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My wife and I bought a ranch in the mountains last year, and my neighbor had some interesting suggestions on how to manage our new land. Part VI, Finale: Winter Ghosts
Part V That evening after our first tango with the ghosts, Sash and I decorated our little Christmas tree and made some tacos. We tried to stay up beat, but that experience really shook us both. As sunset approached, all I wanted to do was start slammin Kentucky hootch to take the edge off, but I’d already accepted needing to monitor the candles all night. Sash said not to think like that. She’d set up a “candle station” on the kitchen island, and ordered a glass orb with open ends to shield the candles. We’d practiced 7 times over the last weeks with the slow-burning candles we’d ordered, and they all burned for 25-30 hours without fail. Still, yah fuckin right I was gonna sleep. Quite impish of the spirit to make its seasonal debut on the solstice too, longest night of the year. We lit the candles and went onto the back porch, looking out into the pasture at the ghosts. Sasha watched my eyes as I watched them. There was a group of 3 milling around near the pond, Bridger and another up near the woods on their own, but all of them were looking up at the mountains to the east... Toward the source of the drumming, I thought. It gave me the chills. After sunset they all went back to their ambient wandering. I laid in bed staring at the ceiling for hours after Sasha fell asleep. Must’ve checked the candles a dozen times until I finally passed out around 3am. Woke up around 7am and gasped with alarm when I looked at the clock, flew out of bed and bound into the kitchen to check the candles. Still lit, and a long way to burn. Fuck me, this was going to be a long few weeks. I went back into our room, Dash was now standing on his bed looking at me like I was crazy, and Sasha was sitting up rubbing her eyes. She gave me a tired grin “I told you they’d keep burnin babe.” I gave her a look of stubborn acknowledgment and got dressed, I wanted to see where the fuckers were. It was cold that morning; flash-frozen snot cold. I walked behind the house and looked into the pasture. Again, the ghosts were scattered around the property, all looking up into the grey wolf light the sun was igniting in the clouds above the mountains where as rose. I wonder if they feel the spirit up there, wonder what their feeling or knowledge of the spirit even is… I glassed the closest ghost in the binos. Hank. He looked… upset, almost. Concerned or frustrated, as he glared up at the mountain. I glassed one of the others. Buck. He was doing the same, and looked the same. Almost a look of consternation. It sent a shiver down my spine. Was the spirit talking to them? Whispering down sinister proposals and schemes? When the sun finally rose, all of them broke from the macabre routine and turned to stare right at me, anger replacing their strange focus. I felt it, very faint, very slight, but a flicker of the dread caused by the spirit. Alright, I thought, spirit’s definitely talkin shit about me to these guys. Over the next few days, the ghosts spent their day in the pastures, watching me, but starting to creep closer in every evening. I actually managed to get 5 hours of sleep the second and third nights, waiting for their wailing, shrieking, banging or other roguish mischief to start. The fourth night was Christmas eve, we lit the candles, and drank a glass of wine on the back porch. Everywhere we went Sasha would watch my face, follow my eyes. I could tell she felt bad about it when I’d catch her, and she’d look away. “I’m sorry, I just… not being able to see them, I can’t help it, I want to know where they are.” I put my arm around her “It’s ok Sash, I don’t mind.” I explained what they were doing as I watched them all walk along the fenceline around the yard, all on their own, hands in their pockets or behind their backs, looking at us, the dog, the forest. Like prison guards, I thought. Right around sunset, they all stopped and looked east up into the mountains. I’d told Sasha about how they’d do this, but not while watching it live, and when I did, it was the first time since they’d arrived that Sasha looked truly disturbed. “Are they…” I finished her thought for her, “communicating with the spirit, getting instructions from it?” She looked at me with wide eyes. I kissed her head “I didn’t mean to scare you babe.” She looked out as though trying to see them for herself. “Maybe the spirit is telling them it’s time to try to get in if the candles aren’t lit, and at sunrise, that their window's closed…?” Now I felt a bit disturbed. Sash was reading in bed, and I went to try and see what they were doing one more time. I got my spotlight and cracked the door. I couldn’t see anything, but I heard whispering to the right, down the porch toward where it opens up outside the kitchen. I stepped out and leaned around to the