Urban Legends Along the Highway

My favorite chapter. Short Round reconciles with Michael. School is out & the boys decide to take a camping trip. On the way they pick up a girl hitchhiking back to her family's camp--or so they think

Part Two: Summer

Chapter Eleven: Urban Legends along the Highway

 

Time was passing, but bringing no resolution.  Spring was showing the promise of summer to come as the days grew longer.  Michael’s second CT scan was normal and after a week he returned to school.  True to his word, Dewey walked Kit home from the bus stop after her ballet lessons until Michael could take over.  Every time Michael walked past the house, he could not bear to look at it and turned his head away.

The missing girl had not turned up.  The police department was now declaring her a “possible homicide”, but had no clues to follow.  Her case went from front page news to the back page and then slowly disappeared.  Except for her grieving parents, it was as if she had never existed.

Michael wanted to celebrate his sixteenth birthday with little fanfare.  His parents splurged and charged a mountain bike on a credit card to compensate for his temporary banishment from his skateboard.  They were desperate to do something to help relieve the melancholy that seemed to engulf him.  Michael had to blink away tears when they brought him downstairs to see it that morning.  He’d asked for nothing for his birthday because he knew his parents’ finances.  Seeing the shiny blue Trek in the living room filled him with a mixture of joy, gratitude--and guilt.

Dewey expressed admiration when he saw it.  He had turned seventeen and now had his driver’s license.  His parents had purchased him a small used car, though limits had been placed on just when he was allowed to drive it.  Still, it was a car, a first step to adulthood that was approaching far too quickly, if he gave himself time to think about it.  College was looming and he did not feel ready.

Short Round’s sixteenth birthday was approaching.  Feeling an emotion, guilt, that he like to claim he did not possess, he wanted to mend fences with Michael and invite him to his family celebration.  No one knew better that his ego and temper set him up to get in trouble if he didn’t control himself.  He was counting on Dewey to smooth the way for a reconciliation, but he would have to approach Mike and that would involve no small amount of humility.  Humility was something that he did not do well; but he, Mike, and Dewey had known each other since childhood, practically since they were little boys.  He finally admitted to himself that Michael’s friendship was far too valuable a thing to throw away. 

There was not a day that passed that Short Round did not miss his grandfather.  If he had asked him what he should do, his grandfather would have thumped him on his head and said, “Go see your friend Mike. Tell him you’re sorry”.  In those days that was all it would have taken.

A wave of nostalgia passed over him and he suddenly felt the urge to visit the old man’s room.  Though Grandfather was no longer living, it had been left just as it was when he  had been alive.  The family still retained their traditional beliefs, but it had been Grandfather who had kept the rituals alive.

No one had been in Grandfather’s room since he died.  It seemed to be an unspoken rule that the old man’s shrine should be left undisturbed, as though it were his tomb. Short Round hesitated for a long moment before he opened the door and went inside.  For a moment he was not in the now, but instead he, Dewey, and Michael were sitting at the old man’s feet, listening to the stories Grandfather seemed to have in endless supply. They were eating sticky rice balls, licking their fingers and sipping from the cups of  jasmine tea he had poured.

Short Round drew a deep breath and shook off the vision.  If there was a power in this room, it was a good one.  He took the cloth he had brought and wiped the dust off the brass Buddha and the altar.  He took a vase and filled it with water, then placed in it the small bouquet of carnations he’d bought. He placed three satsumas in front of the statue of Buddha, as the old man used to, and put a candle in a holder at each end of the altar.  He fumbled in a drawer looking for the joss sticks he knew must be there, then placed one in the holder, and sat down to admire his work.

He lit the incense and knelt in front of the altar.  All that was missing was the scent of the liniment the old man had used.  He closed his eyes and tried to remember the sight of his grandfather praying in this very spot. 

He put his palms together and began chanting softly.  He had prayed with the old man so often that the words came back to him without effort.  He wished he had his grandfather’s prayer beads, but they had disappeared, so all he could do was to focus and chant.

As he chanted, he remembered his grandfather’s stories about escorting American soldiers along hidden trails in VC territory.  Sometimes they would run into an ambush  and the Hmong and Americans fought side by side, looking out for each other.  He remembered hearing about the American who had sponsored Grandfather and his family into the United States after the end of the Vietnam War.

Grandfather had held that up to his children and grandchildren as true examples of friendship.  “Never forget your friends,” he would always say, “and you will not be forgotten.”

