I need deadlines, people waiting to read my work to force myself to write. Last year, I tried the The NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. They gave me a couple of prompts and I had to come up with a thousand word story in two days. Of course, I didn’t win anything but it was fun. I got to chat with people on the other side of the world, get feedback from judges - and learn something. So this year, I’m trying the Short Story Challenge. My assignment: A 2500 word Ghost Story with A Truck Driver, involving Collaboration. This time I got 8 days. What do you think? Is this story going to win me fame and glory?
Note my nod to Chuck Palahniuk, my writing workshop teacher last year.
Here’s the title and synopsis: Happy Meets Two Ghosts
A young truck driver on his first haul has a life-changing encounter with a Skinwalker and a Yamamba. Two troubled spirits from two ancient cultures.
Dammit. Pa told Happy he’d forget something when he took the Freightliner out on his first solo haul across Arizona. And he was right. After making sure his rig and the trailer were in tip-top shape, Happy figured it out. The cassette player. It wouldn’t play the Willie Nelson tape Bonnie gave him. She’s not going to be happy when she finds out I didn’t listen to it. Sigh. Maybe there’s something on the radio. But the only station Happy could find was the Navajo reservation station. “Is this okay, Milo?” he said. The dachshund tilted his head at the young truck driver as if to say Why ask me?
Happy turned up the volume. The monotone voice is dry and wispy. No clue what the Indian was saying. But all alone at night on this desolate road, Happy felt strong and proud driving his eighteen-wheeler.
Milo’s sharp bark snapped Happy’s attention back to the dark highway and he switched off the radio. “What’s up, Milo?” Happy peered out into the featureless landscape. His headlights caught the shape of someone walking on the side with a backpack. Was he lost? He’s lucky I came along. Happy flashed his headlights to let the man know he saw him and started the brakes. With a big semi like this, sometimes people got scared when it got close. Especially at night. As he slowed down, the silhouette of a tall man became clearer.
The Freightliner brakes groaned against the weight of the trailer full of stock for the Kroger supermarket. Happy turned off the engine but kept his headlights on low to provide some light in the inky night. Only the thinnest crescent moon in the sky tonight. Like a nail clipping from when Bonnie does her feet. Milo whined as the man approached the cab.
Pa warned him about stopping, especially along the reservation road but hey, this was just a lone hiker. Bonnie would’ve said, “Always be kind, Happy. You can’t go wrong with that.”
But when Happy got a closer look, he was taken aback. The tall man was dressed in some kind of fur coat and pants despite the season. He had a woman, not a backpack on his back. He just stared at Happy with wide glassy eyes. A sharp sense of sadness suddenly engulfed Happy. Happy broke eye contact with the man and turned to the small woman who had gotten down off the man’s back.
She was dressed in some sort of tattered robe with long sleeves. Her long white hair was loose and she wore flip-flops. The robe’s neck opening revealed the flat chest of an emaciated body. The old woman said, “Got anything to eat in there?”
“Just a couple of burritos. I’ll give them to you,” Happy said as he reached for the Coleman Bonnie had packed for him. Then Milo stuck his head out the window and barked.
“Oh, a dog! I love doggies,” said the old woman. “I used to have a puppy like yours back home. Before the war.”
“Milo’s not used to strangers,” said Happy. The unfamiliar sensation of gloom made him nervous but he was touched by the woman’s tenderness.
“Well, I’m … Peggy and this is Earl,” said the old woman. “So we’re strangers no more.”
Peggy and Earl, my ass. The incongruity of their names made Happy uncomfortable. There’s no way their real names were Peggy and Earl.
“People call me Happy,” he said, glad that he could hide behind the nickname Pa gave him. “So, what are you and your husband doing out here?”
The old woman cackled as if Happy had just told a joke, “Me and … Earl not married. Earl comes from the native folk here. I’m Japanese. I was with the people who were put in Poston during the war. You know. That reservation inside the reservation.”
Happy offered Bonnie’s huge burrittos to Earl but Peggy said, “He don’t eat. I’m the one who’s hungry. Give them here.” Was Earl sick? Was that why Happy felt so sorry for the Indian? But this sadness was beyond empathy. It was a deep sorrow that made his chest hurt.
