Ghost Ride Page 7

  Sam couldn’t move. His bones had liquefied.

  “Come on!”

  The guy was screaming now. Grabbing him by the shoulders. Shaking him. Trying to drag him to his feet.

  Sam struggled to get free.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Come on, man! We gotta get outta here!”

  Reality hit Sam like a slap in the face. He stopped flailing.

  It was Cody.

  Sam searched wildly. He was lying on his back in the middle of the road and Cody was beside him, trying to yank him to his feet. Only one car was in the ditch — the black Accord. It was right side up and still had its roof. No other cars were around. There was no stench of oil in the night air.

  The nightmare hadn’t happened. There hadn’t been a collision. No bike. No blood. No headless body. It had all been a weird hallucination. When Sam realized he was holding his breath, he let out the air slowly.

  “Come on!” shouted Cody, pulling at him again. His voice was high-pitched and desperate. “Don’t zone out on me again, Maestro. We gotta get outta here. Quick, before someone sees us!”

  Sam felt groggy, as if he were just waking from a long sleep. He rubbed the back of his head, pushed Cody’s hands away with one arm, and stood. When he started walking toward the Honda, Cody grabbed him by the sleeve and swung him around.

  “Don’t you get it, man?” His voice was part hiss, part squeal. “We gotta get outta here before anyone sees us. We gotta forget this night ever happened. We can’t ever talk about this again. Not to anyone … not even to each other … not ever!”

  Sam searched Cody’s eyes. There was fear in them. Still feeling only half-awake, Sam tried to comprehend what was happening.

  Okay, so the car’s in the ditch. It’s not the end of the world. Not like the accident I just witnessed — or imagined I’d witnessed. We’ll call a tow-truck. What’s Cody so freaked out about? The car? It isn’t even his. It belongs to —

  “Javon …” Sam whispered. His eyes met Cody’s. “Where’s Javon?”

  Cody didn’t answer right away. He stared at Sam, his eyes dark and frightening.

  “I said, where’s Javon?” Sam’s heart beat faster. His mouth was dry.

  Cody looked at Sam, and then over at the car. “There,” he said in a barely audible voice.

  Sam’s eyes followed Cody’s gaze. They zeroed in on a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the car. Sam’s heart exploded. He shoved Cody aside and scuttled toward the vehicle, but Cody caught him, tackled him from behind, and threw him to the ground.

  “What are you doing, you idiot?” Sam demanded. “Are you out of your mind? Let me go! We have to help him!”

  The two wrestled until Cody pinned Sam. “Don’t you get it?” Cody screamed. “I already checked him! He’s dead, man. Dead!”

  Sam stopped struggling. “You’re lying! How can he be dead? What happened?”

  “You must have fallen out of the car and smacked your head when we hit that pothole.” Cody took deep breath. “Javon fell, too. Only he fell forward and went under the car.”

  Sam thrashed about, nearly breaking free, but Cody pinned him again. “We gotta call the cops, man. Call an ambulance. Call someone.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for Javon. Let it go, man. We gotta get outta here. No one knows what happened except you and me.”

  “And Mike …” Sam whispered.

  “Mike don’t know nothing! So we drove off with Javon. So what? We’ll say we did something else. Some stupid little stunt. Then Javon dropped us off and he drove away on his own. We don’t know what happened to him — got it? We weren’t with him. That’s the story.”

  Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was crazy. Insane. In one swift motion he knocked Cody off and staggered toward the Honda.

  “I’m not going down for this — no way, man!” Cody yelled.

  Sam kept moving.

  “You’re an idiot, Sam!” Cody shouted. It was the first time he’d called him by his name. “We can walk away from this, you and me, or we can go down for something that was an accident. An accident, man! You wanna go to Juvie for an accident?”

  Sam stopped. He eyed the lifeless legs. He was battling himself, but he was losing. He didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t want to go to Juvie for an accident, either. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He swiped them away bitterly before Cody noticed. “So what do we do? Just leave him here?”

  In the distance a pair of headlights appeared. They were about two kilometres away. Sam had to make a decision quickly.