right, and froze as a sharp burst of terror hit me in the solar plexus. The second I leaned far enough to see down the porch, I saw Creeps and Pete. Standing side by side at the end of the porch in the dim yellow glow of light from the kitchen, heads lowered slightly, glaring up at me under their brows. It made my leg muscles convulse with a desire to recoil and slam the door. They were only there for a half-second before sprinting out of view, down the porch on the other side of the house. When I heard their steps go quiet I realized how hard my heart was hammering. So it begins, I thought. My eyes were glued to the dark spot they’d jet away from, convinced one would jump out. Dash was standing next to my left leg and I heard him growl. Without looking away I said quietly “I know bud, they’re assholes.” I leaned back into the door frame. When my gaze reached the steps heading down from the front door, my body reacted faster than my mind did. The noise blistered into my ear, making me wince and throw my arms up to protect my face as I buckled away from the man I’d realized was standing immediately to the left of the front door, 2 feet from me. He’d screamed right into my ear - “BAHHH” Dash shot out the door, planting on top of the steps, barking furiously into the night. I brought my hands down and looked up at Buck. He was standing there shaking his hands at his sides, bopping up and down on the balls of his feet, breathing heavily, glaring at me with boiling rage, like a bareknuckle boxer waiting for the first bell. Sasha was in the living room yelling at me to tell her what was going on. I took a deep breath, “it’s fine love.” I stepped by Buck and leaned down to grab Dash’s collar, hauling him back into the front door. Dash was pissed. As I pulled him back past Buck, he snapped toward the ghost so fast and hard I heard the snap of his jaws echo out into the dark. Buck flinched away from the bite, putting his hands out as though to block the dog. His reaction was so surprising I froze. Dash didn’t even know where Buck was, he was barking and looking around everywhere, it was just a lucky snap in the right direction. They really are terrified of dogs… “Please take Dash babe,” Sash helped me pull him in, and I leaned on the door frame and looked back at Buck. He was seething, but I swear a hint of embarrassment had flushed into his enraged glower. My heart was pounding, but I calmed myself. It was -5 out and Sasha was yelling at me to come inside and shut the door. I held his gaze and nodded to him “this here’s the dog’s porch, his rules pal.” He almost seemed to be straining to keep his anger, not that he wasn’t furious, he just looked… fuckin miserable; look a guy gets when he’s angry at everything, not just one dude. I put my hand over my heart, bowed my head “koda hafiz my man, don’t scare Santa.” I watched him close to see if he’d register the ‘farewell’ I offered him in Dari, if remembered it right. Nope. I shut the door and leaned back against it. Sasha looked at me, exasperated. I told her what happened, and we went to bed. I could hear them run down the porch a couple times that night, but we managed to get some sleep. Christmas morning we actually felt decently rested. We cranked some tunes, made coffee, gave each other some small gifts, made a massive breakfast, and watched movies all day. That afternoon, Sasha told me she wanted to leave the ghosts a gift. It made me nervous. “I don’t know babe…” She was insistent. “Why not? Why not at least try to make a showing of good will? It’s Christmas, Harry. They don’t know that, I’d assume, but we do… let’s just see how it goes.” I reluctantly agreed, and saw she’d, rather intricately, already planned it out. She pulled out a serving dish from the fridge upon which she’d neatly arranged a small lamb kebab, some naan, 5 of her grandma’s fancy little ramekins filled with palaw, a rice dish I recognized immediately, and some dates. I looked at her stunned. “Sash, when… how did-“ she cut me off. “I thought you might shut the idea down, so I looked up some Afghan food, and… made some.” She shrugged at me with a challenging smirk. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll set it down in front of them. Maybe it’ll remind them of home…” We put on some coats and were going outside, when Sash said “oh wait” and turned back, bringing Dash back inside and talking to him “sorry buddy boy, they don’t think you’re as handsome as everyone else does.” I waited on the porch for her, and she walked out with one of her big scarves, which she put over the top of her head, then threw one of the ends over her shoulder in an almost practiced motion. A headscarf… “Sash did you practice putting on a hijab for this little Christmas gesture!?” She gave me a condescending smile and retorted “It’s not a hijab, it’s more like a Shayla, a headscarf.” I chuckled, I was impressed, but it also made me nervous. “Sash could this offend them, piss em off?” She