Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
“Don’t close my window!” he shouted through the glass.
I screamed. Lurching backwards, I landed heavily against the safety railing.
Too heavily.
It shuddered and groaned beneath my weight. My arms spun almost comically, desperately trying to shift back over my feet.
Except I couldn’t.
It happened slowly. I’m falling, I thought. This will kill me.
There was no way I’d survive a forty-foot tumble onto the jagged rocks below—my head would crack open like an egg.
Fuck. I don’t want to die.
The realization shot through my body like a bolt of electricity. I’d spent the last few months on autopilot, resentful that my life had become complicated with doctor appointments and infusions and medications and exercises and worrisome parents, and, and, and…
Hanging over the edge of that goddamn tower, I realized I’d take all of it.
Every single complication.
Please. I don’t want to die.
Hands, firm and cool, circled my biceps just as my weight fully tipped over the railing and yanked me forward, hard. I cried out in pain when my shoulder hit the deck and rolled onto my stomach, angling my body away from the death-drop I’d nearly plunged from.
Even that short fall stole my breath. Coughing, I propped my body up on one forearm and looked around, wide-eyed.
“What the fuck?” I panted, desperate for some sort of explanation.
“Are you okay?” a voice asked from behind me.
I quickly rolled onto my back and scrambled away from the man standing at my feet.
He wasn’t solid. He wasn’t a whole person, like I’d thought he was when he first startled me through the window. Patches of him were missing and see-through, while others appeared corporeal, but fading fast.
His face remained, though.
Thick brows knitted together in concern, and his nose, upturned just-so, had the lightest dusting of freckles. A curl of dark hair fell across his forehead, and his warm brown eyes pleaded with me.
For what, I had no idea.
He looked… handsome.
Maybe I really had fallen, my brain splattered all over the ground below, and this was some sort of death-induced hallucination.
“Who are you?” I asked, voice trembling.
My whole body shook, actually, as the fear from my near-death experience—or my actual death experience, I’m still not certain about that—flooded my veins with adrenaline.
“Are—y—k?” he asked again, ignoring my question. His words were broken up this time, like a radio just out of signal range, not nearly as clear as they’d been a second ago.
In fact, his whole body flickered in and out of my vision now.
Oh, no.
I blinked rapidly, frantically looking around.
No, no, nononono!
Nothing else flickered, though, or split in two. There was only one cabin. Only one railing. Only one hand I held in front of my face.
Only one barely visible man.
“I—sorry,” he gasped, like he’d used his final breath to do so, before he disappeared entirely.
And I was left alone, alive, and so, so confused.
What the actual fuck just happened?
Iwas dazed for the rest of the afternoon.
The helicopter arrived on schedule, landing on the gravel pad halfway between the tower and the tree line.
The two pilots probably thought I was an asshole, or experiencing some sort of mental break over how far I really was from civilization, because I barely said a word to them.
I stared at the first pilot as she hopped out and greeted me, waiting for her to… I don’t know, act like I wasn’t really there? Run over to where a body I couldn’t see sprawled on the rocks beneath the tower? Scream and run? Whisper, “I see dead people,” maybe?
I’d really prefer to know as soon as possible if I’m actually dead, rather than haunt my loved ones like some chump.
Thankfully, she didn’t do any of that, but she did shoot weird looks my way for the rest of their visit, when instead of greeting her with something normal like “Hello,” or “Thank you for helping me,” I said, “Oh, thank God, you can see me.”
In hindsight, that would probably just fuel the rumors that weird shit happened at Dead Man’s Lookout.
Weird shit does happen here, though, clearly.
I’d only been there for an hour at most, and I’d already seen a… Well, I wasn’t sure what to call it. Call him?
A man who could mysteriously disappear, I went with.
Admitting I saw a ghost was a step too far right now, especially given that I’d nearly become a disappearing man myself.
Fantastic.
A slightly crazed chuckle bubbled out at my own thoughts. The pilot side-eyed me again.
Even though I was a little unhinged, they helped me carry the heaviest of my boxes up to the tower. Together, we checked that the propane in the utility shed functioned properly and the fridge, freezer, and outlets up in the lookout had electricity.
Lastly, we unloaded a good amount of firewood, which they’d hauled in using a mesh sling attached to the helicopter via a rope, for the wood stove—the only heat source in the cabin.
