Part 12 (1/2)

A whole bunch of 'em wandered past the cafe: half-naked Egyptians brown as berries, women in gaudy dance-hall duds, a pair of fellas in those tall caps with fur on 'em, and ghosts in rags. And then the ghost of a boy about twelve, Ben Junior's age, came over and peered in the cafe's window, and he was joined by the ghost of a woman with long white hair and no teeth. A man in a striped prison suit looked in another window, and peerin' in over his shoulder was the ghost of a tall, skinny fella in clown makeup. In a few minutes more they were all around the cafe, starin' in through the windows at us, and Lord knows our appet.i.tes fled. Fifty or sixty ghosts were out there, lookin' in and maybe longin' to join us. Grace Tarpley, the head waitress, started closin' all the blinds, then Mitch Brenner and Tommy Shawcross got up from their tables and helped her. But as soon as all the blinds were down and the windows sealed up, the ghosts outside took to moanin' and catterwaulin' and that was the end of our dinner. Some folks-live folks, I mean-started cryin' and wailin' too, specially some of the children. h.e.l.l, I even saw a couple of men break down and start bawlin'. This wasn't no fun, that's for sure. Anyway, the noise comin' out of the Concordia Cafe must've scared the ghosts off, because their voices started gettin' fainter and fainter until finally it was just the live people moanin'. Then Gracie let out a scream that almost lifted the roof, because the old farmer sittin' by himself at a booth in the back, an untouched cup of coffee on the table before him, suddenly stood up and faded away. n.o.body had known him, but I guess we all figured he was from the next county. It was gettin' so you couldn't tell the livin' from the dead anymore. The night moved on. It seemed like n.o.body wanted to go home to their haunted houses. Jack and Sarah Kelton came by our table for a few minutes and said the power was still out their way and they'd heard the lines were all fouled up. Which didn't sound so good, since the Keltons lived about two miles closer to town than us. The lights flickered off and on a few times in the cafe, which made everybody scream to high heaven, but Gracie said the men were workin' on the wires down the road and not to worry because there were plenty of flashlights and candles. As Jack talked on about seein' a ghost he swore was Abraham Lincoln strollin' along Highway 211, I looked out the blinds and watched the blue lightnin' cracklin' across the sky. It was a bad night here. h.e.l.l, it was a bad night everywhere.

I don't know how many cups of coffee Vera and I had. Ben Junior got stuffed on potato chips, and gettin' his belly full is a true miracle. Anyway, the crowd started thinnin' out, folks decidin' to go home to sleep-if they could sleep, that is. It was almost time for the Johnny Carson show, and I paid the bill and took Vera and Ben Junior to Clyde's barbershop down the street.

The regulars were there, and the cast-iron stove was stoked up warm and ruddy. The TV was on, the show about ten minutes away from startin'. We found chairs and sat down next to Phil and Gloria Laney. Luke McGuire was there with his wife Missy and their two kids, the Trumans were there and so was Sammy and Beth Kane. Clyde had a few sixpacks of Bud ready, but none of us felt like a beer.

The show started, Johnny Carson came out-all serious this time, didn't even crack a funny-and he showed a few old pictures of Thomas Edison. The first guest was a fella who'd written a biography of Edison, then Mickey Rooney came on because he played Young Edison in a movie a long time ago. The next guest was a man who talked about the ghosts appearin' all over the world, and he said ghosts had been seen from the Sahara desert to the South Pole. He was an expert, I guess, but exactly what at I don't know. While the talkin' was goin' on, buildin' up to Edison appearin', I was thinkin' about the scratched table. What had made that mark? The edge of that Vikin's battle-ax? No, that couldn't be! The ghosts were just pictures hangin' in the air. They weren't real. But I thought about that station wagon we'd seen in the ditch on the way to town, and the sound of Indians war-whoopin' in the woods.

I remembered Clyde saying, ”What do you think would happen if everybody who ever died in the whole world came back?”

Ghosts of everybody who'd ever died was one thing. But what if-I liked to choke thinkin' about this... what if everybody who'd ever died in the whole world did come back? Maybe as ghosts first, yes, but... maybe they weren't always gonna stay ghosts. Maybe death had reversed itself. Maybe some of 'em were already turnin' solid, a little piece at a time. As solid as the sharp edge of an ax blade. As solid as Indians, who'd pulled somebody out of their station wagon and- I shook those thoughts out of my head. Ghosts were ghosts. Weren't they?

s.h.i.+rley MacLaine came on next, carryin' a crystal ball. She said Thomas Edison was a good friend of hers. And then it was time.