shrugged. “I don’t think so. If I was in their home it would be courteous to wear one, and impolite not to, don’t know why they’d be pissed about it, I thought it would show respect.” I shrugged. “I guess it can’t make things worse...” We walked toward the back gate and I slowed my pace when I saw Hank, Pete, Creeps and Buck over near the two big cottonwood trees that shaded our entire yard, which prompted Sasha: “are they close, where are they?” – I pointed toward the gnarled trunks of the cottonwoods "four of em," who, as expected, looked furious to see me. “Where’s the fifth?” Sasha asked. I couldn’t see Bridger near the others. I started to speak as I turned around “I dunno, maybe he-“ The shock of seeing him made me snort a ridiculous noise as I flinched, reflexively shooting my hands up to the sides of my head like I was trying to block a stray baseball, causing Sash jump and almost drop her little platter “what babe?!” Bridger was standing maybe 2 feet behind us, staring right into my eyes. “He’s just, right here, like, literally standing right… here” I said as I stepped toward Bridger and slowly extended my palm onto his chest. There was a very subtle resistance, no more than a soap bubble, or static electricity, the air felt warmer. He never took his eyes from mine. “Weeeird.” Sasha was watching me wide-eyed “are you touching him?” I pulled my hand back “… kinda” I glanced over my shoulder. All four of the others had stormed over to stand in an arc directly behind Sasha. She watched my gaze and looked terrified, seeming to gather what'd happened. As if I’d told her she had a spider crawling up her back, she hunched her posture protectively, snuck a glance over her shoulder, then back at me. My heart was pounding, eardrums rumbling as a torrent of violent anger flowed through me, clenching my jaw and fists. Breath man. They can’t touch her, it’s fine. “They can’t touch you, it’s fine Sash. They’re just… around us now… Come stand next to me. Let’s get this over with.” She walked over and stood by my side, all five of the ghosts’ angry eyes glued to her. She glanced at me nervously. “You have their attention,” I said as I waved my hand in an arc to indicate where they were, “not sure how you thought this would go, but… go ahead, give em their Christmas gift.” I laughed nervously at my own comment, which made her almost laugh. She took a breath, straightened her back, then stepped forward. She took a knee, and rested the plate of rural Idaho-sourced Afghan cuisine into the snow, then stood up and looked ahead, not knowing she was looking straight into Bridger’s face. I looked between the ghosts and was surprised their anger had slackened, and began to stare at her with… curiosity? Surprise? Maybe confusion, but it was no longer pure hatred. Except for Creeps, I noticed. His gaze had amped from anger into insidious, predatory disdain. God damn he looked pissed, I almost reached for Sasha to pull her away, but she stepped back, put her hand over her heart, and bowed her head toward them as they continued to watch her. “Ok Sash, can we go back inside?” Right then Bridger took a quick step toward us, and I reflexively took a step back, and grabbed Sasha’s arm to pull her with me. “What?!” she hissed in an anxious whisper. Bridger looked down at the plate of food, and crouched to inspect it closer. “Nothing, I… nothing. Let’s just go.” As we walked back inside, they didn’t move anything but their heads, watching us until we lost site of them on the porch. “Maybe they’ll recognize it was just a kind gesture Harry,” Sasha said as we took our coats off, looking embarrassed. “Maybe… but it was a good idea Sash, either way.” We went back to our movie marathon. Right before dark, I went out the kitchen door to the porch to see where they were. Bridger was still crouched in the snow below the cottonwoods by the plate of food, which baffled me. The others were scattered around the yard, all looking up at the mountain to the east. I’d gotten used to their weird little synchronized mountain-glaring ritual, but got a horrible feeling. Like the spirit was doing more than telling them it was time to try to get in if a candle went out, like it was trying to undo any good Sasha had done, trying to convince them of something, trying to control them. From Christmas night on through the next week, things… progressed. During the day, we’d started limiting our time outside, the harassment of the ghosts certainly helped foster our reclusiveness, but it was mostly because of the frigid temps, wind, and snow that’d shown up just in time for our staycation. We went into town to shop and grab a beer a couple times, but the passes north and east of town were closed, and there wasn’t anywhere else to go this time of year within 4-5 hours. But, we had puzzles, shows, movies, books on tape, some domestic tasks, and lots of cooking to keep us occupied. We’d take Dash up the county road to wear him out every morning too, either on