(Originally Published in FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE: A COLLECTION OF 19 GHOSTLY TALES by Grinning Skull Press, 2013 and again published in EVERYTHING HERE IS A NIGHTMARE by Burning Bulb Publishing, 2017)
This story originally appeared in an anthology called FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE. The submission ad called for interesting ghost stories. It occurred to me that I had actually never actually written a ghost story, much less an interesting one…
This was one of the few stories that I did research on before actually writing the story; I write fiction, so research isn’t really a huge thing I do. But, research this I did and I wound up writing a very odd ghost story and possibly the one story I believed to be the scariest story I had written at the time. In a way, I still think it might still be, but I am biased.
The location of Penkridge, UK is in fact, a very real place. My older sister Adina lives there with her husband Clive as does my friend Dave. The next town (or village, rather) has the great name of Wolverhampton. I did my very best to make all of the dialogue as genuine as possible and had Dave check it for authenticity. His response was, typical for him, brief.
“It’s alright,” he said. What a pal.
When I decided on the type of ghost I was going to use, it begged the question of “Why the hell would a Japanese spirit occupy an English racecar?”
To which I replied, “Because I say so, that’s why.”
There is reference to a car that crashed in the 1955 at Le Mans. That was real and ultimately inspired this story. I remember reading that story a few days before the call for the anthology came out and by the time it did, I had worked out all kinds of things in my head about this one.
By the way, if you are ever in Penkridge, there is an Indian Restaurant called Flame which serves the absolute best curry in the universe as far as I am concerned.
Really.
SPIRITUS EX MACHINA
Travis Byron walked carefully through the dimly lit hallway as he followed the man in grease stained coveralls. It was only a little bit after 10 pm, but it felt much later, Travis thought. He wasn’t as nervous as he was apprehensive. What he was about to see hadn’t been seen by anyone other than a handful of people in the last 70 years. He felt mildly rankled and maybe just a little intimidated at what it was he was about to see.
His girlfriend Penny had told him to relax.
“It’s just a car, love.” She said sweetly, holding his face in her hands and kissing him lightly. “A stupid old car.”
He smiled and kissed her back. But he was still not convinced that it was just a stupid old car.
For one thing, it wasn’t just a stupid old car.
It was a murderer.
“Only a bit further, mate.” Said the man in the grease stained coveralls. “Thanks,” Travis said back, adding. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?” The man looked back briefly and gave a broken toothed grin. “Name’s Tim, sir. Thanks for askin’.” Travis smiled a little.
“Thanks for bringing me back here. Sorry it’s so late.”
“Don’t think nothin’ of it,” Tim said. The way he said ‘think nothin’ in his thick accent made it sound like ‘fink nofin’.’ “Not many geysers get to see the Jag.”
“I’ve heard it hasn’t had a lot of…visitors.” Tim laughed.
“Yeah, you could say that. Not many would want to though.”
“I’m hoping you’re wrong.” Travis said. “My employer is counting on the novelty of this car to make good on his investment.”
Tim slowed down and stopped. He turned around and looked at Travis.
“You seem likes a good bloke. Not a tosser like your boss, so I’ll gives you a bit of free advice. Yeah?”
Travis was taken aback by this abrupt stop, but he raised his head to show he was interested in what Tim had to say. Tim leaned in close.
“Once your boss has this car moved, get as far away from it as possible.
Quit if you has to, but get away from it.”
Travis opened his mouth to speak, but Tim continued.
“I know it sounds right barmy it does, but I speak the truth. That car is flat out bad.”
Travis looked somewhat mortified and then started to smile.
“Look at you, taking the piss!” Travis said, laughing. “You started to worry me a bit there mate.”
Tim smiled, but not because he was happy.
“Sir, you may think it’s funny, but you won’t for long. I absolutely guarantee,”
Travis, kept his smile but again, felt mildly rankled by not only what Tim said, but how he said it. I absolutely guarantee…
Tim turned and began to walk again. It took Travis an actual effort to move forward, but he did it.
In less than twenty five seconds, they both arrived at a door marked “Storage Garage 481.” Under the old looking green marker was another sign, handwritten and also very old looking. It read, simply:
Absolutely No Entry
“Don’t worry ‘bout the sign,” said Tim, answering Travis’ unarticulated question. “That’s just to keep wandering folks out of here.”
“Do you get many wandering folks?” Travis asked. “I mean this garage couldn’t be farther away if it were bloody Penkridge.”
