Michael's Ghost Girl

The Girl in the Bushes

When they reached their camp, Dewey called 911, and then they began to pack and re-load their car. They looked longingly at the case of beer, but soon they would have the company of law enforcement, so it was better left hidden.

Then they waited. And waited. Each wanted to talk, each wanted to say nothing. The initial adrenaline rush was gone, Michael's stomach had settled, but they could not escape the fact that a human skeleton lay several hundred yards from them.

"She led us here." Michael broke the silence. "That girl, I mean. Do you know that story about the girl who hitchhikes and gets guys to pick her up? Then they go to a dance or something and when they leave she borrows a sweater. They think they are taking her home, but she has them drop her off at the front of a cemetery. The next day they come back and the sweater is lying in front of that same cemetery.

"Where did you hear that one?" Short Round pushed himself up and looked at him. "I mean, my culture has a lot of stories about ghosts, but I've never heard anything like that one."

"My mom used to read me ghost stories. I liked them, but they always scared Kit. I remembered that one just now because it's like what happened to us. I mean, who knows how long this girl has been waiting for someone to find her?"

"I know," said Dewey, "I know without saying, just like you do, Mike. I'll bet you anything that it's probably Suzie McCann, the girl who's missing. Before all this started happening I wouldn't have placed any stock in stuff like this, but I don't see things the way I used to." He sounded unusually thoughtful, the expression on his face suddenly older.

Dewey would have continued, but they heard cars rumbling down the road, and soon a police cruiser and a coroner's van descended upon them. The boys showed them where the skeleton was, then went back to their camp which now was overrun with members of law enforcement and the coroner's office.

The sheriff asked them if they'd mind answering a couple of questions about how they found the skeleton. Short Round, the consummate actor, told a convincing story about needing to take a leak, and when he saw the skeleton he called for his friends. It seemed a plausible enough story and the sheriff didn't press for more. He asked a few more questions, had they seen anyone? Were they familiar with this place? Did people come here often? Had they ever had any problems?

The sheriff finally seemed satisfied and regretfully told them they'd have to leave since they were now in a crime scene. When he told them he needed to inform their parents about what had happened, they raised a chorus of objections. They came to camp, they argued. It was easy to see the skeleton had been there for some time. Right now they just weren't ready to go home and face their families and the questions that would inevitably follow. They'd find another place to camp, the last thing they wanted to do was go home.

They watched the sheriff's face. He too had been a sixteen-year-old boy. Sympathy won out over protocol and rules, and he reluctantly agreed to their request. One person from the coroner's unit was kind enough to ask them if they knew about a place that was located about five miles down the highway. He drew a map on a piece of paper, telling about a clearing along the river that was half-hidden, but a nice place with good fishing. They'd probably have it to themselves. In exchange for this favor, they agreed to contact the sheriff's office when they got home and tell their parents.

The map was easy to follow. By the time they reached their new camp they were too exhausted to do anything but pitch the tent and crawl into their sleeping bags. None of them wanted to talk about what happened, or would have admitted they were a little afraid to go to sleep. Fatigue won out over fear, and sleep took each of them, though not to easy dreams.