snowshoes or cross-country skis, and the exercise definitely helped keep us sane. The ghosts would be at the door, try to scare me, follow us down the driveway, where they’d stop, unable to follow us off our property up the snowy road; the curious curse boundary, I supposed. They’d wait for us, follow us back up to the house. It became sort of ritualistic. When I’d go outside for any other reason, one or two of them would be waiting for me. They’d scream at me, then stalk me from the flanks anywhere I went, like a pack of wolves on a bleeding, exhausted elk. Bringing Dash with me made them keep their distance a bit. The bad weather almost made it easier too, it was so cold and windy it was almost as abrasive as their presence. Honestly, with most of it inside just hangin with Sash, the days weren’t all that bad. The nights, well… were the worst part. Between sunset and bed I’d hear them ranting in manic whispers on the porch when I was in the kitchen, see em sprint by a window, or just stand in the snowy yard barely outside the arc of glow from the porch lights, staring venomously into the house. On the 26th I went out to get a charger from Sash’s car, with Dash and my spotlight, expecting a run-in. It was dumping snow. Windless, the slow deluge of huge snowflakes amidst the ear-ringing silence was haunting on its own. I got to the car without spotting any of em. I grabbed the charger, turned around, and froze as a flashflood of adrenaline crashed into my face and hands. Bridger. He was standing on the tailgate of my truck, about 20 feet away, looking down on me with his arms crossed. He was standing between me and the light outside the door to the shop, haloed by the glow and illuminated snowflakes, lookin like some fuckin demon prince in a volcanic ash storm. I bowed my head to him and yelled for Dash. I didn’t take my eyes off him until I was back inside the fence, pushing the gate through the fresh snow to shut it behind the dog. When I looked back from the front porch, he was gone. Around the 27th they’d started hanging out below the bedroom and yelping, whooping, wailing out of nowhere. It got more aggressive and frequent as the nights went on. By the night of the 29th, one had started hanging out on the roof, randomly sprinting the length of the house, as the others would shriek, jibber and moan out in the frozen night, pound on the siding of the house. We had a fan that dulled some of the noise, and I’d started sleeping with earplugs, but it was hard to catch more than 2-4 hours of sleep a night. The nightly torment made me jumpier and crankier during the day. On New Years Eve, we were in full-on geriatric party mode, reading by the fire and drinking wine, when it sounded (to me) like a fuckin linebacker crashed into the front door, and (to Sash) like someone slapped a big open palm into it. Sasha jumped and put her hand on her chest, Dash went into a frenzy, snapping and snarling at the door, I leapt to my feet. “What was that!?” Sasha shouted. I was exhausted and pissed. I slammed my feet into my boots and looked out the livingroom window. Creeps and Pete were standing on the porch, fiendishly staring into the door. The other three were obscured in the dark snow-blanketed yard. I threw the door open, and made a grand, ridiculous gesture with my arm, waving it across the porch as I let Dash tear outside, raging into the night, “the dickheads want to play, Dash!” Both ghosts took a quick step back. Pete looked down in angry frustration at Dash’s target-less storm of snapping teeth and snarls, backing up to the porch railing as Dash got closer to him. He looked at me with an icy hatred, then jumped over the railing down into the dark yard. Creeps held his ground. I gestured at Dash as I took a step toward him and raised my eyebrows. He looked down at the dog with disgust and fury, but you could see fear start a melee with the malice on Creeps’ face. Dash sensed Creeps then. He got quiet, pulled his lips back, barring his teeth as he slowly shifted his weight to his back legs, betraying an intent to strike. Creeps leaned down toward Dash and screamed at the dog, face shaking, booming out an ear-splitting exultation of half rage half terror. Dash exploded toward the screaming ghost in a leash-snapping burst, letting out a deep, bearish growl of his own. Creeps launched off the porch and Dash went screaming after him into the yard as all the ghosts scattered. We got Dash back inside and calmed him down, and hoped that’d keep em at bay for the night. It didn’t. Around 2am that night, I was torn out of a dream I can’t remember, sitting straight up in bed, as an ear-splitting scream came from outside the bedroom window above our bed. It was an inhuman, beastly wail. I turned around, got on my knees, and pulled the thick drape to the side to look out. I only moved it 3-4 inches then thrashed away from the window, almost falling off the bed, letting out a scream of my own. When I pulled back the