“You a Penkridge bloke? I knew you was a small town geyser.” Tim’s genuine smile returned. “From Wolverhampton m’self. Practically family we are,”
Travis was now getting weary of all of this. The night was getting longer and he was losing some patience. He looked at Tim, who was smiling like an idiot and decidedly not getting the key out to unlock the garage.
“If it’s all the same Tim, we can talk about footie later. I do have a job to do here as do you.”
“Ready to be on with it then are you?”
“Yes,”
“Right. Wait right here.”
Tim grabbed the keys off of his belt, found the right one and unlocked the door. He opened it but did not allow Travis in at all.
“Right back,” Tim said as the door closed slowly. There was a dragging sound and the door reopened with Tim holding two folding chairs. Travis sank.
“Here you are. Take a seat, sir.”
He held the chair out to Travis, who refused it.
“What is this?” He asked loudly. “You take your sweet time dragging me across this warehouse and we finally get here, you bring me a fucking folding chair?”
Tim didn’t flinch and continued holding the chair out.
“Right. There’s a few things needed to be discussed sir, and now is when we do it. Take the chair and with all due respect, don’t talk to me like I work for you.”
The tone of Tim’s voice was colder and direct. It didn’t have any of the local boy charm anymore. When he said ‘things’ it didn’t come out sounding like ‘fings.’ Tim was serious.
Without a word, Travis took the chair, opened it and sat down. Tim nodded and did the same. He took two fingers and fished out a soft pack of cigarettes from his coverall breast pocket.
“Fag?” he offered. Travis shook his head.
Tim took one from the pack and put the rest of the pack back in the pocket. He reached into his pants pocket and grabbed a cheap lighter, and lit up. He inhaled deeply and when he exhaled, there was just a very thin stream of smoke. Travis patiently waited for Tim to start.
“In 1955, there were this accident at Le Mans,’ Tim began. “Killed, when all were said and done, 88 people. Flippin’ tragedy if there ever were one, right?”
Tim took a deep drag and continued, allowing the smoke to slowly come out of his mouth and nostrils.
“That car was never driven again. Packed up and locked away, quite like this one here. Sold last year for over a million, American anyways. Nice little tidy pile of cash for the owner, init? Nowhere near what your tosser of a boss is paying for this, yeah?”
Travis had to agree. He’d heard about the Le Mans tragedy and the huge payout last year, which is what ignited his employer’s quest in the first place. He thought he was getting a steal with this car at eighty thousand pounds and Travis had offered his services to make sure it was worth it.
“Well, true, but the morbid fact of the body count has a lot to do with it I’m sure.” Travis said.
Tim took time to look at his smoke before speaking.
“Is that what you really think? Cos I’ll tell you something for nothing, mate. I’d rather have about ten of the other car than this one in there.”
“I’m not following you. This car here carries a considerably lower body count than the Le Mans.” Travis said. “And by considerably, I mean very
considerably. Only twenty people if I’m correct.” Tim gave a short bark of a laugh.
“Listen to yourself, mate. ‘Only twenty people?’ Are you fucking daft? twenty people, man. So, it isn’t eighty eight, but there’s still blood ain’t there?
Broken homes and families.”
“eighty eight is a hell of a lot more death than twenty, so yeah as bad as twenty is, it’s a damn sight better than eighty eight. Not much really to change that little fact.”
“Except, for the one detail you’re forgetting.” Tim shot back. “The Austin-Healy 100 Special that killed eighty eight people and ruined or injured at least 120 people did it all in one shot.”
Travis opened his mouth to say, “So what?” but found that he couldn’t say it at all.
“Let it sink in there, boy-o. The eighty eight people killed all got killed at once. The little Jaguar on the other side of this wall killed twenty people one at a time for the most part.”
“Bollocks,” Travis said. “Total bollocks. You’re starting to waste my time here. If you’re done taking the piss out of me, I’ll be having a look at my employer’s property.”
Travis was furious now and stood up, but Tim stayed calm. He didn’t even look up at Travis. He just fixed on some stain on the floor and looked almost sadly resigned. He let smoke out as he exhaled.
“You’re gonna want to hear this, mate. Not kidding.” Was all Tim said.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me a car that’s damn close to being a century old and hasn’t had a working motor in it for the bulk of that time just rolls off all by its self and kills someone once in a while. Yes?”
“That car ain’t moved in about two decades,” Tim replied. “It don’t roll around on its own. Never has, but I will assure you that car is a fucking spook if there ever was one. An evil one.”
Tim took one last drag and dropped in on the floor. Travis looked and saw a pattern of similar burn marks in the floor. Tim finally looked up at Travis, not smiling.