I thanked them and waved goodbye as they flew off.
Maybe I shouldn’t have let them go without me after what I’d just experienced, but honestly, the thought of explaining what’d happened was just as terrifying as the event itself.
As I climbed the stairs back up to the lookout, practically hugging the cabin to stay as far away from the railing as possible, I remembered Dad’s words from the other night.
Anything out of the ordinary, and you call me.
Was being nearly scared to death by a ghost, followed by being rescued by that ghost, considered out of the ordinary?
Are ghosts real? I asked, typing the question into the web search bar on my laptop later that evening.
The load time was only a few seconds longer than it would’ve been at home, so the signal booster and cell phone hotspot I set up that afternoon must’ve worked.
I’d already tried to talk myself out of believing I saw a ghost. But as much as I wished I’d merely been dehydrated or exhausted from the hike, I couldn’t reason away the disconcerting wobble of the railing, the ache in my shoulder, or the free-fall sensation that still spooked me to think about.
I would’ve died, had someone not pulled me back over.
And if a person had saved me, they wouldn’t have disappeared right in front of me.
So. Ghosts.
“Expert consensus suggests ghosts may be real, depending on your location and time of day…” read the AI summary above the search results.
“Fucking hell,” I mumbled. What a wonderful example of cutting-edge technology, completely worth the inevitable collapse of society.
I scrolled, hoping to find an article titled something like, “Do you consider yourself a fairly level-headed, if not boring person, except that you’re pretty sure you just saw a ghost? Click here for validation it was real before you check yourself into the nearest mental health facility.”
Because how else was I supposed to process what’d happened that afternoon? Talk about it with someone?
Absolutely not.
Instead, I found articles like “How Science Could Enlighten the Paranormal,” “Is it a Poltergeist or Are You Just Afraid of How Much an Electrician Will Cost?” and, my personal favorite, “How to Check if You Have Ghosts.”
As if they were a typical household pest.
I bookmarked that one for later.
How to know if I saw a real ghost? I tried next. The results were similarly ridiculous and uninformative.
Sighing, I shut my laptop. My wooden chair creaked when I leaned back to stretch. It was old, but sturdy, and matched the small desk pushed up against the north side of the lookout. I’d already stacked a few books along the wall, and my sketch pad lay open next to my computer.
A small nightstand sat to my right, where I kept a rechargeable lantern, followed by the full bed tucked into the corner.
An ancient-looking wood-burning stove crackled in the corner to my left, and the tiny, four-burner gas range and oven hugged the opposite wall close to the door, along with several wooden shelves and storage counters.
I’d shaken out the mattress, which had thankfully been replaced, dusted, knocked down a few cobwebs, and swept before unpacking that afternoon. Overall, the lookout was in far better shape than I’d anticipated for being out of commission for so long.
Ready for bed, I stood. My heart skipped a beat when my reflection, lit up by the soft glow of the lantern and wood stove against the pitch black night, stood with me.
To my relief, it was only my reflection this time.
I’d uncovered all the shutters before I locked myself inside for the evening and wiped down the glass. Now, though, I wished I’d waited until morning as I fought the urge to cover the window with a blanket so I wouldn’t feel so exposed.
Except I couldn’t hang just one blanket, because the uncovered windows wrapped all the way around the damn tower.
Like a glowing fish bowl, my new home lit up like a beacon against nighttime dark so deep I wouldn’t be able to see my own hand in front of my face if I took two steps out the door.
Anyone—or anything—could be out there right now, and I’d have no idea. That ghost could be out there. Or a wolf, mountain lion, or even a bear.
Or whoever’s been murdering hikers and hiding their bodies so deep in the woods no one’s ever found them.
I shuddered.
In the safety of Ponderosa, a small mountain town filled with normal, unassuming people, it was easy for Dad, Leonard, and Tate Morris to spread their assurances that there was nothing to worry about.
But out in the wilderness, alone in the dark, I didn’t believe those hikers were lost or missing—not when ghosts came calling and the killer could be right outside my door.
Watching.
Right. That’s enough thinking for tonight.
I strode over to the door, circling the heavy wooden table at the center of the room where the Osborne Firefinder sat, ensured the lock was engaged, and tucked myself into bed.