Short Round sometimes wished he had taught him something more useful, like how to banish spirits.  Their family practices combined both Shamanism and Buddhism, and Grandfather had known how to banish ghosts. If he knew how, he’d banish the ghost that was haunting Mike so that his friend could go back to living a normal life again.

“There is no such thing as a normal life.” Short Round backed away suddenly from the altar.  He recognized the voice that had spoken those words.  Grandfather had promised that he would always be there if the family needed him, and Short Round needed him now more than ever.

“There is no such thing as a normal life.”  When had Grandfather told him that?  He realized the truth of that now.  Mike couldn’t have a normal life, either, not any more. Compared to the other kids in school, Short Round knew he also did not have a normal life.   Grandfather would have said that Mike would have to learn to manage as best he could.  Short Round had no great love for Michael’s ghostly companion, but maybe she was there because he needed her.  Mike was doing the best he could, ghost or no ghost.  Short Round blew out the candles, but left the incense lit as he let himself out of the room. He had been given his answer.

A few days later, he was alone at the skate park, waiting. Ordinarily he enjoyed having it to himself, not having to share, but today the concrete course seemed too empty.  He had the feeling that if he stood at the bottom and yelled, there would be an echo that would go on and on until it passed into infinity. People strolled past the park; some stared at the young Asian boy in his torn t-shirt and mohawk holding his skateboard, shaking their heads.  Short Round pretended he didn’t care.  He lived his life rushing headlong through it, as if he had no plans, caring for nothing.  Those close to him knew better.

He felt guilty now about not visiting Mike in the hospital, not talking to him, walking away from the best friend he could have lost.  His anger at Mike stemmed from worry, not the blind fury it must have seemed.  He had come around to realize Mike didn’t know about these things.  Short Round and his family felt the spirit of Grandfather in the house, a caring presence that looked after his loved ones.  It was different with a ghost you didn’t know.  Harmless footsteps in a hallway could turn to angrily slamming doors, then scratches on your arm that burned like fire.  It was then that you better call in the shaman and have the spirit removed before real harm came to your family.

Short Round sighed.  He should have kept his cool and explained it to Mike.  He wasn’t about to go near the ghost girl himself, but maybe he could have told Mike what he needed to do to protect himself, just in case.

He looked at his watch: it was almost time.  “Don’t be late,” Dewey had warned him.  As if on cue, Michael and Dewey entered the skate park together, Michael pushing his BMX.  Dewey held up his hand in greeting, Michael looked as though he didn’t know what he should do.  Short Round watched the two confer quietly, then Dewey pushed Michael towards the Short Round.

 “Here goes,” he thought.  He forced a smile.  He wanted to make this work because he missed his friend.  It was an effort to take each step to where Short Round stood, but it was take them, or lose his friend for good.

 “How are you going to retain your title of king of the skate park riding that thing, Blondie?”  Short Round pointed to Michael’s bike.

 “I’m better on my BMX any day of the week than you are on your skateboard, just wait till the doc clears me to skate again.” Michael was smiling the broad grin that few saw these days.

 “You think?” Short Round countered, “Oh, you’re coming to my birthday party, right?”  He paused for a moment before saying the words that always came so hard for him. “And dude, I’m sorry for everything. I mean it.” He looked at Michael, searched his eyes, hoping the apology was enough, however brief it had been.

Michael tried to shrug off his embarrassment. This was hard for him, too. “It’s cool,” he said, trying to stifle the emotions that wanted to well up. “Don’t worry about it.  I’d only be pissed if you hadn’t invited me to your birthday party.  Will you ask your mom to fix that peanut sauce dish I like?” Yes I do forgive you, his smile said. He punched Short Round on the shoulder, “Let’s get on the course now before  anyone comes and we have to share it.”

They spent the bulk of the afternoon at the skate park.  Neither of the other boys said anything about Michael not being on his skateboard, nor did they mention the helmet.  By unspoken consent, the accident was to be treated as if it never had happened.  Short Round had invited Michael to his birthday party and the Band of Brothers were together again.

Renewing their friendship provided a relief that nothing else could.  When they took breaks, their conversations seemed continuations of what they had been before the rift.  Short Round didn’t need to say “I missed you,” any more than Michael did. They just allowed their friendship to take up where it left off.

