Yep, there’s going to be a part 3 coming.

“So… now what?” Dale called from the shore.

I stood shivering on the frozen lake, my hands deep in the pockets of my too-thin San Francisco jacket.

“Ritchie?” Jules called. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I managed through my chattering teeth. “Jus… just cold.” I scanned the still ice of the lake spread out in front of me. The glow of the recently set sun caused the wind-blown frost to glow orange in the waning light.

“What the hell are we doing out here?” I heard Dale ask Jules, followed by Jules hitting Dale’s shoulder.

“Ritche, hon? I don’t think he’s, uh, you’re going to show.”

I stood silent as the wind picked up and cut through my thin coat, causing me to shudder. “F…f…five m…m…m…more minutes,” I managed.

“Jesus, he’s gonna freeze to death,” Dale said to Jules. Then louder, “Ritche, Terry and Alan are meeting us at Vango’s Pizza.”

“Dale!” Jules admonished. “Give him five more minutes.”

“We’ve been out here for forty-five minutes already! I’m freezing my balls off.”

“Then go wait in the car,” she told him.

I heard him grumble, but he didn’t move.

Dale was right, though. I had been out there on the ice a long time. I hadn’t stood in that lake for twenty-five years – since the accident. I figured this was what He wanted. A reckoning where I died and he was created. But I didn’t feel him at all. I just felt cold – and not the paranormal kind of cold, the impending hypothermia kind.

As the last light faded I heard Dale huff and walk off towards the car. I was about to give up when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you done freezing out here?” Jules said gently.

“What happened to ‘Hell no, I’m not setting foot on that goddamn ice’?”

“Well,” she laughed, “it’s the middle of January, so I think we’re pretty safe. And you didn’t seem like you were going to come back to land my yourself. Seriously, did your feet freeze in place?”

“He’s not here,” I said.

“He’s not here right now,” she clarified. “Come on,” she turned and beckoned, “You can come back tomorrow and try again.”

Reluctantly, I turned and followed her back to the shore.

—

Vango’s hadn’t changed at all – no, their beer selection was better now, though Dale, Terry, and Alan’s beer taste hasn’t changed since high school. They took turns giving me shit for drinking an IPA, for my useless jacket, my haircut, basically everything. But it felt good – there was part of me that really missed it and that place. Jules sat smiling and only chimed in when called upon to add her opinion.

When the Red Wings game came on and the guys’ attention was magnetically drawn to the big screen, Jules sidled up next to me. “I’m glad you came, Ritchie,” she said resting her head on my shoulder.

“Me too, Jules,” leaning my head against hers. “I just hope it wasn’t for nothing. I mean… what did I expect would happen out there?”

“’Hi Old Ritchie,’” Jules mimicked a young me, “’Thanks for coming. We need to talk about your choice of dates,’” she laughed.

“He does seem to show up at the worst times,” I said laughing along.

“Whatever will happen will happen,” Jules said. “Trust the process.”

“There’s a process?” I said straightening up and getting to my feet. “I’ve got to pee. I’ll be right back,” I said and headed for the rest room.

I finished up and was washing my hands when the water slowed down until it stopped. I looked down and saw icicles growing from the faucet as I felt the air temperature plummet. Looking into the mirror I saw my own reflection… and I saw Him standing behind me, dead black eyes staring at me. I spun to face him but there was nothing there.

I tried to slow my racing heart by telling myself I just imagined it – there was nothing there. I was clearly on edge and it was my over-hyped brain playing tricks on me.

That’s when the lights went out.

I bolted for the door just a few steps away, threw it open and immediately was hit by a wall of ice cold water rushing in that bowled be back into the bathroom and stole my breath. The wave receded, and I struggled to catch my breath and get to my feet in the darkness.

“I’m here for you,” A voice spoke quietly right next to my ear. I scrambled in terror, got to my feet and reached for the door again, yanked it open and stepped out into… the regularly lit restaurant.

I stood panting looking around, but all eyes were glued to the hockey game. Except Jules, that is, who rushed over.

“Jesus, Ritche. Are you okay? What happened?”

“He’s here,” was all I managed to say.

Health situation sorting itself out well. Just tired, so keeping tonight a little short and light.

Edgar rolled over but the banging downstairs kept any semblance of sleep annoyingly away. Then it stopped. Edgar waited for it to start again, but silence descended for five minutes and he was just about to drift into sleep when BANG BANG BANG BANG!

This was too much. Edgar leapt out of bed, stomped across the floor, out of the room and down the stairs to face whatever it was making the noise.

On the first floor he found the source of the noise: half a dozen contractors tearing out the wall between the kitchen and the family room.

“What in the hell are you doing?” he yelled. “Don’t you know someone is trying to sleep upstairs?”

The men kept working, oblivious to the outburst.

“You know they can’t hear you, right?” Izzy said quietly next to him.

“I mean… but they’re being so noisy!”

“And you know you can’t sleep, either, right?”

“Not with this racket!”

“Edgar,” she said gently, “You’ve been dead for ten years. You haven’t slept since you were alive!”

“It’s cruel that saying ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’ Turns out you can’t sleep when you’re dead!” He turned to the workers demolishing the wall, “Especially when you lot are raising such a ruckus!”

“Edgar… let’s go back upstairs,” Izzy said and tried to guide his elbow.

“Don’t they know I was up all night trying to scare the new tenants?”

“They don’t. They really don’t,” Izzy consoled as they started back up the stairs.

“No respect for a hardworking ghost these days. I tell you…”

“It’s hard being dead these days, isn’t it?”

Edgar stopped and looked at Izzy. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“Yes, Edgar. You can try,” she smiled.

“And keep the racket down!” he yelled down the stairs. “You’re loud enough to raise the dead!” The lights in the house flickered and the men stopped and looked at each other nervously.

“Oh, that’s good!”

“Thank you,” Edgar started but it ended up as a big yawn. “Good day, Izzy.”

“Good day, Edgar.”

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.”