He was just about to ask if Earl wanted water when Peggy stuffed the burritos into her mouth, foil wrapping and all. Happy was so surprised by her gluttony that he was speechless. She swallowed the burritos whole! Her cheeks bulged, then like a snake, her neck expanded as the burritos went down her gullet one by one. Goddam. She’s one hungry woman!
Without another word, Happy knew he didn’t belong here with these people. He needed to leave. He pulled the truck back on the road. He had to get away. Fast. The sadness and the horror were too much.
Happy looked in his large side view mirrors as the couple shrank in the distance and was swallowed up by the night. He wiped his face with a cold hand towel Pa told him pack in the cooler, and took a deep breath.
But maybe I’d better let people know about them. Just a warning in case anyone else stumbles across them. Happy flipped the switch on his CB but nothing happened. What the f-? It was working fine at Holbrook. I’ll have to have it looked at in LA. Milo nuzzled his hand with his wet nose. Good Boy, Milo. Happy turned his high beams back on since there was no traffic all the way to the horizon. His usual good mood returned. The wasted moon was sharp against the velvet sky.
He tried the radio again. By now it was so late even the Indians had signed off. Silence. Was “Earl” a Navajo? What was he doing walking in the middle of the desert with an old Japanese woman on his back? Why did Happy feel so sad when he met him? And what did Peggy say she was from? The reservation in the reservation?
Happy tried to get rid of the heebie-jeebies by singing a Willie Nelson tune:
Don't cross him, don't boss him
He's wild in his sorrow
He's ridin' an' hidin' his pain
A pretty melody with a dark story about grief and death. Then he noticed something up ahead. A figure in the middle of the road, waving both arms. He slowed his rig down and blinked the headlights again. The figure remained standing. Then his heart sank. It was the old Japanese woman. And her … sad Indian friend. There was no mistaking with her long white hair, and his fur outfit. How the hell did they get past me? No man can run that fast.
Happy pulled to a stop while Milo whimpered. “I know, Buddy, but I can’t run them over, can I?” he said.
Peggy came up to the side of his rig. Happy rolled down his window. “Got anything else to eat in there?” she said.
She’s hungry again? But Happy got the distinct feeling he’d better come up with something. Fast. “Um, I’ve got some stuff in the trailer,” he said.
Happy got out, walked over to the back and unlatched the back doors to reveal his load. Cases of spaghetti sauce. Happy hopped into the trailer and dislodged a few from the stack. He moved them close to the edge of the door, jumped down to the ground, then handed the heavy cases to Peggy who eagerly grabbed them. It was surprising how strong the old Japanese woman was. As he latched the door shut, he thought, Maybe I’ll better try to get on their good side. “So what are you and Earl doing out here?” he asked, trying to sound calm.
“Oh, he’s a Skinwalker while I’m a Yamamba. We’re the troubled souls of our peoples,” said Peggy.
Troubled souls? Like ghosts? Happy tried to make sense of what she said. But when she started to open the jars and pour the sauce into her mouth, he decided, I’ll figure it out later, and bolted back to his cab. He managed to stay clear of Earl’s cloud of melancholy and kept himself from tearing up. He steered his rig around Peggy and her growing pile of spaghetti sauce jars and speeded up as fast as the big rig could go.
But twenty miles later, he recognized the couple standing in the middle of the road again. This time, Peggy was blood red from spaghetti sauce and looking like she had just murdered someone. She polished off two cases of spaghetti sauce in - what fifteen minutes? And how did Earl run so fast? Whatever they were, there was no point trying to get away from them. I’ve got to outthink them.
He stopped the rig. The desert was as silent as a tomb. No breeze or insect noises at all. Even Milo remained silent. Happy’s mind raced.
“I’m still hungry,” said Yamamba.”Give me more.”
“I’ll give you the trailer,” he said. “I’ll unhitch it right by the side of the road so you can help yourself.”
Yamamba laughed in delight. “Yes, yes. Give me more.”
The Skinwalker came over and watched Happy. Suddenly Happy’s heart felt like it was breaking. It was as if Bonnie had left him. Or was killed. Oh my God. Sobs erupted from his throat as he lowered the landing gear, locked the trailer brakes and popped the slider pins. He opened the trailer doors by touch because he couldn’t see through the tears. Happy wiped his face with his arms. He was gulping his cries as he steered his truck out from under the trailer hitch.
