Ghostland, Patrick Doyle [top business books of all time .TXT] 📗

Part I - The Road

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think I have something tonight that's not quite correct for evening wear. Blue suede shoes. - Elvis Presley

 

It was midday when I rolled into Hackberry. The sun provided little warmth to this forgotten spit of land. I heard a donkey's bray somewhere, probably coughing on dust or choking on sagebrush nettle. Once upon a time this town was booming; silver in the hills, but when that petered out, so did the people. Such is the way of things 'round these parts. Ghost towns litter old Route66. I checked my map: Berry, Walapai, Anteres Point, all abandoned save for a few trailer-homes & empty gas stations.

 

To my left, however, was a ramshackle shanty covered in roadsigns & Coca-Cola paraphernalia from yesteryear. you are here! route66 hackberry general store, a cherry red '57Corvette parked on display.

 

Inside, there's all sorts of memorabilia of vintage Americana. Buddy Holly was singing how much he likes Peggy-Sue on some tinny speaker hidden in a corner. The place was a shrine to the ol' American Dream. A time when the War was over & everything was gonna be okay. There was enough stylish cars & root beer floats to make the world go round.

 

& Route66 was the physical embodiment of it all. America's Main Street, the Mother Road, almost 2,500miles of freeway taking you from Chicago - The Heart of America - to the City of Angels down in sunny California. Today, the old road has been put aside for faster, straighter interstates. Yes, just like so many of Smalltown, USA's Main Streets, Route66 is simply a collection of pot holes, a novelty of history now. Reduced to a commodity in & of itself. “Get your kicks with Historic Route66 ball caps, keychains, & shooter glasses, while supplies last.”

 

I bought a root beer & continued down the road. How hard it must be for the folk here to live today in a place that is relegated as perpetually yesterday. Every one of them a ghost. The roadside was punctuated here & there with little crosses, a drive-thru graveyard. I watched a freight train, its lonesome whistle searching for ears to blow upon. I rode through Valentine, I rode through Truxton. Not a soul astir.

 

Daylight was running on short supply & I decided to scout around for a place to make camp. I rode to the Cruz-N-66 Gas & Grub, a minimart run by a daughter & her father. Déjà-vu at the sight of them. “'Republic of Tall Trees & Cold Seas', huh. Where's that? Never heard of it.” The daughter asked, commenting on the false coat-of-arms emblazoned on my t-shirt.

 

“Oh – it's not a real place. Well. It is a real place. Vancouver Island. Where I came from. Up in Canada.”

 

“Wow,” her eyes widened, “I heard of Vancouver. Didn't know it was an island. I havn't seen much beyond Flagstaff. Been to the Grand Canyon though. Don't need to see much more than that.”

 

“Well, there's always something more to see no matter where you are.” I purchased 24ounces of Mickey's Fine Malt Liquor & some Rockets that are called Smarties in this neck of the woods. “Hey, I'm looking around for a spot to set up camp. Looks like it's all private land around here."

 

"You headin' East, son?" The father stepped in. "You don't wanna go any further today. Indian reserve ahead. You're not allowed t' tent in their lands." He sized me up & down, "You'd get robbed anyhow."

 

The old man walked me outside & pointed in the direction I had come from. "If you head 'bout two miles back, you'll find some BLM land. Just make sure you're outta sight of the road." He reached into his breast pocket, grabbed a Camel & lit up. I thanked the man & headed on out.

 

Before I made it out of the parking lot a woman stumbled out of the outhouse. Short & round, she wobbled so much she'll probably make like a tumbleweed at the next errant gust. "Traveling far?" She had asked me so quickly upon exiting the stall I had to wonder if she somehow expected me.

 

"Making my way to Tucson." I remained vague. I didn't want to be stuck in a chit-chat with an inebriated native, stuck pitching a tent in the dark. Not to mention the earlier warning of getting burgled. The moon was peeking over the horizon & the sky was turning orange.

 

"Y'ever hear the spirits?" The smell of alcohol permeated the question. "Lot'v 'em on this road. 'Round here, lot'v–” she hiccuped, “–lot'v 'em kids." I couldn't tell if she was looking at me or passed me. With an old teardrop tattoo on her sallow cheek, she looked like a spirit herself. Another hiccup.

 

A throat cleared behind me, I looked over & saw the store clerk with eyes alive making frantic gestures, These are exactly the people I warned you about, he was saying. Could this woman really be dangerous? She had piqued my imagination & I was thirsty for more lore.

