A Ghost of Fire

  * * *

  It wasn’t until later that I realized I’d forgotten my laptop. I would need it if I wanted to contact Jan Fenstra or anybody else. I could afford no cell phone and so kept all my contacts’ information stored on the computer. I debated with myself about whether I wanted to chance a return to the apartment or not.

  I had parked the car in a lot at an industrial park a few miles from the apartment building. It wasn’t a business day so all the lots of the various businesses were completely empty. I now sat behind the wheel with the engine turned off and considered my choices. I eventually decided I should go back, but maybe the next day. It was Sunday and Jan wouldn’t be in her office to receive any calls I might make. The best I could do at that point was to leave a message in her voice mail. It would be better to talk to her in person.

  “And what am I going to tell her,” I wondered out loud. “Sorry, don’t call my apartment. It’s haunted and I try not to spend too much time there.” I didn’t think that would be a good idea. I decided that I’d rather not lose my new job before I actually was able to work a few hours and draw a paycheck. It doesn’t look good on a resume, it’s even harder to get a decent reference and there would be no living with my mother after that. And I knew living with my parents would become a very real possibility if I couldn’t keep this job. I mentally shuddered at the thought.

  That reminded me that my mother had invited me to stay with them for the weekend. I thought I might be able to take them up on the offer to get away for a few days if for nothing else than to give myself some space and time between the apartment and what had happened there.

  “No, I can’t go back to mom and dad,” I said quickly rejecting the idea. I thought I should stay as close to my new employment as possible. If something came up and they wanted me to show up sooner I would have no way of knowing. I had to stay at least a little close to my apartment.

  With no real friends in the area a hotel was the best option and I knew it. I decided that I wanted one a little bit more into the city and so I’d have to drive around a while until I found one that wasn’t too expensive but also that wasn’t a rat hole.

  “It would be just my luck,” I told myself sarcastically, “that I’d find a cheap hotel and it would turn out to be haunted too.”

  I turned the key in the ignition and put the shifter into drive. I pulled out of the lot and began driving toward the heart of the city. As the car maneuvered down various streets my mind maneuvered other paths, secret paths. Some other part of me had taken over the driving of the car while I didn’t really pay attention to where I went. Gradually the realization crept upon me that my surroundings were familiar. When I paid closer attention to where I was I saw that the nearest building to my right was the Spectra Data Processing building. I jammed down the brakes.

  Something dawned within me. Being back here awakened a connection I hadn’t been able to make before. I’d almost witnessed a terrible accident on this street, almost this very spot. Or had I? The little girl I had seen crossing the road, the girl in the smudged white dress…had she really been there? Yes, she had really been present on the street, but perhaps not in the same way that I and the driver of the black sports car had been there.

  The driver claimed he hadn’t seen her. I had merely assumed he wasn’t paying attention, that maybe he had been distracted by talking on a cell phone or something stupid like that. But what if he really hadn’t seen her because he couldn’t see her? What if I had seen her because I was the only one who could see her?

  In my heart I knew now that the girl I had seen crossing the street the day before was the same girl I had heard laughing in my apartment bathroom. It was the same girl who had left the disturbing message on the answering machine while I slept. She was there, but in a different way. She was a ghost.

  “But if the little kid is a ghost, then the boy I heard talking to her…he must be one too.” I thought about this as I looked at the houses and buildings along the street. My skin began to crawl as I remembered that other voice I heard the last time I’d tried to listen to the message, the voice that warned me to stay away.

  There was a long story behind all of this, there had to be. The problem I struggled with was whether I wanted to uncover it or not. I wondered what would happen if I ignored it. Would it all go away? I also wondered about what might happen to me if I began to dig. Would I find something that should not be uncovered and awoken, something that was meant to stay buried? I thought about the last voice on the recording again. It had growled at me. It was angry at the thought of me. A very large part of me wanted to do just what the voice had commanded. The problem was that a smaller, braver part of me wanted to stand and fight.

  “This, you realize,” I said to myself, “is how people get themselves into serious trouble.”