Authors: CW Hawes
Ancient History (3 page)
I walked over to the window and played my flashlight beam outside. “How the hell did this happen? I don’t see anything out there that could have broken it.”
“Probably a branch.”
“Yeah. Probably a branch.” I directed the beam around again outside the window. A branch. Except there was no branch and there had been no wind just minutes before when we were outside. No branch broke the window. So if no branch broke it, what did? I panned the beam back and forth across the floor and saw nothing other than glass.
“Come on, Ron, let’s right the tent and I’ll see if I have that replacement bulb.”
We got the thing back to its upright position. Sorted our stuff and got that back to where it was supposed to be. I made sure my revolver was handy. Garth found a bulb, replaced the broken one with it, and turned the lantern on. I shucked off my boots and crawled back into my sleeping bag. However, I was wide awake. Garth apparently was too. He wanted to talk.
“Ron, do you believe in ghosts?”
“No.”
“You don’t believe people have spirits that might get trapped here?”
“No.”
“I do.”
“How does that square with your religion?”
He didn’t say anything for a few moments. “I guess, strictly speaking, it doesn’t.”
“Thought so. Why do you believe in ghosts?”
“Circumstantial evidence. Lots of people have seen ghosts or felt a presence.”
“Do cars have spirits?”
“Of course not.”
“Yet, you saw a car. How do you explain that?”
“I don’t know. All I do know is it looked as real as those trees out there. And there were two people in it.”
“Oh, there were, were there?”
“Fine. Make fun. That’s what you’ve always done. I know what I saw.”
“What you
think
you saw. People want to believe there’s life after death and their minds come up with all manner of things to reinforce the belief. Ghosts are the product of wishful thinking and bad dreams.” I looked at my watch. “It’s ten after three. I’m going to try to get some sleep.” I turned over and closed my eyes. Hopefully, I could get back to sleep.
I didn’t tell Garth, mostly because I didn’t want to believe it myself, but I did have an experience once. At least maybe I had one. Amy and I were looking at a house we were thinking of buying. I’d wandered off by myself into one of the rooms. Suddenly the air around me became cold and I felt something icy, like a finger, trace a line down my cheek. I got out of there in a hurry. Needless to say, we didn’t buy that house. Never told Amy the real reason I’d lost interest. At the time, after I’d thought about it, I chalked it up to my re-reading Frank Edwards’
Stranger Than Science
. Still do, for the most part. Yet that experience has never left me. I can’t shake it.
Curiosity did get the better of me, though. A year later, I spent some time researching the house and the area and found out a former owner of the house had murdered his wife in that very room I’d felt the icy finger. I wish I’d left it alone. Do I believe in ghosts? No. But I also know what I felt. Or at least thought I felt.
I must’ve fallen asleep because suddenly I was in that big, empty, dark space and in the distance, once again, was that shape. And again, it advanced upon me. Its mouth spread wider. And wider. I yelled, “No!” And it stopped. It closed its mouth, smiled, turned sideways, and pointed. I looked to where it pointed and saw Garth sleeping peacefully.
The shape advanced upon my brother and in a moment it was upon him. This time I could move and I jumped on the shape. I didn’t know ghosts, if this was a ghost, had substance. But I wasn’t thinking. I had to save him. I had to save my brother. Had to do what I didn’t as a kid.
I grabbed hold of the thing and tore it off him. It spread its mouth open and began sucking me in. I grabbed its throat and squeezed and squeezed until its mouth closed and its eyes bugged out. Then it vanished. It was gone. Only a fading laughter remained.
I opened my eyes. I was in a cold sweat and not in my sleeping bag. I was sitting on top of Garth. His tongue protruded out of his mouth. His eyes were open and did not blink. I screamed his name and there was no response. Out of the tent I stumbled and ran to the door of the dining hall. I threw it open. In the fading twilight, I watched a black 1949 Studebaker Land Cruiser drive away.
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More Books by CW Hawes
I love a good horror story. Especially if the terror is psychological. If you do too, I think you’ll enjoy my other tales of the macabre and arabesque:
And you can read them for free if you’re an Amazon Prime member!
Perhaps you enjoy a good mystery with a memorable private detective. If so, open one of Justinia Wright’s casefiles and settle back for a puzzling good time.
If post-apocalyptic stories like
Earth Abides
or
The Day of the Triffids
are on your reading list, then join Bill Arthur and his journey to reclaim freedom and the technology that elevated humanity above the level of the beasts, with the hope that his fellows will use their second chance at life to become better people.
The Rocheport Saga
chronicles a steam-powered post-apocalyptic future that begins in the little town of Rocheport, Missouri. It is part family saga, post-apocalyptic survival story, philosophy, and libertarian thought.
Maybe Dieselpunk Alternative History is your cup of tea. If so, then join Lady Dru and her companions for some rollicking high adventure:
Or join Rand Hart as he finds himself embroiled in the middle of a revolution in Brazil:
Rand Hart and the Pajama Putsch
About the Author
CW Hawes, born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio, has lived in suburban Minneapolis, Minnesota for the past forty-five years, with occasional sojourns here and there. His interests range far and wide, but he doesn’t do windows and isn’t a good dancer. He does like to cook, though, and is especially fascinated by steam power, sailing ships, airships, streamlined locomotives and automobiles, and all things streamline moderne.
You can visit him at
www.cwhawes.com
.