 

She looked me straight in the eye, teetered to the right then straightened herself out. "You got money?"

 

I told her I didn't have much.

 

"I just got a $25,000bonus," she said with a twinkle in her ever-crying eye. Who was this woman? I decided not ask where such a 'bonus' came from.

 

I told her that's great.

 

She reached into her purse & shoved a 20dollar bill at me. I tried to refuse but she insisted. Was this some scheme to mark the next unfortunate victim of bored indians on a dusty, spirit-saturated road? I thanked her, but felt uneasy. A train crossed the horizon.

 

"If y'cross the spirits, tell 'em... tell 'em 'doh mya-meh,'" she made a quick flick with her wrist.

 

"What does it mean?"

 

"Just go," she almost hissed, repeating the gesture. I tested the words out myself. The woman started staring at something in the distance & told me of a little girl, “She lost 'er shoes. Always looking for her shoes.” Then she rolled back to the outhouse.

 

I found a field to make camp, through a barb-wire fence, down a dirt road, out of sight from the highway. I made dinner & drank my beer. It shouldn't be a surprise that spirits could be abundant 'round here. It is the forever-young images of Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, & James Dean that haunt Route66 more than anything else. Lives all taken too early. A coyote's howl filled the night sky, chasing a freight train's call through the shrubs.

 

Night set in quickly & I was left eating in darkness. A set of lights started coming up the dirt road, they came from the opposite way I had. It made little sense to me, there was nothing down that way, just train tracks. My mind started racing, could these be friends of the drunk indian? Would they make claims I stole a helpless woman's money? Had I actually been marked for a hit? The Gas & Grub folk were probably in cahoots with the natives all along. I crouched low to the ground. The flame of my camp stove burning. Surely, these were not real spirits, but I whispered the words anyway, "Doh mya-meh." The stove flame snuffed out & the lights turned, moving away from me. I breathed in, realizing I had been holding my breath. Did it work?

 

I cleaned up, & decided to read my book until I fell asleep. While laying down in my tent, holding my book up, a pleasant body buzz slowly took hold. It felt as if the earth beneath me accepted my weight lovingly. My body tingled, atwitter with the electric pulse of everything around. The feeling was foreign but comforting. I realized I couldn't move my body but I couldn't bring myself to care. I was rooted to the ground connected & nurtured. My paralysis eventually caused my book to slip through my hands & fall on my chest.

 

& there she was.

 

Porcelain white skin with shiny black tresses rippled in the air, defying gravity. A beautiful black dress simply embroidered with white thread that glistened in a silver, unearthly light. & two white, shoeless feet hung inches above the ground. Her black eyes stared straight into mine. She possessed a calming aura, & was doubtlessly responsible for my body buzz. My mind was racing & quickly became alarmed. I was at odds with myself. My heart palpitated – thum-thum-thum-thump thum-thum-thum-thump – but I could do nothing & she slowly descended toward me. A slight smile with small dimples touched her young face. She opened her mouth but nothing came, had she something to say? A deep seated fear began to course through my veins. I stuttered, then through sheer force of panicked will I said it: "Doh mya-meh!"

 

Her facial expression changed in an instant & a mournful shriek escaped her mouth shaking my whole body from its fixed position & I found myself sitting up. Alone in my tent. I breathed in. I had been holding my breath. A train screeched through the night. The tent lit by silver moonlight. Just a dream.

 

I got up & went outside for a piss. A perfectly clear night. The train blew its whistle & then I heard a coyote's howl in answer. It startled me, coming no more than twenty feet away. I looked over & saw its reflective eyes gaze starward, then at me.

 

"Perfectly clear night, yes?" The coyote said.

 

I stared at the coyote. "Uhh, I guess so, yeah." A moment passed. The coyote watched me studiously. Then it approached.

 

"Well, you gonna offer me a beer?"

 

"Wha..? Uhh, sorry, I drank it already." The coyote looked at me & sighed, unimpressed. I watched its bright eyes dart this way & that. I watched its toothy smile & how it flicked its paws with every step. "I've… got some candy."

 

"What? No. You ever seen a coyote eat candy? No matter. Are you ready, hmm?"

 

"Ready for..?"

 

The coyote smiled. "We've got a train to catch."

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Publication Date: 02-08-2017

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