They lowered the lights in the studio, I guess so Edison wouldn't get spooked. Then all the guests started callin'

his name and Johnny Carson asked the audience to be real quiet. They guests kept on callin' Thomas Edison's name and askin' him to join them, but the seat next to Johnny's desk stayed empty. It went on awhile, and pretty soon Johnny got that look on his face like when he has a talkin' dog on the show and it won't pip a squeak. I mean, the whole thing was almost ridiculous. ”I need a beer,” Luke said, and he reached for one. His hand never got there. Because suddenly we all gasped. There was a shape just beginnin' to take form in that empty chair next to Johnny's desk. Some of the audience started talkin', but Johnny hushed them up. The shape was becomin' the body of a man: a white-haired, sad-faced man, dressed in a wrinkled white suit that looked as if it had been slept in for quite some time. The figure got clearer and clearer, and d.a.m.ned if it wasn't the man who was in those old yellowed photographs.

”Got on clothes,” Luke rasped. ”How can a ghost wear clothes?”

”Shus.h.!.+” Phil told him, and he leaned closer to the TV.

Clyde turned up the volume. Thomas Edison his own self was sittin' in that chair on the Carson show, and even though the lights were dim he blinked as he looked around as if they stung his eyes. He was tremblin'. So was Johnny, and 'most everybody else. Thomas Edison looked like somebody's frail, scared old grandpap.

”h.e.l.lo, Mr. Edison,” Johnny finally said. He sounded like he had a chicken bone caught in his throat. ”Can I... call you Tom?”

Edison didn't answer. He just shook and gasped, plain terrified. ”Stage fright,” Burt said. ”Happened to me once when I gave a speech to the Civitan Club.”

”Tom?” Johnny Carson went on. ”Do you know who I am?”

Edison shook his head, his eyes wet and gla.s.sy.

”Mr. Edison,” s.h.i.+rley said, ”we're all your friends here.”

Edison gave a soft moan, and s.h.i.+rley recoiled from him a little bit. ”Tom?” Johnny tried again. ”Where did you come from?”

”I... don't...” Edison started to speak, but his voice was wispy. ”I... don't...” He looked around, gasping for words.

”I... don't... belong here.” He squinted at the audience. ”I don't... like this place.”

”We all love you,” s.h.i.+rley told him. ”Tell us about your journey, and what you've seen on the other si-” If ever h.e.l.l broke loose on earth, it was the next instant.

Somebody in the audience took a picture. You could see the quick pop and glare of the flashbulb, right in Tom Edison's eyeb.a.l.l.s. Another flash went off, and a third. Johnny Carson jumped up and shouted, ”No pictures! I said no pictures! Somebody get those cameras!” The studio lights came on, real sudden. Tom Edison almost jumped out of his chair. People in the audience were rus.h.i.+n' the stage, and Johnny Carson was yellin' for everybody to stay back, but you could hardly hear him over the noise. More flashbulbs were poppin', and I guess somehow the reporters had gotten into the studio when they weren't supposed to be there. Lights flashed in Tom Edison's face, and all of a sudden he reached out and plucked that crystal ball off s.h.i.+rley's lap, and he threw it straight into the TV camera that was trained on him. The camera smashed, zigzag lines goin' all over the screen. Another TV camera trained on Edison and caught him as he stood up, screamed at the top of his lungs, and vanished in a whirl of blue mist.

”Everybody sit down!” Johnny was shoutin'. People were still tryin' to get closer, and now you could see folks grapplin' with each other like a backwoods wrestlin' match. ”Everybody please sit-” The screen went dark. ”Somebody stepped on a cord,” Burt said. Static jumped and jittered across the screen, and then a message came on: NETWORK DIFFICULTY. PLEASE STAND BY.

We stood by, but the Carson show didn't come back on. ”He picked it up,” Luke said quietly. ”Did you see that?

He picked it up.”

”Picked what up?” Clyde asked. ”What're you babblin' about?”

”Thomas Edison picked up the crystal ball and flung it,” Luke told him, and looked around at the rest of us. ”A ghost picked up somethin' solid. How can a ghost pick up somethin' solid?”

n.o.body answered. I almost did, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want what I was thinkin' to be true. Maybe I should have said somethin', but the time slipped past.

Lightnin' flared and crackled over Concordia. About three seconds later, the barbershop's lights flickered once, twice, and went out. All of Concordia lay in darkness. Vera grasped my hand so hard I thought my knuckles were about to bust.

”Well, that's that,” Clyde said. He stood up in the dark, and Luke lit a match. In its pale glow we all looked like ghosts. Clyde turned off the dead TV. ”I don't know about everybody else,” he said, ”but I'm goin' home and get a good night's sleep, ghosts or not.”

The group started breakin' up, and Clyde locked the doors. ”We ought to go to the Holiday Inn over near Grangeville,” I told Vera and Ben Junior as we were walkin' back to the pickup. ”Maybe they'll have the power on over there. All right?”

Vera wouldn't let go of my hand. ”No,” she said. ”I can't sleep in a strange bed. Lord knows all I want to do is get in my bed and pull the covers over my head and hope I wake up from this nightmare in the mornin'.

”Holiday Inn might be safer,” I said. Instantly I regretted it, because Vera stiffened up. ”Safer?” she asked. ”Safer?

What's that mean?”

