Chapter 27 Clarke
Clarke
“You know it actually doesn’t matter what we wear while we do this, right?” I said to my sister, who was currently zipping up a black long-sleeved catsuit.
“You’re the one who obsesses about what to wear in every situation.”
“We also could’ve done this in the daylight. We didn’t have to wait until dark.”
“You know as well as I do that ghosts are more active at night,” Collins said. “We need good conditions for this. It’s not like talking to Earnest, who is just around all the time. We don’t know how to make most of them appear, all in the same place, at the same time.”
“And what’s Brady going to think when we’re traipsing around Coop’s in our all-black outfits having a marathon gab sesh with who-knows-how-many ghosts?”
“I don’t think it would faze him, honestly.” Collins shrugged. “And we’re not going to the upholstery shop. We’re going to the car wash.”
“What do you think we’re going to find at the abandoned automatic car wash?” I asked.
“Ghosts, Clarke,” Collins said—like it was obvious. It wasn’t. “It’s a paranormal hot spot.”
“Why is the car wash a paranormal hot spot?”
“I don’t know,” Collins replied. “Maybe because it’s dead center—wait, that’s funny—easy for more ghosts to get through without being too far away from their anchor point?”
“It isn’t dead center, though,” I said. “That’s the post office.”
“The post office is the center of town; the car wash is the center of the county—since we extend farther west than east.”
“It’s weird that you know that,” I said.
“Well, I think it’s weird that you don’t know that,” Collins said. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
“No, I’m supposed to be the studious one,” I said. “We’ve both always been smart.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I was just fishing for compliments,” Collins said. “Okay, so we hit the car wash, see who’s around, ask them if they’ve heard anything slash what they know about the possibility of the farm ending up in the wrong hands.”
Technically, my sister’s plan did break my rules about interfering with the spirit realm and letting the spirit realm interfere with me, but I’d just let her do all the talking. She was good at that.
“Let’s go.” I nodded. Collins put a black beanie in her back pocket and then handed me a black leather jacket that she found hanging in the very back of my closet. I sighed before shrugging it on reluctantly.
As we walked out my front door, I went to grab my keys off the hook, but Collins said, “Don’t need those.” That’s when I saw Brady’s motorcycle parked on the street.
“Is this why you picked the leather jacket for me?” I asked.
“You are taking this way too seriously. Or not seriously enough. I can’t tell.
” I folded my arms across my chest to bring some warmth back into my body.
The fog was starting to settle on the trees.
This was Sweetwater Peak at her best—at her most true—eerie, dark, and beautiful.
Collins handed me a helmet once we got to the bike.
I’d only seen Brady ride it when he rolled into town.
“Lars, we’re twins with supernatural abilities who are trying to find some ghosts to talk to in their haunted hometown.
That’s objectively cool as hell,” my sister said.
“It’s okay for us to have a little fun doing the thing that only the two of us can do. ”
“I think you and I have different definitions of fun.”
Collins mounted the bike. “Come on, hop to.”
I rolled my eyes before getting on the back of the bike. Collins had to use all her weight to start the bike, and she revved the engine a few times.
“Let’s rock and roll,” I heard her say before the bike zoomed off.
I gasped a little and Collins let out a wild laugh.
It made me want to reach my arms out to the side and pretend I was flying on the back of the motorcycle, so I did.
I loved the way the wind felt as it cut around me, the deep blues of Sweetwater Peak’s nighttime shadows passing us by.
I leaned into the turn that Collins made into the car wash parking lot. The glass of the sign was broken, but as we passed it, the light inside flickered a few times.
There were already spirits here.
When Collins brought the bike to a stop, I took in the car wash.
It had washed its last car, a 1977 Buick Electra, before I was born, and it was still stuck on the conveyor belt.
The release mechanisms on the conveyor belt had broken, and even though I’m sure there was every intention of fixing them, it never happened.
I looked up at the sign that read Levan’s Car Wash, in blue vintage letters. “Do we know who Levan is?” I asked.
“Levan spelled backward is navel,” Collins said.
“What does that have to do with my question?”
“Answers it,” Collins said. “I told you, the car wash is the center of the county. The navel, if you will.”