drape, I’d seen Creeps and Pete had their foreheads pressed into the frost-sheened glass of the window, smiling at me with teeth barred, and malicious, deranged hatred in their eyes. It was so horribly shocking in my exhausted state I’d slammed my hand into the headboard of the bed as I closed the drape and launched away from the window, shouting obscenities in rage, fear and embarrassment. Sasha woke into a terrified daze – “what Harry, what!?” We just sat there holding each other, curled up at the foot of our bed, our own fucking bed, as the ghosts giggled and shrieked outside the window, some were right outside, some were off in the pasture. One ran along the roof squealing for hours. That might've been my lowest point thus far... I’d started shaking in dread, exhaustion, and rage. I hated them, I was glad I’d killed them. We pushed the bed to the other side of the room, checked the candles, and I half-napped in a lucid state till sunrise. New Years Day, Wednesday, day 12 of this bullshit, and the last day of our strange, home-bound, demonic “vacation.” I was more exhausted than I’d been in years, emotionally and physically. Sasha was tired too, but trying to be upbeat. After breakfast, I went out to load up a sled of firewood. I was about halfway done, when Hank suddenly rose up from behind the firewood stack. It terrified me more than any of their other daylight efforts thus far. He rose up slowly, mouth wide open, eyes rolled back, screaming like he was hurt; a panicky, desperate shrieking like he was being eaten alive. It shocked me so bad I stumbled backwards and landed on my ass in the snow. He scrambled over the wood pile after me and crawled almost into my lap, inches from my face, raving in incoherent jibbers and screeches. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I stood up and tried to go back to loading the sled, but Hank was jumping and skirting around to stay in front of me no matter where I turned. My ears started pounding, I couldn’t juke him. I screamed “FUCK” as I slammed a piece of firewood into the snow, feeling tears well up in my eyes, I could see my outburst brought a maniacal, victorious grin to his face. I left the sled and jogged back inside. Sasha had watched it from the living room, and hugged me as soon as I got back in, giving me an almost motherly ‘you did your best’ empathetic look. I was furious, embarrassed, exhausted, but couldn’t even bring myself to express emotion. I just stood there, blank faced, feeling beaten and paralyzed. “I’m gonna try” she said. “We need the firewood and we aren’t going out at night to get it, I don’t care if they try to scare me.” She insisted, got her gloves and coat on, put on her “Shayla,” gave me a smile and a thumbs up, and went out, Dash trotting ahead of her. I put my hands on the sill of the living room window and watched. Hank, Pete, and Buck were all in the yard, watching her walk down the path we’d shoveled from the front porch to the gate. I thought for a second they were about to jump at her and scream, but they looked… at each other, like, they were communicating… Then, they just turned their icy, violent gaze back on me, staying where they were. What the hell? Sash went through the front gate, and that’s when I saw Creeps. He was behind the truck, over Sasha’s left shoulder as she turned up to the wood shed, staring at her with a brutal, viscous hatred. He glanced over at me briefly, gave me a murderous grin, then started in behind her in a fast walk. Felt like my stomach ripped itself into a figure eight. I jumped for the front door, tore it open, inhaled to scream a warning at her, but it caught in my throat when Bridger appeared. He casually stepped out from behind the wood shed, to face them both. Creeps was seething in toward Sasha from behind with his lips parted around clenched teeth. Sasha obviously didn’t see either of them. Bridger took a single step past Sasha when she got to the sled I’d left behind, and then a single step toward Creeps, who… stopped. Stopped right in his damn tracks. Bridger just stared at him calmly, standing behind Sasha as she loaded wood into the sled. Creeps’ fury never left his face, it looked like heat was coming off him, raging breaths between clenched teeth, dark eyes narrow, boring into Bridger. Holy. Fuckin. Shit. Was I actually witnessing a standoff? Did Sasha’s gift work on Bridger? God damn. I watched, slack-jawed, as Sasha pulled the sled of firewood up the path, passing Creeps and Bridger. Creeps tore his gaze away from Bridger and sprinted off into the pasture at inhuman speed. Bridger slowly turned, looked up at me, and his calm expression was replaced by his old look of fiery judgment, then walked up the hill into the forest. Sasha smiled triumphantly when she got to the porch, then grew a look of concern when she saw the stupid disbelief on my face. I looked over Sasha’s head at Hank, Pete and Buck behind her in the yard, who returned gazes of icy hatred toward