“When you’re in there alone, you’re gonna want to ask me some questions. I may or may not be here to answer them on your way out as I don’t like to go in there if I don’t have to,” Travis softened slightly.
“Wait, you aren’t going in?”
“No. So if you got any questions, ask ‘em now.”
“Well, I haven’t even seen it yet, have I?” Travis spoke. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is all really-“
“I’m telling you sir, that car is fucking dangerous. If you were smart, you’d go tell your employer that everything is fine and let him deal with it, but you should just turn around and go home.”
Travis looked at the man and saw he was shaking slightly. He looked terrified. Tim looked as if he were going to say something, but didn’t. “Tim, I’ll be fine, but wait out here, alright? I won’t be too long.” Tim looked like he wanted to run. Travis held up a hand.
“Give me five minutes and then pound on that door. Is that a little safer?”
Tim seemed to ponder this and then he nodded.
“Five minutes, no more.” Tim said. “Maybe only four, but don’t get too close to it and for fuck’s sake, don’t touch it.”
Travis smiled and walked to the door. Tim grabbed his shoulder.
“And whatever it shows you isn’t real.” Tim said, nearly whispering.
“It’s all a lie.”
Travis frowned and then smiled, if only to reassure Tim.
“Five minutes, maybe four. Don’t touch it. Got it.”
Tim released his shoulder and Travis opened the door. As the door closed, Tim stood trembling and stared at the door. He began to count to three hundred slowly. He debated to count to two hundred forty, but he thought that Travis may be okay.
He really didn’t seem stupid.
2
Travis closed the door, locked it and reached out to his left, feeling the wall for the light switch. He found it and switched it on, hearing the heavy light overhead click. They were the newer, non-incandescent lights and would take a minute or two to light up bright, but there, not two feet in front of him was the car.
After listening to Tim go on about it, he expected it to growl at him, but it stayed put, good little car that it was, and did nothing close to growling. Travis stared at the car and took a heavy step forward, closer to the car.
“I’m not supposed to get close to you,” Travis said quietly to the car.
“You’re some sort of spook as I am to understand.” The car did nothing.
Travis walked slowly around it. It was a beautiful car. A 1954 Jaguar XK120. Black, sleek convertible and absolutely gorgeous. It was a dream car, really. A total race car-one seat for one passenger and just screamed to be driven. This was a car that was built for racing and designed for winning. And win this car did; it won all three of the races it ran until it was considered a jinx by Walter Carmichael, the car’s original owner, driver and eventual third victim.
Travis looked intently at the car and although a thin layer of dust covered it, it still looked shiny and beautiful. Tempting even.
“You’re a beautiful spook, that’s for sure,” Travis said quietly to the car.
He circled it one more time and decided to get to work. He took his messenger bag off and found a work table along the opposite side of the car. He opened it and took three things out, one of which was a camera.
He turned around and started taking pictures of the car. As he did so, he began to talk and walk around the car, quickly.
“Julian Fitzgerald, died 1956, leapt from his third floor flat six hours after repairing a faulty hose,” Travis said. “Spencer McDaniels, died also 1956 about four hours after rotating all four tires. Massive heart failure. He was 23 years old and healthy as an ox.”
The car simply stood there as Travis circled the car, taking pictures and speaking. He was quickly rattling off the name of every person who had died and was linked to the car.
“Carmichael, of course. Took a straight razor to his own bloody neck and nearly decapitated himself after retiring you. No less than one hour after the fact.”
He made his way back to the work table and put the camera down. He then stepped forward and touched the hood of the car. The moment he touched the hood he felt something akin to a static electric shock jump into his arm, but he kept the fingers on the hood. He again, walked around the car, running his fingers along, still reciting the names.
“Sean Radcliffe, 1961, the first buyer, post Carmichael. Died from a self inflicted head wound via gun shot. Right in the front seat.”
As he walked around the back of the car he looked into the empty driver seat. He blinked, but he saw something not unlike a shadow. He didn’t stop walking, but he did keep looking.
The shadow seemed to take shape until he saw a man, sitting in the driver seat, looking right at him.
“Hello, boy,” said the man. “I imagine, you know who I am.” Travis stopped and nodded. He stood at the right side of the car.
“Hello, Sean.” Travis said.
Sean Radcliffe smiled a rotten looking smile. Travis could see a black hole on the left side of Sean’s head.
“What is it you hope to accomplish here boy?” Sean asked, still smiling.
“If it’s all the same, Sean, I got some more names to go over, but I was wondering who the first one was going to be to show up.” Sean laughed.
