Ancient History Read Free Page B

saw.”
    “What you think you saw. People want to believe there’s life after death and their minds come up with all manner of things to reinforce the belief. Ghosts are the product of wishful thinking and bad dreams.” I looked at my watch. “It’s ten after three. I’m going to try to get some sleep.” I turned over and closed my eyes. Hopefully, I could get back to sleep.
    I didn’t tell Garth, mostly because I didn’t want to believe it myself, but I did have an experience once. At least maybe I had one. Amy and I were looking at a house we were thinking of buying. I’d wandered off by myself into one of the rooms. Suddenly the air around me became cold and I felt something icy, like a finger, trace a line down my cheek. I got out of there in a hurry. Needless to say, we didn’t buy that house. Never told Amy the real reason I’d lost interest. At the time, after I’d thought about it, I chalked it up to my re-reading Frank Edwards’ Stranger Than Science . Still do, for the most part. Yet that experience has never left me. I can’t shake it.
    Curiosity did get the better of me, though. A year later, I spent some time researching the house and the area and found out a former owner of the house had murdered his wife in that very room I’d felt the icy finger. I wish I’d left it alone. Do I believe in ghosts? No. But I also know what I felt. Or at least thought I felt.
    I must’ve fallen asleep because suddenly I was in that big, empty, dark space and in the distance, once again, was that shape. And again, it advanced upon me. Its mouth spread wider. And wider. I yelled, “No!” And it stopped. It closed its mouth, smiled, turned sideways, and pointed. I looked to where it pointed and saw Garth sleeping peacefully.
    The shape advanced upon my brother and in a moment it was upon him. This time I could move and I jumped on the shape. I didn’t know ghosts, if this was a ghost, had substance. But I wasn’t thinking. I had to save him. I had to save my brother. Had to do what I didn’t as a kid.  
    I grabbed hold of the thing and tore it off him. It spread its mouth open and began sucking me in. I grabbed its throat and squeezed and squeezed until its mouth closed and its eyes bugged out. Then it vanished. It was gone. Only a fading laughter remained.
    I opened my eyes. I was in a cold sweat and not in my sleeping bag. I was sitting on top of Garth. His tongue protruded out of his mouth. His eyes were open and did not blink. I screamed his name and there was no response. Out of the tent I stumbled and ran to the door of the dining hall. I threw it open. In the fading twilight, I watched a black 1949 Studebaker Land Cruiser drive away.

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About the Author

    CW Hawes, born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio, has lived in suburban Minneapolis, Minnesota for the past forty-five years, with occasional sojourns here and there. His interests range far and wide, but he doesn’t do windows and isn’t a good dancer. He does like to cook, though, and is especially fascinated by steam power, sailing ships, airships, streamlined locomotives and automobiles, and all things streamline moderne.

    You can visit him at www.cwhawes.com .