If I told her what I was thinkin', that would be all she wrote. You'd have to peel Vera off a wall. Ben Junior was listenin' too, and I knew he knew, but still and all, home was where we belonged. ”All right, hon,” I said, and put my arm around her. ”We'll sleep in our own bed tonight.” Vera relaxed, and I was mighty glad I hadn't steered her into dark, deep water.

We started off. The pickup's headlights were a comfort. Maybe we should sleep in the truck tonight, I thought. No, we'd all have cricked backs in the mornin'. Best to get on home and pull the covers over our heads just like Vera wanted to. I found myself thinkin' about the rifle down in the bas.e.m.e.nt. I ought to get that out and loaded. Wouldn't hurt to have it beside the bed if I needed- ”Look out, Ben!” Vera shouted, and I went for the brake, but too late.

The caveman was standin' in the road. He snarled and lifted that club studded with sharp-edged rocks, and as he swung it I could see the muscles ripple in his ape-like shoulders.

I expected the club to turn to mist. I wanted it to. I prayed for it, in that long instant as it came at the fender in a powerful blur. Oh, G.o.d, I prayed for it.

The club smashed into the front of our pickup truck with a shock that lifted us all off the seat. Vera screamed and so did Ben Junior, and I think Ben Senior let out a scream too. One of the headlights shattered and went out. I felt and heard somethin' boom and clatter in the engine, behind the crushed radiator. The truck lurched, and steam bellowed out around the crumpled hood. The caveman jumped back as the truck pa.s.sed him, but I think he was scared just as witless as we were. I looked into the rearview mirror and saw him standin' there in the glare of the red taillights. Lightnin' flared behind him, over dark Concordia. I think he was grinnin'. He swung his club, and he started lumberin' along the road in the direction we were goin'.

The truck was laborin'. ”Come on, come on!” I said, and I kept my foot to the gas. Vera's scream had broken; she was a shakin' moan, pressed up against my ribs. ”He hit us, Dad!” Ben Junior said. ”That sumb.i.t.c.h hit us!”

”Yeah,” I told him. Wheezed it, really. ”Yeah, I know he did.” The truck kept goin'. Chevy builds 'em strong. But I watched the gauges and I listened to the engine racketin', and I knew the eight miles home was askin' way too much.

Finally, with a groan and a shudder, the engine quit. I let the truck coast as far as she'd go, and I prayed again, this time for a slope to take us home, but I knew the road was flat as a flounder all the way to our front porch. We rolled to a stop, and we sat there.

”We've stopped, Dad,” Ben Junior said.

I nodded. One part of me wanted to wring his neck. One part of me wanted to wring my own neck. Vera was sobbin', and I put my arm around her tight. ”Don't cry,” I said. ”We're all right. We're gonna be fine. Don't cry, now.” She kept cryin'. Words were cheap.

We sat for a while longer. Out in the night we could hear the freight-train roar of a tornado movin' through the hills. ”Dad?” Ben Junior said at last, ”I don't think we ought to stay here all night.” I hadn't raised a dummy, that was for sure; I was the dumb one, for not insistin' we go to the Holiday Inn.

I hesitated at openin' the door. Vera was clingin' to me, and I'm not sure whose heart was poundin' harder. I was thinkin' about the caveman, with his club that must've weighed seventy or eighty pounds. He was between us and Concordia, and every second we wasted brought him closer. I got out of the truck real quick, pulled Vera out, and Ben Junior scram bled out the other side. Lightnin' crackled overhead, and you could hear tornadoes moanin' in the night.

”We've got to get home,” I said, maybe just to steady up my own nerves. Once I had my hands on that rifle and we were shut up in our bedroom with our backs to the wall, we'd be just fine. ”Sooner we start, the sooner we'll get there.”

”It's dark,” Vera whispered, her voice shakin'. ”Oh, Lord, it's so dark.” I knew she was talkin' about the road that lay ahead. I knew every curve and b.u.mp in it, but tonight it was a road that led through the haunted world. Out in the woods were Indians, Roman soldiers, n.a.z.is, Chinese karate kickers, at least one Vikin' with a battle-ax, and G.o.d only knew what else. And behind us, maybe stalkin' somethin'

good to eat, was a caveman with an eighty-pound club.

And all of 'em, all the ghosts, maybe gettin' more solid by the hour. What was gonna happen, I wondered, when all the billions and billions of people who'd ever died in the world were back on earth again, hungry and thirsty, some of 'em peaceful folks for sure, but others ready to chop your head off or bust your skull with a club? One rifle suddenly seemed an awful puny thing. I had a thought: If we got killed, we wouldn't stay dead very long, would we?

The tornadoes sounded closer, whirlin' more ghosts into the woods. I said, ”Come on,” in the calmest voice I could manage, and I pulled Vera along with me. Ben Junior walked close to me on the other side, his hands clenched into fists. We had a long way to go. Maybe a car would come along. Maybe. This wasn't a night fit for travelin'. The road ahead was dark, so very dark. We had no choice but to walk it.