Windkill

The raucous bellow of the ATV receded and Bob Hallow was left alone in the dark, his hood effectively sealing everything from view. He shivered from a combination of the cooling air and the idea of being left alone in the wilds.

The driver of the ATV had helped him off the ride, guided him a few feet, then helped Bob to sit in a chair. That was the extent of the human contact when they left the mouth of the gully. It was as if he was a prisoner banished to a secluded cell.

This late in the season, there were no sounds of small creatures filling the summer night. All Bob could hear was the trace rustle of the breeze in trees. He waited for a notice to remove the hood, straining to hear any human voice from the small receiver of his headpiece.

Eventually he came conscious of a low wheeze, the sigh of something mechanical. There would be silence for a moment, then a click, followed by the soft sigh. His hooded head tilted to one side as he tried to understand what he was listening to.

When the expected voice arrived, he jumped. Not that he was frightened, Bob thought wryly. This valley may be a place of death, but Bob was a grounded man. He did not believe in ghosts. He had simply concentrated on the noise too much. It was a convenient excuse.

“You may remove your hoods.” The voice ordered. Bob did not recognize the voice, but correctly assumed it came from the director’s trailer. Gratefully, he pulled the hood off and let it fall to the ground.

“Before you is a table with a choice of aids in your search for ghosts. You will use a specific tool during all facets of your search. At this time, the tool to your right is to be used. Place the second in your pack.”

This was stupid, Bob decided as he complied with the instruction. On the table was a small video camera lying on its side. He picked it up and looked through the eyepiece.

Another voice came over the receiver, a woman. “You are using a thermal camera designed to detect changes in temperature within its field of view. It is believed the temperature in a paranormal manifestation decreases as the entity uses available energy from the air. The lowest temperature is red while the hottest is yellow. Search for a ghost by looking for a red signature.”

Bob held his hand in front of the camera, rewarded with a yellow outline of the appendage, with the fingers trailing off to a pink color.

“You are at the rail yard, Bob. You will search the immediate area for ghosts and inform us of everything you see as you search. In ten minutes, we will give you a new task.”

“Okay,” Bob felt like a fool. They wanted him to describe every false notion that came to his head as he looked for the impossible. He stood and adjusted his pack.

When Marilyn told the family they were going to be on ‘Scared to Death’, he and Cynthia had watched a few of the shows to understand what they were getting into. It seemed silly to have people watching you wander about a dark house. He tried to put the idea out of mind and concentrate on following the instructions.

Remembering the mechanical sigh, he turned and looked to the south. A huge train sat on rails only twenty feet away. Steam accompanied the sigh as it gusted from the front drive cylinder, the machine breathing. The black paint of the engine was a perfect camouflage for the night; he could hardly discern the locomotive as it sat waiting.

“I am looking at a locomotive, engine number one zero four three.” He held the thermal camera up and scanned the train; it was all shades of yellow. “Well, since it appears to be running, the thermal image is hot. I’d like to know how you guys got it in here.”

He walked towards the train, eyeing it with appreciation. Like most young boys, he had once owned a train set. He recognized the engine as a Mikado, a 2-4-2 drive that was produced during the twenties. Four huge drive wheels were connected by linkage to the drive cylinder, waiting for a valve to close and redirect the escaping steam to the drive.

Closer at hand, he could see the train was painted several times, the layers peeling at corners. Running his hand across the steel exterior of the cab, Bob appreciated the work gone into building the engine. With a sure grip, he pulled himself up the steps to the cab.