“So, the car wash is named after a belly button?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“This town,” I mumbled. As Collins and I got closer, the air around us became denser, colder. It weighed me down. Collins, however, looked like her batteries were being recharged with every step. She loved this shit.
Abandoned places and things had always been weird to me.
I didn’t have strong feelings about them, or at least, I didn’t think I did.
But the closer I got to the car wash, the more I started thinking about how it got here.
Most of the time, things weren’t abandoned all at once.
It happened in steps. First, something goes wrong.
Then there’s complications fixing it. At some point, everyone decides it isn’t worth it anymore, and it’s not even worth the time to sell it to someone who will give it new life, or begin again as something else.
This car wash had become a tangible reminder of how hard it was to create something that mattered, something that could stand the test of time. Survival in general requires care, and sometimes I feel like that’s something in short supply.
Unlike love, care requires action.
When faced with choosing action or indifference, humanity would choose indifference—especially if it was something that didn’t directly impact them.
Here’s the thing, though: Everything affects everyone eventually.
It might take years, decades, centuries, even, but eventually the edges of the ripple are going to reach you, and then you’ll wonder how it got there.
Everyone and everything were going to end up like this stupid car wash. And if that was the case, what was the point of trying? Of living? Of caring about my teeny, tiny corner of the world?
Looking at the car wash, I felt like nothing mattered. And then I realized that I’d kind of been feeling that…a lot, lately.
Even though I was trying to protect something that did.
“Ready?” Collins asked.
“What if we just try to summon ghosts in the parking lot?”
“When did you lose your edge?”
“I’ve only ever done this with you, because you wanted to. It’s been like…ten years since I’ve gone looking for ghosts,” I replied.
“I think it’s time for you to embrace what you can do,” Collins said. She was still walking, so I followed—even though I really didn’t want to go inside. “It’s cool.”
“To you,” I said. “If I could give you my half of our abilities, I would, you know.”
Collins stopped walking and turned back toward me. “That makes me sad, Lars,” she said, and I felt a little bad for saying it out loud. “I wish you saw yourself the way I see you.” Before I could ask her what she meant by that, she started walking again.
She stopped when we got to the large, gaping hole of the entrance. It looked like a mouth, which was fitting since I felt like we were about to walk into the belly of the beast.
There was a small prick at the base of my skull. That was normal in a spiritual high-traffic area. I just hoped it wouldn’t get worse.
Collins pulled two pillar candles out of her inner jacket pocket, along with a small matchbook, and lit both before handing me one. She didn’t hesitate before heading inside the black hole. If it weren’t for the candle, she would’ve disappeared from my sight within a few steps.
I took a deep breath before following.
The old brushes, nozzles, and cleaning stuff poked out of every corner and made for some unnerving shadows in the candlelight.
The prick at the back of my skull turned to light pressure, which meant there were ghosts in here. I put my metaphysical feelers out, but I couldn’t get a read. I just felt…surrounded.
Collins stopped. “A few more steps, and we would’ve been car wash food,” she said. I followed her gaze.
There was a large, seemingly bottomless hole in the ground less than a foot in front of us. Collins lit another match, and I went to grab her arm, but I was too late—she threw the match down the hole.
“Olly! We’re in a car wash!”
“So?” Collins asked.
“There could be gasoline down there, idiot.” My voice was harsher and louder than I intended it to be.
“Well, there wasn’t.” Collins looked unconcerned.
“God, could you use your brain for one second?” I asked. “You should think a little bit more.”
“And you should think a little bit less,” Collins retorted. “So, I guess it balances out.” I shook my head, annoyed.
“There’s…a lot in here,” Collins said after a few beats.
“I thought that too,” I said. “I can’t get a read on how many there might be.”
“Hopefully not too many,” Collins said, sparing a worried glance at me. She knew about my headaches, but she didn’t know how constant or how intense they’d gotten recently. I’d like to keep it that way.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Start summoning.” That was what we called it, anyway, but our abilities didn’t really require a traditional ritual or production.
Of course, some ghosts had their preferences—for example, Earnest responded best to music, some liked lit candles or incense.
But most didn’t really need anything fancy.
We were the conduits, and as long as the ghosts were willing to be seen or heard, we could communicate.