me, then walked off toward the cottonwood trees. I looked back at Sasha, still shocked. “Babe what!? Talk to me!” I stumbled for words. “I, sorry, nothing’s wrong, I just, you… Let’s get the wood stacked, I’ll tell you inside.” I explained what’d happened, and she was almost as disbelieving as I had been watching it. I was honestly ecstatic, and felt sincere relief for the first time in weeks. Bridger was clearly a leader, at least to most of em, and had taken some kind of liking to Sasha, and didn’t want her gettin messed with. At least that’s the only conclusion I could possibly surmise. It felt like a 50lb weight was taken off my soul. I realized how much of my anxiety had been centered on them going after Sasha. Creeps clearly didn’t lend her any credit for her peace offering, as Bridger and the rest had, but her being haunted by 1 is better than 5. The winter storm that’d set in got really bad that afternoon, kicking into a death throw of sorts. Forecast said it’d actually be clear by 2-3am and for the next week, but that we were in for gale force wind and 15-20 inches of snow between now and then. I got an email from my boss telling everyone in my office to work remotely until Monday, January 6. I was somewhat relieved to not be leaving Sash here alone, but the email also made me realize how badly I’d wanted to get the hell outta here for a full day. That night we lit the candles, binged a show for a while, then sat at the counter before bed drinking tea before bed. The blizzard was rippin outside. An hour earlier I’d heard a tree go down in the woods above the house. The weather radar showed the storm was gonna pass soon, but it really wanted to kick and scream before moving on. The howling wind and creaking of the house was spooky, causing Dash to pick his head up and look around from where he was lying on the kitchen floor, but sweet jesus would it provide a nice reprieve from the ghosts’ wicked racket. I stepped over Dash to put my cup in the sink, when all hell broke loose. A loud metallic pop jerked Sasha, Dash, and my attention toward the kitchen door to the porch. The second after the pop, the piercing shriek of the blizzard wind sailing through the thin strip of open air around the door filled the kitchen. The door hadn’t been shut all the way, and had popped open. It'd happened before; a deceiving 'click' in the bolt that made it sound closed. The only thing holding it from blowing wide-open into the kitchen was the little hook-lock on the old, thin, flimsy screendoor on the inside of the door frame. Within a half second of the storm's shocking infiltration into our home, the thin, strong blade of wind screaming through the crack in the main door whipped into my face making me blink, tossing my hair back. Wind. Sasha and I locked eyes from across the kitchen, my face likely showing as much piercing panic and horror as hers did, then we looked down at the kitchen island between us, and saw the same thing: the flames of the candles being ripped to the side like flags in a hurricane, glass shield having no protective effect under the hard, focused stream. It was only a second, but it felt like time stopped, watching those flames strain in a frantic dance under the breeze, and then… one went out. We both surged into motion at the same second. I screamed “getta lighter!” as I began to turn, but she’d already dived onto the counter top to tear open the drawer on the other side, ripping through the contents. I was moving as fast as my body could carry me with four steps of work-up, a few feet from the door, when the little hook-lock on the screen door snapped and both doors exploded open into the kitchen. I managed to catch the doors before they slammed all the way open, and put all my strength into slamming them closed and pouring my weight into them with my shoulders. Even though the doors were closed, the shrieking wind shut-out, it got louder inside… The ghosts were starting to scream. I looked back and saw Sasha hunched over the candles, braids of smoke seared off the hot, extinguished wicks, snaking around her head to mix and plume up into the light fixture. She’d re-lit 2 of them and was sparking the lighter on the 3rd when something slammed into the door so hard the force jolted through my shoulders into my toes. Sasha looked up at me with pure terror in her eyes. “LIGHT THEM” I screamed as another body smashed into the door. The next strike bashed the doors open a few inches until my weight slammed em closed again. Every muscle in my body was searing. Dash was raging at the door, eyes narrowed and feral like I’d never seen, making a guttural, keening growl I’d never heard, ready to launch a vicious attack. I realized I was groaning with effort and terror. The last smash into the door had so much force it knocked me from my full-lean into the door straight up into a standing position. I looked out the thick, textured glass of the small window on the door. Right into Creeps’ eyes. The