A couple orders of business before we get into tonight’s story. First, it’s Allison’s second birthday! The best puppy in the world is right now chomping on her birthday bone. Such a good girl.

Second, I had a little health scare yesterday and I’m still sorting it out. So, while I really did want to see what happened to Rich when he gets to Michigan, that part 2 is still on ice (heh, see what I did there?). For now, though, make sure your tanks are full and top off your battery, we’re going out on the road…

It’s fitting that the first time either Sierra or I heard about the “Ghost Van” was in Death Valley, right? We parked Eugene, our sky blue short bus Skoolie next to the Ford Transit in the Wildrose campground and met Dave and Cindy who introduced themselves and their adorable black lab, Tina.  By the time the sun went down we were joined by a couple other vanlife rigs – a good looking Westfalia and a stealth Ford Econoline. Everyone seemed to know everyone else – they were all on their second, third, or – in the case of Alan in the Econoline – fifth year on the road. They’d all crossed paths numerous times.

Meanwhile, Sierra and I had only gotten Eugene roadworthy a couple weeks back. We were the rookies here, but the others made us feel welcome in the community.

We were all gathered around the propane firepit Dave and Cindy brought out and Alan said, “So… uh, I saw it the other day.”

There was collective gasp from the others. Sierra and I exchanged looks and when no one appeared willing to break the silence I asked, “Saw what?”

“The Ghost Van,” Dave said solemnly.

“Ghost Van?” Sierra asked.

Alan nodded and took a swig from his IPA. “The Ghost Van. I was boondocking up in Coyote Mountains outside Anza Borrego. Woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and in the moonlight I saw it parked about a hundred yards away, just grey and still. Next morning… gone.”

“What is the Ghost Van?” I asked.

Dave started, “It’s a dark gray Sprinter that seems to stay out in the deserts – we’ve seen it in Mojave, once out south of Goldfield in Nevada…”

“We saw it in the Superstition mountains in Arizona,” said Amy who drove the Westfalia.

“Why do you call it a ‘Ghost Van’?” Sierra asked.

“Because no one drives it,” Alan said. “You’ll see it parked and there’s no one inside, ever!”

Dave added, “The rumor is the couple who originally drove it were murdered by an escaped murderer.”

“No, I heard the van broke down here in Death Valley – out by Teakettle Junction and the couple died from heat in the van,” Cindy said.

“That wasn’t it,” Alan corrected. “It was carbon monoxide leak that killed them in their sleep…”

The next night we were boondocking Eugene out at the Volcanic Tablelands BLM land outside Bishop when the couple in the Ram Promaster conversion told us they had just seen the Ghost Van out by Lone Pine – as they were taking down their awning they saw it glide past them out of the campground in the early morning dawn, no one behind the wheel.

We thought we spotted it out by Crowley Lake just south of Mammoth but it was just a this elderly couple in a Winnebago Revel RV. They weren’t ghosts, but they shared a wonderful apricot cobbler!

The next night, though, we were camped on BLM land outside of Tonopah, Nevada. I was on the roof of Eugene working on the solar panels in the cool night air when I saw a dark grey Sprinter van pull in. The headlights were off, and I couldn’t see inside as it passed within ten feet of Eugene before parking a hundred feet down the dirt road. I heard the engine shut off, but no lights came on inside. It just sat there in the darkness, still and silent.

“Sierra!” I whispered as I scrambled down the ladder.

“What?” she met me at the side door.

“Look!” I pointed down the road.

It took her a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A minute later she caught her breath, “That’s not…?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It just pulled in. No lights, no sign of life.”

“What do we do?” she asked, eyes wide.

I looked at her, then at the Ghost Van in the darkness and said, “I’m going over there.”

“April, no!” she pleaded.

“I have to see!”

She reached inside Eugene and grabbed the big MagLite. “Fine,” she said resolutely. “I’m going with you.”

I knew it was pointless to argue with her, so I just nodded at her and we started off towards the dark van. As we came within twenty feet, my first thought was “Man, these ghosts take good care of their rig!” Where Eugene had only been out in the desert for a couple months, his blue paint was dusty and starting to show some blowing sand damage. The silent gray Sprinter, on the other hand, looked like it had just come off a dealer’s lot!

We walked around the van slowly and quietly, listening for any noise within – maybe someone cooking, just moving around. But everything was silent except for the quiet ticking of the hot engine cooling down. I moved to the side door, looked at Sierra who nodded encouragement, and knocked. “Hello?” I called.

Nothing.