 

Mariah had all but vanished from Michael’s life.  When he first hurt his head, he had dreamed of her frequently.  In his dreams she had seemed a real presence but she would vanish immediately upon his waking.  As his concussion healed, the dreams had started to occur less and less frequently, as if she had she were imposing a punishment upon him.

Disappearing also was the telepathy he had so suddenly developed. As his brain healed, his ability to hear the thoughts of others had slowly disappeared. And good riddance to it, he had thought, the noisy cacophony had been unwelcome intruder that was now thankfully gone.

It had been a cruel blow when Mariah had appeared to Dewey.  Now he despaired of ever seeing her again.  He had taken to going to the old house and hoping that she would show herself, but the only thing he ever saw was  the old garage where inside he knew was a maroon van with mud covering its fenders.

 

At last the day they all looked forward to arrive:  school was out. Fidgety students, dreaming of summer vacation plans, watched as the hands of the clock slowly ticked their way to twelve, then rushed out to the waiting buses in a hoard.  Farewells until September were made, then they poured into the waiting buses, dreaming of sleeping late, watching television, and playing video games.  Or, for the lucky, trips were waiting to exotic locales, or maybe just places like Disneyland or cross country.  Either way, three months of freedom, never long enough, were a welcome break from the routine of school.

No such trips were in the offing for Michael’s family. Those days would have to serve as memories for now.  Michael’s parents couldn’t afford driving lessons, but his father took him to get his learner’s permit and took him out whenever he had spare time to teach him to drive.  Short Round and Dewey showed up every day and they would go to the skate park, or play video games.  Some days they would take illegal cruises in Dewey’s car around town, or road trips up into the mountains if they grew tired of the crowds at the skate park, or just wanted to get away.

The summer was warm and the days were long and golden.  The maples trees on Mike’s street were lush with great green leaves, and flowers bloomed at houses where gardens were tended.  The neglected yards were overgrown with weeds, but the foxglove, fireweed, daisies, and even thistles had their own kind of wild beauty growing among the overgrown grasses.   Mike found neighbors who were happy to let him mow their lawns, and now had pocket money he didn’t have to guiltily request from his parents.

Long hours were spent at the skate park.  Michael was still restricted to riding his BMX, but he took rebellious chances with his riding and started teaching himself new tricks that he’d seen on DVD’s he’d rented.  If his friends noticed that he took more  breaks and carried a bottle of Tylenol, they mentioned nothing, but would take breaks and sit with him and comment on the other bike riders or skaters.

The better the weather grew, the more restless they became.  The amount of illegal cruising increased until they decided they a camping trip was in order.  Between the three of them they had sufficient camping equipment and enough money to buy food and gasoline.  They racked their mountain bikes on top of Dewey’s car, putting Michael’s new Trek carefully in the middle.  While they packed their equipment and food, one of Short Round’s older brothers surreptitiously slipped a case of beer beneath the sleeping bags and tent. 

The next morning they headed out of town, for three, four or maybe more days--they didn’t really know.  All of them had their cell phones and promised to update their parents about their plans.  Dewey drove carefully, keeping to the speed limit.  They took the freeway out of town that lead to the state highway that wound its way through the mountains, and soon they were far beyond the city limits, feeling a heady sense of freedom.

Dewey turned the radio on and they sang and rapped with their favorite songs as they drove past small towns and pastures of horses or cows.  Houses and towns gradually gave way to forests of maple, then into the state forest filled with tall firs and hemlocks.  Wildflowers grew in a riot along the roadside, whites, yellows, and purples mingling with the green of the trees.  Creeks and rivers made their appearance and then would suddenly disappear.

 “We remembered fishing tackle, right?” asked Short Round when he saw a creek flowing over large boulders.  Of the three boys he was the best cook, and he was visualizing a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pan-fried trout.

They were getting close to what they called their secret campsite.  It had once been a popular campground in the days before the highway was re-routed, but now frequented only by those who knew about it.  There was a creek, waterfall, and abandoned trails that made it an attractive place, but it was down an old, rutted Forest Service Road that discouraged all but a determined few.  Those who knew about it kept it  secret, but every so often a car would come down the old road forcing, them to share the campsite they would have preferred to keep to themselves.

They were two or three miles from their turnoff when they saw a girl walking down the highway.  Her light brown hair swung to the rhythm of her walk, and her white shirt and brown shorts showed off nice arms and legs that were strangely un-tanned for the time of year.  When she heard their car she turned around and stuck out her thumb.