  “Let’s just get outta here,” Cody said. “Someone will find him. No one needs to know we were here. Not Mikey Mouse. Not even AJ. No one.”

  The lights were approaching rapidly. The car had to be doing a hundred. Soon it would be on top of them. Would the driver even see the Honda in the darkness? Would he see what was underneath? Or would he speed by, thinking it was an old, abandoned vehicle?

  “What’s it gonna be, man?” Cody demanded. “Home or prison?”

  The car was less than a kilometre away. It was now or never.

  Sam scrunched his eyes, took a deep breath, and backed away from the Honda. He ran to the opposite side of the road, with Cody at his heels, and dived into the ditch as the car sped by. Sam glanced up as it passed. It was the blue Mustang.

  “So we’re cool, right?”Cody asked. “We don’t talk about this? Not to anyone?”

  Sam couldn’t bring himself to say a word. He still couldn’t believe what he was doing. He pressed his lips together and nodded once. His stomach bubbled and boiled. His mind kept telling him he was making a deal with the devil, but he didn’t want to go to jail. The stunt wasn’t his idea. He hadn’t been the driver. He didn’t even really know what happened. But he did know it was an accident. An accident.

  Walking north, Sam stayed low in the ditch and out of sight. It was a long way home. He heard Cody call behind him, his voice echoing in the distance. “Remember, man. This is our secret.” Sam couldn’t bring himself to look back. He never wanted to see Cody again.

  Sam kept trudging, keeping to the shadows in the ditch by the road. He couldn’t bear to think of what he’d done. It was so horrible that his mind switched off. The damp air seeped into his clothes, making him colder, freezing his brain.

  As he hiked, he became acutely aware of every sound around him. A bird screeched in the distance. The wind whistled through the trees. Several times he thought he heard a car approaching. Each time that occurred he dived flat into the damp grass and dirt and waited, only to realize it was his imagination.

  Sam began to shiver and hugged himself to stop the tremors. He marched on for almost an hour, his feet heavy, his mind cloudy and dull. His teeth chattered as words slipped through: “Didn’t happen … all a dream … a dream …” Several times he stopped to remind himself where he was. His feet led him onward mechanically, dragging his body forward, until nearing the woods that hid Sleepy Hollow he started to convince himself that everything had been just that — a dream.

  When Sam entered the tunnel of trees past the old willow, the wind suddenly died off. There was never any wind in Sleepy Hollow. Darkness covered him in a cold blanket. He strained his eyes to see through the tunnel, but it was no use.

  Crunch.

  Something rustled the leaves. “Mike, is that you?” Sam searched frantically, but he couldn’t see a thing. He picked up his pace.

  Sam needed to get home. If he could lie in his bed and pull the covers over his head, then this nightmare would fade away. He’d wake up and it would all be a dream. If only he could get home …

  Crunch.

  There it was again. Something was moving through the trees. Following him. Sam broke into a sprint. His house wasn’t far now.

  Crunch, crunch.

  Sam ran as fast as he could, peering at the darkness as he hurtled through the tunnel that seemed to close in on him. For a split second he thought he caught sight of a shadow as it slipped
behind an old tree trunk.

  That shadow.

  That shape.

  It had no head!

  Sam broke through the trees, racing past driveway after driveway. Taking the steps of his porch in one giant leap, he lunged for the front door that Mike had left unlocked. He swung it open and slid inside, shutting it quickly but quietly, and then leaned back on the heavy oak to catch his breath. His heart was pounding. His side was aching.

  The house was silent. Sam scanned the darkness. There was an empty feeling about it. He took a step toward the stairs. The old floors creaked beneath his weight, and he stopped. He was sure someone was watching him. Every nerve in his body was taut. Only his eyes moved, examining every corner and crevice.

  “Mike?” he whispered.

  Someone giggled. It was an airy sound that echoed through the hall.

  Sam swung around. “Miranda?”

  But there was no one there.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “What happened to you?” Mike asked when Sam entered the bedroom.