I reached out and tried the door handle – it was unlocked. Before I second guessed myself, I threw open the sliding side door. No one was inside. The inside looked just as good as the outside – I shone my flashlight on the bed in the back, sheets perfectly laid out, undisturbed. Sierra shone her Maglite in towards the empty driver and passenger seat. No one.

“What the hell,” I said quietly.

“April,” Sierra whispered, fear clear in her voice. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either,” I started to say, but without warning the side door slammed shut and the engine roared to life.

“April! Move!”

I dodged out of the way as the van accelerated past me and sped away into the darkness. Sierra and I stood there and watched the dark gray form melt into the desert. We were quiet for a long time. Finally Sierra said, “Well, I guess we have a story to tell around the fire next time.”

I was planning to finishing the ghost confrontation tonight, but it was a… challenging day. A big hike with my brother didn’t go exactly to plan. So here is a completely unrelated story in the meantime!

“Deanna! Want to see something weird?”

I’d been a librarian at the main public library for exactly one month. Linda had been there for 13 years. So, when she asks if you want to see something weird, you say “yes.”

“You know how I said this place was haunted?”

This was going to be good! “Yes…?”

“It’s happening right now! There’s a book on the shelf that’s jiggling on its own! Come here!”

I followed her down the aisles of bookshelves until she peeked down one set of stacks then gestured for me to quickly follow her.

I moved carefully to peer down the aisle and saw a young woman – maybe 24, 25 – poking at a book on the third shelf. The tip of her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth in deep concentration as she stabbed her hand at the book which was, in fact, jiggling on the shelf.

Linda doesn’t know I can see ghosts – that’s our little secret, okay?

“Do you see it? Do you see the book moving?” she whispered. The woman-ghost turned towards us then turned back to poking the book.

“I do,” I confirmed. “Go get Ian,” the other librarian who started about the same time as me, “he loves this sort of thing!” He did. But he was also down in the basement.

“Ooh!” Linda said enthusiastically. “I’ll go get him!”

I waited until I heard the door to the stairs close behind Linda, then I started down the aisle. “What book is that?”

The ghost jumped in surprise.

“Wait, did I just scare a ghost?”

“You can see me?” the woman asked.

“I can. What’s with the book?” I looked up on the shelf. “Cyber Oblivion, A Jordyn Bassett novel. Volume 9.” I read on the spine. “Oh, that’s a good one!” I said. “That’s the most recent Jorydn Bassett novel where she—”

“Shh!” she hissed, “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me, don’t tell me!”

“Oh, you haven’t read that one?”

“No,” She said with a huff. “My boyfriend got me hooked on the Jordyn Bassett series. I was so excited for Cyber Oblivion! And then…”

“You died.”

“I died. And never got to read it! It’s been driving me crazy!”

“Why are you poking the book?”

“It’s taken me months to figure out how to even touch it! I’m trying to knock it off the shelf so I can read it!”

“Good plan…” I said. “You know what? I’ve got an idea. Can you meet me in my office tonight after the library closes – maybe 7?”

“Sure! What are we going to do?”

“Trust me.”

—

The library closed at 6 and we had everyone out by 6:30. At 6:45 Linda stopped by my office. “Still here?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I wanted to finish shelving the Fantasy books before I go.”

“Okay,” she said. “Lock up on your way out!”

“Will do!”

At 7 sharp the ghost appeared in my office. I jumped.

“Ha! Scared you this time!”

I laughed, “You got me!”

“So…? What’s your idea?”

I smiled and grabbed my phone next to my computer, scrolled through a few things and hit the “play” button.

“This… is Audible,” the vintage Audible intro played.

The ghost raised her eyebrow at me.

A woman’s voice started, “Think Dude Think Audio presents, Cyber Oblivion, A Jordyn Bassett novel. Written and read by the author, A.L. Donnelly.”

The look on the ghost’s face was pure, unadulterated joy! “Are you serious?!”

I hit pause. “So, it’s an 11 hour audiobook and I’m not going to be here all night. Can we do this in one-hour chunks after work?”

“Oh my god,” the ghost said. “Absolutely!”

So, she came by every evening after the library closed and listened to an hour of Cyber Oblivion.

After the 11^th night when A.L. Donnelly had finished reading and the vintage Audible voice said, “Audible hopes you’ve enjoyed this program…” the office lit up as a tiny sun erupted in the corner.

I shielded my eyes against the brightness. “Is that…?”

The ghost turned towards the shining light, “It looks like… it looks like the way to cross over!” She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much! I don’t know how I could ever thank you eno—” her eyes locked on the screen of my phone.

A notification had popped up reading, “Final ‘Black Panther: Wakanda Forever’ Trailer Released Ahead of November 11 debut!”