others were behind him, but he was the one about to come through the door, the one who wanted in. This was it. Keep the candles lit all night, if they go out, get em re-lit right away or fight to the death, there's nothin else you can do, Dan had said. This was it. An old, familiar sensation hit me in that moment, one that'd taken hold of me before, but I’d long forgotten. It was a type of calm acceptance that can only happen at the very end, a pure contrition to the whim and caprice of chaos. It's not a surrender to, but a communion with the terminal violence around you. It comes in those moments when firefights get really bad, the air is boiling with noise, friends are shrieking at their own blood, you can't move, you need to move, you have broken fingers, broken ribs, a concussion, blood in your mouth, dirt in both eyes. It comes in that final moment when panic gets so extreme it just collapses into itself, cancels itself out. It doesn't come when you think you’re gonna die. It comes when you know you are about to. Maybe these men had felt it in the end. Dash and I stood there, side by side. My wife behind me, Dash’s momma behind him, facing an ancient and ravenous manifestation of fury and retribution about to smash into our home, to bring butchery into our most sacred space. Our primate and canine muscles were coiled and revving with violent tension and anticipation, ready to explode into whatever came through that door with every possible ounce of brutality. Creeps took a step back, lowered his shoulder, then... spun around and tore away from the house. I felt it before she had to say anything. “It’s lit, they’re all lit!” Sasha screamed. The air pressure in the house changed. A roaring started, faint at first, but it grew, it felt like it was coming from the center of the house, the floors, the walls, the foundation, the fuckin plumbing. It grew louder, like wind ripping through a cave. As I looked back at Sasha every light in the house dimmed to the faint glow of a small candle, and it felt like I was free falling, stomach in my throat. The roaring grew until an instantaneous eruption of force that felt like heat, electricity, liquid and wind exploded outward from the center of the house in a deep, cavernous exhale. The lights brightened, and a ring of flickering light surged out into the blizzard. The feeling of relief was so heavy Sasha and I both collapsed, breathing as though we’d been drowning, each breath like burst of main-lined opiates. It was the feeling of the spirit leaving. We crawled over to each other and held Dash between us until the storm died. Sleep was comically improbable for me, but we got in bed around 3am and Sash crashed immediately. I just sat there for hours, petting Dash at our feet and rubbing Sasha’s back. Thinking about how close it had just gotten. Those bastards were about to kill us. I got up about a half hour before sunrise and made some coffee. I’d slept about 5 hours in the last 72. I went out with my coffee at sunrise to sleuth the bastards. It was clear, but cold. Kinda cold you get out of or just numb into right away. I was beyond exhausted, seeing trails, slaphappy, face tingling. I wasn’t angry at these guys anymore, sitting out there burning my mouth with coffee, suddenly the whole thing was just fuckin hysterical. Guys I’d killed coming back to haunt me? The most profound, tragic, intimate, fucked up thing a man can do; that’s how this spirit gets ya? A hell of your own making. So fuckin ridiculous. I walked around to the kitchen porch and there they were. They were all in the yard between the kitchen porch and the back gate. Low and behold, all staring away from the house, up into the mountains to the east, doing their strange little pagan spirit observance, gettin brainwashed. You’d think this ferocious earth spirit would’a matured past this cliché pageantry over the millennia. What a hack. Creeps was closest, 30 feet away from the porch, next to one of our raised garden beds. Let’s creep on Creeps, I thought. I walked up and stood behind him. “Whatch’ya lookin at?” I asked him. He winced as I spoke, so subtly I almost missed it. I could see the skin around his mouth tighten. Had I just… annoyed him? “What's so special up there in them rocks and trees?” He clenched his hands into fists. He was acting like I was sitting behind him in class, asking him for the answers to a test. What was he getting told by the spirit? I leaned in to his ear, “the mountains to the east huh? Whence the drumming and wrath of the fucking spirit cometh - what honey doth thou master pour in thine ear, dickhead?” He whipped his whole body around to face me, glaring at me with a visceral hatred. He had tears in his eyes... this ghost was about to fuckin cry. I was floored. He came at me then, with deliberate movement, a booze-fueled young man's stride you see in the parking lot of a bar, the kind that brings fists with it. My heart started pounding immediately. I took