After Happy got back on the road, he saw the old woman jump into the trailer while the tall hirsute man stood by. His grief started abating as the distance grew between them. Thank God. He could think again. How many cases of food were in there? A hundred? That’s got to satisfy her.
Without the heavy trailer in tow, the Freightliner hummed as he drove as fast as he could. Happy slapped his face. Why did that Indian have that effect on him? Happy had never felt such intense feelings of sadness. I didn’t know I loved Bonnie so much. And that woman’s hunger. What’s Pa going to say when he hears I lost the trailer? He’s never going to believe what happened. Happy reached for Milo and let his warm fur comfort him. “I’ll probably be disinherited over this, either that or get thrown in the looney bin.”
As dawn crept over the desert, Happy noticed a small truck stop with a couple of semis in front. “Good. I need some coffee and company,” he said to Milo.
He pulled his cab next to the other semis. His Freightliner cab looked like a decapitated grasshopper next to the other trucks. He needed a minute to calm himself down. He let Milo pee while he took in deep breaths of the cold morning air. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. He gave Milo some water and dog food.
“Where’s your trailer, son?” said an older trucker sitting at the counter as soon as Happy and Milo settled themselves into a booth.
The waitress poured Happy a thick white mug of coffee, “Let the young man have breakfast before you interrogate him,” she snapped.
Happy looked gratefully at the waitress who was old enough to be his grandmother, and said, “Thanks. I’m starving.” A pang of guilt hit him at his words.
As he wolfed down the huevos rancheros, Happy decided. Talking about what happened might help me make sense of it. The waitress and the two older truckers listened in respectful silence as Happy recounted every detail. The tall Indian carrying an old Japanese woman. That horrible feeling of sorrow he got from the Indian. The Japanese woman’s insatiable hunger. And finally, losing that trailer with the full load. “My Pa’s going to kick me out of his trucking business,” he said with his head in his hands. “My girl’s going to leave me. My life’s ruined.”
The old trucker sighed, “Damn, that’s the most frightening story I’ve ever heard.”
Happy was relieved no one doubted him.
The waitress put her hand on Happy’s shoulder. “I disagree. What this young man experienced is a reminder of how good we have it.”
Happy looked up at her. “What?”
“Don’t worry about your Pa and the trailer. Every trucker knows there’s unexpected trouble on the road,” she said. “If your trailer is still out there, someone’ll report it and let your Pa know.” The older men nodded in agreement.
“And the supermarket isn’t even gonna miss that one shipment. Do you realize how much stuff they stock? A hundred kinds of cereal!” That’s true. Walking in a supermarket made him dizzy. There’s just too many things to choose from these days.
“Those two spirits you saw gave you a vision. Pooling their sorrows to remind us life could be worse. A lot worse. Everybody around here knows about the Trail of Tears. Those Indians went through hell. And even though those Japanese don’t talk about it much, we know the government shouldn’t have taken them away from their homes during the war,” she said.
Happy scoured his brain for whatever he had heard about Navajo or Japanese culture. They were both old was all he knew. The waitress’s words reassured him. I’m safe. I’m okay. Milo was asleep on the naugahyde bench.
But remembering all those intense feelings of sorrow and horror, Happy suddenly felt a sense of déjà vu with these spirits. That crazy old woman. Peggy or Yamamba or whatever she was - has been around for a long, long time. She was the embodiment of a lot of unhappy souls. Not just here but also back in the old country. Frustrated lives that were unfairly interrupted. Men and women forced from their homes during countless wars and battles. She wasn’t evil. She just had a hunger that was never going to be satisfied.
So who was Earl? While Peggy was the epitome of hunger, Earl radiated sadness, sorrow and grief. Those pictures he saw in high school of Indians gained another dimension. They both came from people who were around long before this country came about. Long before the highways and electricity and supermarkets. Maybe thousands of years of sorrow, hunger and emotional pain were swirling around out there. Invisible until these two tormented spirits found each other and got his attention. This collaboration of two ancient spirits was not to be trifled with. Not even by a young truck driver in a Freightliner.
Crazy
I'm crazy for feeling so lonely
I'm crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue
Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying
And I'm crazy for loving you