“Oh, what?!” the ghost put her hands to her face. She looked at the light, then back at the phone, then back at the light, then to the phone…

“You know,” she said, “That’s only like a month away…”

I had every intention of doing Part 2 of yesterday’s story… But that didn’t happen. So here’s a shorter story…

When they come to me, they’re desperate. At their wit’s end. I am their only hope.

And I always come through.

“Please, please, you have to help us!” The most recent clients – let’s call them the Joneses – begged my assistant over the phone. “The ghosts have made our lives a living hell! Our house in untenable! Please!”

Was that the exact thing they said? I’m not sure – it was a variation on that theme. It always is. And the story is always similar: they got the place cheap – too cheap. They moved in only to discover that things go bump in the proverbial night – that’s how it starts. But it always escalates. And they always try “everything.”

For the record, “Everything” includes mostly things that just piss the ghosts off: seances, Ouija board sessions, psychics, maybe the odd clergy member, some burning of sage, and the worst: ghost hunters. Oh Jesus, nothing will turn a ghost from fuss to fright quicker than a tattooed 20-something with copious piercings and a film crew. If they get that far and the ghosts haven’t figured out a way to, uh, disappear the residents (it happens, believe me), then that’s when they call me.

First and foremost: the NDA.

It’s been vetted by a collection of lawyers that scare people more than the ghosts we take care of. Calling it “Iron clad” is the understatement of the year. Suffice it to say: we cover our butts – that’s why you won’t find my name on reddit, or Facebook, or, you name it.

Word of mouth only. And, trust me, we have plenty of business.

“Please, please, you have to help us!” That’s right, the Joneses….

I will walk the house first. Nice place – craftsman, built probably sixty years ago. They’re the latest in a long string of short-stayed residents. Difference is the market is crap and they’re overextended. Make this work or else (fiscally speaking).

By the time I’m back my researcher, Caitlin, has done a full workup on the place: deeds, titles, and property records since time immemorial. I want to know who’s owned it, what they did to it, and what the people they ultimately stole the property from did there. Everything. There’s even a call into the University archeology department. Did I mention Caitlin was good? The best.

Now we know the who, the why, the when. With my boots (well, kitten heels) on the ground, I’ve at least felt the angry denizens of chez Jones. Now it’s time for work.

First: outfit change. I prefer my black leotard with lavender leg warmers ­– yes, I picked those up in the 80’s, and if they were good enough for Jane Fonda, damnit, they’re good enough for my ghosts. Headband on, back to the house.

The Joneses are out of the house – non-negotiable. First thing upon entering, even the most combative spirit is confused by my ensemble. Getting them off-balance at first is key.

“Gather ‘round, spirits, ghosts, ghouls, demons,” this is where they look at each other in confusion. It’s rather amusing, really, if it weren’t so terrifying.

I get right into it. Caitlin presses play on her phone and the Sonos speaker is blasting Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding On For a Hero.”

“Let’s go, ghosts!” I start bouncing back and forth, “Let’s get moving! Get those legs up!” I kick in time with the beat. The spirits are trying to figure out what’s going on, but nothing on earth or beyond can deny Bonnie Tyler. Blood – or ectoplasm – is flowing as Bonnie ends and we drastically change the tempo with some Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like The Wolf.”

“Come on, ghouls! How do you plan on rattling those chains if you can’t keep up here?” I say, moving to the mid-tempo rocker.

I hear you – you’re doubting my methods. Understandable. Stop reading right now – go to the media player of your choice and put on Kenny Loggins’ “Footloose” – the next track I unleash on the undead – and dare tell me that you’re not moving by mid-chorus. I assure you, there isn’t an undead fiend out there who is beyond the reach of Kenny Loggins.

By this point I’ve worked up a sweat (please note the head band is more than aesthetic – it’s absolutely functional!). I can see the ghosts are starting to become more translucent. Some of the younger shades might have already winked out of existence. That’s when I bring out the big guns.

“Eye Of The Tiger.”

It’s double time now, and those ghosts are moving. By the time Dave Bickler announces that the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, even the most entrenched, depraved, terrifying ghost has winked out of existence.

There’s always the exception, though. The Joneses’ had one ancient spirit that kept time with Bonnie Tyler, it shifted to Duran Duran. Even Kenny Loggins wasn’t too much for it, and for Eye of the Tiger, I guess you could say this ghoul was the real Survivor…

When the song ended, I stared into the ghost’s red eyes and said, “Great job on the cardio. Next we start leg day!” Poof.

The house is clear.

Another successful round of exercising the ghosts.