 “What the hell--what do you think?  Give her a ride?”  Dewey was already pulling over to the side of the road.

 “I’m cool.”  Mike was looking at her, thinking for just a moment that she looked vaguely familiar, as if he should know her.

 “Let’s rescue the damsel in distress,” Short Round responded, and he was holding the passenger door on his side open before Dewey even pulled to a full stop.

Michael rolled down his window.  “Where are you headed?”   Not knowing why, he found himself backing away from the window.  He’d never seen a girl hitchhiking here, out in the middle of nowhere.  They had passed the last small town miles back, it didn’t make sense to him that anyone should be looking for a ride here. A teenaged girl, no matter how pretty, seemed strangely out of place on the not well traveled road.

She seemed nothing but ordinary though, as she smiled and climbed into the car next to Short Round, who was grinning broadly.   “I’m camped with my family just off that old Forest Service road.  You know where the abandoned campground is?”

All three of their hearts sank at the thought of having to share their beloved  campground. Dewey smiled gamely and said, “Sure”, then took off down the road.  He kept a careful eye out for the turnoff, but she pointed out the exact place to turn when it was time for him to pull off the highway.

 “You can let me off a couple of miles down the road,” she said, and the boys looked at each other.  She was talking about the exact place where they had planned to camp.  “I took a walk down the highway and I can walk the rest of the way to our camp.”

They drove in silence until they came to their campsite.  All along the road remnants of old camping sites could be seen; but the concrete and iron fire grates, along with the picnic tables,  water faucet, and outhouse were long gone.  Still, it was full of tall firs, cedars, and hemlocks, along with vine maples.  There was a profusion of wild blueberries and huckleberries, along with clumps of wild flowers.  For water, there was a creek nearby that also held an abundance of trout for anyone successful enough to catch them.

The girl stood around and chatted with the boys while they unloaded the car.  Then lifting her hand in farewell, she wandered down the road until she disappeared from sight.  They started to set up their tent when Short Round suddenly announced, “Hey, I’m getting her number,” and took off.  The other two shook their heads and went back to the task at hand.

Suddenly they heard him shouting, “Guys, guys, come here, quick!”  Michael and Dewey took off at a run until they found Short Round kneeling next to some bushes.  His tanned face had turned a sickly yellow and he was visibly shaking and crying, saying, “No, no, no, no.”  Michael peered over his shoulder, than ran across the road and threw up.  Only Dewey remained, to his surprise, eerily calm.

“Guys, don’t move,” he said, and his two friends looked up at him.  “Look around, what do you see?”

“I see a damn skeleton,” Short Round was close to hysterics, but he started turning his head, looking but not seeing.  Michael’s eyes scanned the ground.

“Look,” insisted Dewey, “do you see any footprints besides ours?”  Years before the road had been asphalt, but had reverted to dirt long ago.  A light rain from the night before had left the ground moist, and the dirt revealed three sets of footprints.  “The girl.  Where are her footprints?  I only see ours.  Where did she go, where is she?”

“There.  Look.” Michael pointed at the skeleton.  “I can see hair from here, mixed up with the brush.  Oh god, what’s going on?”

“I’m thinking the same thing you are, Mikey.”  Dewey brushed his hair back from his forehead.  What had seemed a cool retreat in the mountains had now become a nightmare.  “We better call the cops.  Do us all a favor and don’t get sick again, okay?”

Short Round jumped up and stepped away from the remains.  “I want to get out of here, guys, like now.”

“We gotta go back to the campsite and call the sheriff.  I guess this is one camping trip we’re gonna miss,” he said regretfully.   Dewey turned around and headed back to the campsite, not waiting for the others to follow.

“I don’t want to come back to this place again, ever,” Short Round muttered, “I’ll even pay to camp somewhere, just so long as I don’t have to come back here.”

“That’s pretty serious.”  Michael was in agreement with Short Round, but something was luring him back to the place where the skeleton lay.  He wanted to look, see if his instincts were right, this was the girl that was missing.  But, like his friends, he had seen enough forensic television shows to know that a crime scene, if that’s what it was, should be as little disturbed as possible.

Like what you've read so far?  Just a few more chapters posted, but that's not the end of the book! "The Ghost Girl Chronicles" is available on Kindle.  It's free if you have Prime or you can find it in the Kindle Lending Library. If you want to buy, it's only 99 cents!