from Paula,” the child’s voice said. “Stay away, Charlie Wilkins. Stay away, away, away, or . . .”
Over the rise from the other direction came a set of headlights.
“A car!” Wiz cried. “It’s a real car!” Actually, the lights were attached to a Jeep that bounced over rocks and quickly closed in on our position. “The hippie!” Wiz cried.
It came so fast Wiz had to jump out of the way and I had to roll. The Jeep slid to a stop.
“Back off, Rooster!” the hippie shouted. “Charlie and nerd kid, get in here!”
The hippie didn’t have to ask twice. Wiz was in the passenger seat before “nerd kid” slid out of his fat beard. I leapt up into the open vehicle a tenth of a second later. The hippie smacked the gas and we took off, bouncing down the gravel access road we must’ve been on when I fell on my chest. I was so shocked, I barely registered what was happening (including the blood seeping out of my shirt).
Suddenly a wicked wind blew from the right. It pelted me and Wiz with gravel.
“Uh oh. Little boy’s pissed!” said the driver. “We’re close to his energy source. This is going to look worse than it actually is!”
The hippie accelerated and the Jeep bounced hard. I flew up and hit the top of my head on the roll bar.
“You okay?” Wiz shouted.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Hang on, little dudes!” the hippie cried.
He floored it and the Jeep roared into a dip then bounced out on the other side, catching air. Wiz and I hung on for our lives (I held the bottom of the seat with my right hand and gripped Wiz with my left).
At that moment, a line of scraggly pine trees to the right burst into flame. One by one, they uprooted and flew into the Jeep’s fender.
“Holy shit!” I screamed.
“This is not happening!” Wiz screamed.
“Whoa-ho-ho!” the hippie shouted. “We got fireworks!”
We spun off the road to the left, totally crushed through a row of bushes then skidded back onto the road.
“We’re almost out!” said the driver.
Thank baby Jesus for that! My face was already peeling off from screaming. But it wasn’t over. The child’s face materialized, white as a sheet in front of me. It hovered calmly. Its black eyes were open wide, like a damn zombie. “Stay away from Paula, Charlie Wilkins,” it hissed. “Or you will die!”
I’m not shitting. I howled and cried and slapped at the thing. Wiz screamed and cried and slapped, too. The child’s face smiled, then disappeared. The Jeep bounced over a curb and out onto the normal streets of Encinitas.
“Oh my God. Holy shit. Holy balls,” Wiz said.
“I didn’t think you should go in there, little dudes. But the ghoulies never come out this far. They can’t. We’re safe now!” Just then we hit a pothole in the road and Wiz bounced up and smacked his goggled head on the roll bar. He slid down on the seat and stared straight forward.
“Whoops!” said the hippie. “Safe from the ghoulies, anyway!”
“Safe?” I shouted. “Who are you? What the hell is going on? Who was that thing? That kid? Why’d he know my name?”
“I’m Cortez, dude! Figured you might want a lift out of there, once you got in and met Rooster.”
“Rooster?” I shouted.
“The fugly dead kid!” Cortez said.
Fugly for real. Man. I could only nod at that. I put my hand on my chest and felt the sticky blood on my t-shirt.
“You’re bloody,” Wiz said, nodding.
“I’m going to get you two home,” Cortez said.
I looked back over my shoulder. I couldn’t see any fire reflecting in the night sky. I couldn’t see smoke hovering over the Natural Trails or the old cemetery (which is called Olivenhain Cemetery we were soon to find out). Were the flying trees real? Was the fire real? Was any goddamn thing real?
Cortez squealed around a corner in the general direction of my house. He tore up the street. A minute or two later he pulled the Jeep over.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Doing?” Cortez asked.
“I’m going to get out,” I said.
“Sure, little dude. I wouldn’t trust me. I mean, look at me. Ha ha ha!” he said.
“You’re wearing a Mexican poncho,” Wiz mumbled.
“You got that right,” Cortez said. “Anyhoo, here’s the deal. You listen to me. You trust me, okay? You don’t have much time. Are you listening, Charlie Wilkins?”
I was, but I guess I looked stunned or something. I looked the hippie in the eyes. I nodded.
“Good. Listen real good. By dawn Saturday, this whole deal will be done. If you want to save her, you’re going to need to get me that book. You know the one I’m talking about, Charlie?”
I shook my head, no.
“It’s a guest book thing? From down at the Whaley House? You know about that house? Historical and whatnot? Packed to the gills with the ghoulies?”
I shook my head, no, again, even though I had heard of the Whaley House from Dad.
“That damn book is mine and I’d go in your house and get it myself, but I can’t see through your old man’s bird cloak, even though he’s gone . . .”
“What? My old man’s cloak?” I asked.
“Yup! Your dad! Me and him are buddies, right? So he told me about that cloak—some kind of bird squawking thing? And how I can’t get inside, so I need you to help me by finding that book, by getting me that book. Get me that book and I’ll help you save the girl.”
“What girl?” Wiz asked.
“I don’t know any girl,” I said.
“If you don’t yet, you soon will,” Cortez said.
Then I thought for a second. “No. No way. Can’t help with the book. Sorry.” I knew my dad well enough. If he built some cloak or whatever that kept this dude away, there was a good reason.
Wiz grabbed my wrist. He gripped tight. “Aw, really? Come on, Charlie,” Wiz said in a very weird, slow way. “I mean maybe you can’t get him the book tonight. But tomorrow? Or Friday? Jeez. We can trust him. He just saved us, right?”
I squinted at Wiz. He was turned away from Cortez. He lifted up his goggles and winked at me.
“Oh. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Just not tonight,” I said.
“Not tonight. No problem! We still got tomorrow and Friday!” Cortez said. “Get it to me by Friday midnight and we’ll beat Yankee and that kid, you and me! We’ll save the girl and save you!”
“You bet we will,” Wiz said.
“You bet,” I said, nodding. Yankee? That was the first I’d ever heard of who we now know is Yankee Jim Robinson. Just hearing Yankee back then sent a chill up my spine. I didn’t know why.
“So you got to get a hold of me, right? Cell phones don’t work with all them ghoulies.” Cortez leaned way forward, pretty much across Wiz’s lap. He opened up the glove compartment and pulled out a pair of old army walkie-talkies. He handed one to me. “Here. You know how to work one of these?”
“Yeah,” I said. Dad had some in the garage, so I actually did know.
“You can get a hold of me on this. Analog, so rock solid in a pinch,” Cortez said. He was still leaning across Wiz.
Wiz tapped him on the shoulder. Cortez sat up.
Wiz spoke like a robot. “That’s fantastic. Charlie will get that book by Friday night. Drop us off at my place: 2307 La Noria.”
Cortez nodded. He smiled. “Right on, little dude. You’re a good one, aren’t yuh?”
“Uh huh,” Wiz said.
Cortez nodded again then hit the gas and the Jeep leapt forward. Again, I held on both to the seat and to Wiz, so I wouldn’t fly the hell out. The walkie-talkie bounced in my lap. A few minutes later we rolled down a wide street bounded by large glass houses. Wiz’s street.
“Right here,” Wiz said.
Cortez skidded to a stop and we climbed out.