a step back as though to brace for him. He can’t touch you, dumbass. I forced myself to hold my ground. Right before it happened, I think I said outloud “oh what’re you gonna d-“ Then he screamed in my face. It wasn’t a scream though, it was a fog horn, a dying pig, a sheet of aluminum in a tornado, a terrified kid bleeding to death in a truck on the battlefield. It made my organs shake, I went blind, couldn’t tell up from down. I could smell the noise of his scream, taste it. It felt like all my teeth were splintering in my gums. When he stopped, I realized I was lying in the snow, staring up at Creeps, his body shaking. He turned and stalked away before I’d even realized what happened. I looked to my left and saw Bridger, still staring up at the mountains to the east. I watched him until the sun came over the mountain, when he looked over at me with… despair, desperation, exhaustion. It was the most emotion I’d ever seen on him. He looked like a man who was actively losing his mind, aware it was happening. What in the hell is going on? Is the spirit torturing them too? Is the spirit ripping its hooks into their brains at sunrise and sunset? It hit me then. Hard. The realization came to me and I almost wept as the clarity of it connected detail, memory, everything Joe'd said, everything I knew deep down; like an angelic little mailman tearing through my synapses. How could I have been so fucking stupid? I stood up shakily, and walked to the shop. I plugged in my skillsaw, cut two shapes out of a piece of plywood, spray-painted em black, ripped a door off the white cabinets on the wall, and screwed the shapes into it. I screwed that into a 2x4, grabbed a sledgehammer, and ran back into the yard. I got to the shed near the back gate, pulled everything out into the snow, and hammered out the back wall that faces east toward the mountain. I drilled the 2x4 into the eave of the shed, elevating the cabinet door and symbols above the yard, visible to all. I ran into the house, got the kitchen shears, went to the living room, pushed the furniture off the nice rug Sasha’s mom sent us, and carved into it with the shears. Sasha came out of the bedroom wrapped in a blanket, half asleep. “What’re you doing?!” “I’ll explain in a bit.” I kept cutting feverishly, barely even hearing her repeated questions. I bundled up my final product, and smiled at Sasha. She looked pissed. “What the hell are you doing Harry!? You’re scaring me, talk to me!” I kissed her, “Sash, I think I’ve figured it out. Trust me, ok?” She looked exasperated, but nodded. I stormed outside with Dash, heading back toward the shed. I set everything up, moved all the tools, hoses and other shed-shit to the garage then, delirious, looked my little project over. Hot damn, I thought, if this works, Dan and Joe’ll never believe it. They did. At sunset, Sasha and I sat on the back porch wrapped in a big wool blanket sharing a cigarette. Dan, Lucy and Joe sat next to us, Dash trotting around the group, panhandling for head pats. Sash, Dan and Lucy had been speechless for 5 full minutes since it started, just laughing while looking between me and the shed in disbelief. They couldn't see it, but we could all feel it. Joe shared our happiness, but didn't seem as surprised. He looked over at me and nodded slowly, "hope that rage got buried with that hatchet, son." For the rest of the time the ghosts were here, my only interaction with them was exchanging a respectful nod, even with cranky Creeps. They’d go to the shed together like clockwork throughout the day, and never even think about bothering us. It was peaceful, until they just faded away one night that next week. See, shortly after seeing Creeps cry then blast his blood-wraith death shriek into my face for interrupting him, and then seeing the confused, woeful way Bridger looked, a new coat of lacker got slapped on the way I'd been seein things. I realized I’d had it all way fuckin wrong. I’d missed such a crucial detail. The shapes I sawed out of plywood, painted and mounted on the cabinet door were a star and a crescent moon. I put five rectangles of Sasha’s mom’s rug on the floor of the shed, facing east toward the mountains through the wall I’d removed. The spirit hadn't been brainwashing them at sunrise and sunset. It wasn’t the spirit they were looking to in the east. It was their own ritual they were struggling to remember, but somehow couldn’t. A ritual I’d lived around for two years, and simply forgotten. A ritual they’d lived with their whole lives, and couldn’t go on without even in death. My ghosts had been looking for their God. So, I built them a little mosque, where it seems my ghosts and their God found each other. For the first time in my life, my war felt over – and it sure as hell seemed like my ghosts felt the same. submitted by /u/VatoCabron to r/nosleep [link] [comments]
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r/nosleep |
VatoCabron |
Mar 6, 2020 |
United States