  Sam halted in his tracks. A sliver of light from the lone street lamp leaked through the gap in the curtains, setting him aglow. His clothes were sopping. His face and hands were muddy.

  “N-nothing,” he said, averting his eyes. He was shivering, but he forced himself to sound as casual as he could.

  “Wow! You look like crap, man. You okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Sam pulled off his sweatshirt, tossed it onto the floor, and grabbed a dry T-shirt from a pile of fresh clothes folded on the dresser.

  “So what did you and your new friends end up doing?” Mike asked.

  Sam didn’t like the way Mike emphasized the word friends. “What do you care? You bailed on me, remember?”

  Mike sighed. “I didn’t bail on you, Sam. I just didn’t feel like getting mixed up in anything illegal. I told you not to go —”

  “Who are you — my mother?”

  Anger boiled in the pit of Sam’s stomach. He was furious, partly because Mike had abandoned him when he needed his friend most, but also because Mike had been right. Sam should have listened. He should never have gotten into that car with Cody and Javon.

  “Dude, chill,” Mike said. “I was just —”

  “Quit busting my chops! I don’t know why you came up here, anyway. You should’ve stayed home. Some best friend you turned out to be.”

  Sam didn’t know what he was saying anymore. He was out of his mind. His emotions had gone haywire. Fear, panic, anger, anguish — they were writhing like snakes in his gut, twisting and turning until they knotted into a giant ball of confusion. He should be talking to Mike. He should be telling him everything. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t face himself. Instead, he threw himself onto his bed, closed his eyes, and pretended to sleep.

  Mike didn’t say another word.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “You look awful,” Miranda said when Sam and Mike came downstairs the next morning.

  Normally, Sam would have had a million nasty comebacks ready for his sister, but today they were lost in the fog of his brain.

  Sam was exhausted. He hadn’t slept a wink. His stomach churned. He couldn’t bring himself to look his sister in the eye. He felt if he made eye contact with her, with Mike, with anyone, they’d read his face and know his dirty secret.

  Just act normal, he told himself. Nothing happened. Nothing happened …

  Miranda and Mike chatted casually while they ate breakfast. Sam couldn’t eat a bite. He sat there, moving the crisp bacon and scrambled eggs around on his plate — the sight of food made him want to heave.

  Get a grip. You’ve gotta act normal …

  Sam and Mike had only exchanged a few words, avoiding the topic of the previous night altogether. Mike had called his dad to come and get him early. His father was on his way. He’d be there by noon.

  “Where’s Dad?” Miranda asked.

  “Still can’t seem to shake his cold,” Sam’s mother said. Her expression betrayed her worry. “It’s been a week, now. I’m forcing him to go to the walk-in clinic today. It might take a few hours if the clinic is busy, so you guys will be on your own for a while.”

  Sam and Mike barely spoke for the rest of the morning. They played a few video games, watched a bit of TV, and avoided looking at each other. The tension was excruciating. Sam felt a surge of relief when Mike’s father finally arrived.

  “So how did it go?” Mike’s father asked.

  “Great,” Mike said, though his tone told a different story.

  “Okay …” Mike’s dad said. He must have sensed something was wrong because he didn’t press the issue. “See you soon, Sam?”

  Sam nodded. “Sure, see you.” He forced a slight smile, then shut the door behind them.

  Finally, he thought, hauling himself up the stairs and collapsing on his bed. He tried to close his eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Sam kept thinking he should be doing something. He could do the rest of his homework. Take a shower. Surf the Net. But each time he tried to get up, he sank down again. Everything seemed so totally meaningless.

  I’ve gotta snap out of this. If I don’t, they’ll know something’s wrong.

  Sam finally found the strength to force himself to his feet. He pulled on his grey hoodie and grabbed his basketball. He would shoot a few hoops. Maybe that would calm his nerves. Settle his stomach.

  The road was a kaleidoscope of yellow, orange, and purple. It was as though, during the night, the trees had come up with some secret plan to shed half their leaves simultaneously. The air in Sleepy Hollow was still. He gazed at the patches of sky visible through the thick tangle of half-bare branches and saw clouds sailing by.

