Read Online Laws of Nature -2 by Christopher Golden - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christopher Golden
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Scenarios flashed through his head of accidents and cars off the road in the storm. A Volvo station wagon behind him honked loudly and sped past in the next lane.
Jack squinted as he peered through the rain-spattered windshield, the wipers squeaking back and forth as they dragged across the glass. The Jeep rolled almost to a stop as he cut in toward the breakdown lane just slightly. Just enough so that his headlights washed over the man waving emphatically from the side of the road. The lights cut right through him . . . as did the rain.
The man had kind, sad eyes behind thick glasses and wild hair. But his hair was not wet. He was not, after all, really there. He was a ghost.
Jack shivered, but it was not the chill of the rain that brought it on. He had seen ghosts before, had spoken to them. They had saved his life more than once.
Artie, after all, still appeared to him. But these lost souls of the mournful dead were still tethered to this Earth by grief or confusion or some unfinished business.
He would never get used to seeing them or to the twinge of sadness he felt when he did.
The spirit appeared to be waving at him, but had not noticed when he began to pull over. Jack wondered if the man had died in an accident on the side of the road, and stood there for eternity trying to flag down some help, unaware that it would never come. He suspected that if he looked into it, he might find reports of other sightings of the ghost, a lost soul.
Ever since Artie had first appeared to him as a ghost, Jack had been able to see into the Ghostlands if he wanted to. Sometimes, though, it just happened, whether he wanted it to or not. Artie had explained to him that the phantoms who wandered the Ghostlands were spirits who were still tied to the earthly plane by grief or some sort of unfinished business. Many of them had died horribly, suddenly, such as the victims of Prowlers. Among those were ghosts who were not even aware that they were dead.
This man was probably one of them, killed so quickly in a car accident that his soul could not accept that he was dead.
Some of the ghosts Jack saw chose to be seen, to draw his attention to them. Others he simply noticed, sometimes out of the corner of his eye, like a spectral little boy he had seen a few weeks earlier, standing on a street corner as though waiting for a school bus that would never come. It had unnerved him, seeing that boy.
It seemed that whatever door Artie had opened in Jack's mind could never again be closed all the way.
Chilled, Jack did his best to push the thoughts away. He accelerated again, left the ghost behind. A short way up, he found the exit for the local, two-lane highway that would eventually lead him to Buckton. It took a moment for him to figure out which direction he ought to drive, but then they were moving again.
Three miles farther on, he saw another ghost. A woman, this time, standing in the center of the highway, arms raised above her head in what might have been prayer or a supplication to heaven. The rain passed through her, spattered the pavement around her. His headlights caught on the wraith-like mist of her phantom form, like the glitter off morning fog.
Unlike the first ghost, this one noticed him. As the Jeep bore down upon her, Jack moved into the oncoming lane to avoid her, though the vehicle would have passed right through. She dropped her arms and turned to stare right at him.
As he passed, their eyes met.
She mouthed the words "Go home, Jack."
"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath, heart rate speeding up, adrenaline pumping through him. His eyes were wide and he glanced in the rearview mirror, but she was already gone.
Molly stirred but did not wake. An old seventies love song came on the radio. Soothing, yes, but his heartbeat did not slow. He blew out a few breaths, trying to tell himself it was nothing, not to be so freaked out.
The road ahead was dark and slick with rain, the sun only a glimmer between black
Jack squinted as he peered through the rain-spattered windshield, the wipers squeaking back and forth as they dragged across the glass. The Jeep rolled almost to a stop as he cut in toward the breakdown lane just slightly. Just enough so that his headlights washed over the man waving emphatically from the side of the road. The lights cut right through him . . . as did the rain.
The man had kind, sad eyes behind thick glasses and wild hair. But his hair was not wet. He was not, after all, really there. He was a ghost.
Jack shivered, but it was not the chill of the rain that brought it on. He had seen ghosts before, had spoken to them. They had saved his life more than once.
Artie, after all, still appeared to him. But these lost souls of the mournful dead were still tethered to this Earth by grief or confusion or some unfinished business.
He would never get used to seeing them or to the twinge of sadness he felt when he did.
The spirit appeared to be waving at him, but had not noticed when he began to pull over. Jack wondered if the man had died in an accident on the side of the road, and stood there for eternity trying to flag down some help, unaware that it would never come. He suspected that if he looked into it, he might find reports of other sightings of the ghost, a lost soul.
Ever since Artie had first appeared to him as a ghost, Jack had been able to see into the Ghostlands if he wanted to. Sometimes, though, it just happened, whether he wanted it to or not. Artie had explained to him that the phantoms who wandered the Ghostlands were spirits who were still tied to the earthly plane by grief or some sort of unfinished business. Many of them had died horribly, suddenly, such as the victims of Prowlers. Among those were ghosts who were not even aware that they were dead.
This man was probably one of them, killed so quickly in a car accident that his soul could not accept that he was dead.
Some of the ghosts Jack saw chose to be seen, to draw his attention to them. Others he simply noticed, sometimes out of the corner of his eye, like a spectral little boy he had seen a few weeks earlier, standing on a street corner as though waiting for a school bus that would never come. It had unnerved him, seeing that boy.
It seemed that whatever door Artie had opened in Jack's mind could never again be closed all the way.
Chilled, Jack did his best to push the thoughts away. He accelerated again, left the ghost behind. A short way up, he found the exit for the local, two-lane highway that would eventually lead him to Buckton. It took a moment for him to figure out which direction he ought to drive, but then they were moving again.
Three miles farther on, he saw another ghost. A woman, this time, standing in the center of the highway, arms raised above her head in what might have been prayer or a supplication to heaven. The rain passed through her, spattered the pavement around her. His headlights caught on the wraith-like mist of her phantom form, like the glitter off morning fog.
Unlike the first ghost, this one noticed him. As the Jeep bore down upon her, Jack moved into the oncoming lane to avoid her, though the vehicle would have passed right through. She dropped her arms and turned to stare right at him.
As he passed, their eyes met.
She mouthed the words "Go home, Jack."
"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath, heart rate speeding up, adrenaline pumping through him. His eyes were wide and he glanced in the rearview mirror, but she was already gone.
Molly stirred but did not wake. An old seventies love song came on the radio. Soothing, yes, but his heartbeat did not slow. He blew out a few breaths, trying to tell himself it was nothing, not to be so freaked out.
The road ahead was dark and slick with rain, the sun only a glimmer between black
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