  Funny, he thought. There’s never any wind in Sleepy Hollow.

  Sam plugged in his iPod and skipped the first song — Bach’s Partita in D Major. The blue Mustang was parked on the street. The old lady sat in her rocking chair at number two. Nothing stirred at number five. He wondered who lived in the other houses. He’d never seen anyone come or go from any of them.

  There’s something definitely wrong with this place, he decided.

  Sam dribbled the ball. The thunk, thunk, thunk seemed to echo around him. He eyed the faded, rotting backboard, and worried that one good shot might bring the whole thing crashing down.

  Squaring his shoulders to the basket, he bent his knees and jumped. As his feet left the asphalt, his elbow rose, his wrist flicked, and the ball glided off his fingertips. There was a lull in the music.

  “The guy who used to live there really liked basketball.”

  Sam came down hard, nearly rolling his ankle. The ball hit the rim and flew back at him, hitting him in the arm and bouncing to the end of the driveway. He swung around yanking the iPod out of his ears.

  Walter. Great, just what I need.

  “I thought I told you not to sneak up on me,” Sam snapped.

  Walter was standing at the end of Sam’s driveway. He picked up the ball. He wore the same pleated pants, cardigan, and mock turtleneck he always did. Only this time Sam noticed a dark stain across the collar.

  Man, this is one dude in serious need of a makeover. And probably a shower.

  Walter continued talking. “He’d play all the time. It was his favourite sport. He wasn’t very good at it, though.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. It was as if the weirdo lived in his own little world. “Didn’t you hear me? I said stop sneaking up on me.” Sam held out his hands, but Walter clung to the ball. He was looking at it as if he hadn’t seen one in years.

  “Gimme the ball!” Sam demanded.

  Walter ignored him and began dribbling the ball like a third-grader. He took a shot. It missed the rim by a mile, hit the garage door, and bounced down the driveway. Walter didn’t even try to stop it. He just watched it roll past him and into the street.

  Sam scowled. “Thanks a lot.”

  Walter stared at him, then smiled.

  Sam shook his head. He brushed past
Walter on his way to get the ball. It was resting against the curb in front of number two.

  The old lady rocked back and forth, gazing vacantly like a zombie. At first Sam wasn’t going to say anything, but then he thought he should try to act normal.

  “Nice day,” he mumbled, nearing her house.

  He wasn’t sure if she’d heard him, since she didn’t reply. But then, as he was about to repeat himself, she croaked, “What’s so nice about it?”

  Sam was taken aback. Old ladies were supposed to be sweet. “Uh, well, I don’t …” He wished he hadn’t started the conversation. “Nice weather, I guess. Trees look nice.”

  “And how would I know about that? Can’t see a thing. Blind as a bat.”

  She’s blind? That’s it. That’s why she always stares into space.

  Sam bent and picked up his ball. He almost dropped it. It was ice-cold, as if it had been locked inside a meat freezer. He glanced over to where Walter was, but the creep had already left.

  “Oh … uh … sorry.” Sam turned to walk back to his house.

  “What are you sorry about?” the old lady demanded.

  “Huh?”

  “You deaf, boy? I asked you what you’re so sorry about.”

  Sam’s heart beat a little quicker. He’d read somewhere that people who were visually impaired developed acute hearing. Could she hear the guilt in his voice?

  “N-nothing, I guess,” he said, straining to sound calm and polite.

  “Then stop walking around and apologizing for things you got nothing to do with,” she growled.

  Now Sam really wished he could end the conversation. “I gotta go.”

  “Have you heard the news?” she asked, ignoring his last comment.

  News? Sam nearly buckled. Was the accident on the news? He should have checked the newspaper or the TV. “What news?” He tried to sound disinterested.

  “Well, the news, of course,” she snapped. “It’s Hecate. She’s moving back to Sleepy Hollow.”

  Sam took a deep breath. He was relieved — confused but relieved. “Heck-ah-who?” he asked.

  “Hecate, you fool. She’s coming home. After more than thirty years, she’s coming home. It’s about time, too. We haven’t had one here in a while.”