“Are you trying to piss something off today?” Sean said. “Cos, this is about the right way to do it I’d reckon.”
“Yeah,” Travis said, starting to walk around the car again. “I kind of figured it would be. Would you like to hear more names?”
“I know ‘em all already, but why not?” Sean said, except he was already starting to fade away.
Travis cleared his throat and began again.
“Alex Karras, died 1969 after rebuilding the engine. Exactly 47 seconds after rebuilding the engine. The garage caught fire and burned everything except the car.”
In the driver seat, sat a man. He was horribly burned and charred. A blackened arm casually hung out of the car as Travis walked by toward the front.
“That was a fun one,” the Alex thing said. It had a slight accent, probably Greek, Travis thought. He blocked the thought out and kept reciting. He went through almost every name of every person on the list of the deceased and for each one, a spectral corpse appeared in the front seat of the car. The last name he recited was Fenwick Byars, a mechanical engineer who had simply gone into the garage where the car had been stored in 1998.
And the vision of Fenwick Byars sat in the seat, grinning at Travis, who had decided to stop.
“You’ve rattled all of them off, boy.” Fenwick said as Travis returned to the work bench. “Or have you?”
Travis, didn’t turn around, but answered.
“No, there’s one more. Just one.”
The Fenwick thing laughed. The laugh had a hoarse quality since his cause of death had been asphyxiation.
“Oh yeah? You wouldn’t be countin’ yourself in the list yet would ya?
Cos, make no mistake. You are next.” Travis, still didn’t turn around.
“Can you tell me what you are first?” Travis asked.
The Fenwick thing laughed again.
“I think you know,” it said.
“I do, I just want to hear it.” Travis said flatly.
“I am not at liberty to say,” the Fenwick thing said after a moment.
Travis turned around finally and looked at Fenwick. He was holding a black book covered with symbols and a small silk bag that had a picture of a tree with three white flowers. The look on Fenwick thing’s face lost its ashen look and its jaw loosened.
“You’re a Yurei,” Travis said. “And I’m kicking you the bloody hell out of this car.”
The Fenwick thing vanished and the lights began to dim. Travis threw the small bag on the hood of the car and one of the light fixtures exploded.
“Hamilton Byron, died 1995 by his own hand in front of his grandchildren.” Travis said, his voice shaking. “All he had done was deliver a package to the garage where this car was being kept.”
Suddenly, as if on cue, Hamilton Byron appeared in the car’s seat. His wrists were sliced and there were blood stains on his palms. Unlike the other spirits, this one looks afraid.
“You ought not to toy with this, Travis.” the Hamilton thing said. “Take that bloody hex thing off the car.”
“You aren’t my grandfather,” Travis said. “But I did want you in this form when I removed you.”
There was a sudden pounding on the door.
“A few more minutes, Tim!” Travis shouted as he opened the book.
“Bollocks!” Tim responded. “Time to get out sir!”
“Yes, time to get out,” the thing that looked like his grandfather said. “And take that…thing off of the hood. You might live if you do it now.” “You end here, Yurei. That ofuda will make sure you’re gone for good. Of course, you know that already.” Travis found the page he was looking for and began to read from it. The thing that looked like his grandfather began to contort and writhe as the words became louder and seemed to carry an actual weight.
He kept repeating the words, even as the memory of his grandfather’s death began to explode in his head.
Travis and his sister had been kids, but old enough to know something was wrong when their grandfather had come home, crying in agony. He went into their parents kitchen and sliced open his wrists. He staggered back into the living room, bleeding steadily from both wrists. His sister had screamed and screamed until his mother came down from the upstairs rooms and screamed herself. The old man didn’t allow anyone near him to help. He still held the large knife he’d used to cut himself.
He said one thing before collapsing. He looked at Travis, all of ten years old and said simply, “Yurei,” and then he died. His sister and mum forgot the word almost instantly and regarded it as a crazy person’s last thought. Nonsense, in other words.
But the word haunted Travis and he never forgot it. He spent years trying to remember it and trying to look it up in libraries. It wasn’t until the advent of the internet was he able to discover what it was, and even then he hadn’t been sure of its meaning. It wasn’t until he became friends with a guy at university named Kenada Odaka, or Kenny as he was called, and discovered a mistake he’d been making.
“You sure that’s what he said?” Kenny had asked over a pint. “Cos that’s…well, fucked.”
Half drunk, Travis nodded.
“Yeah, that’s what he said. Yuri. Some stupid Russian thing, but I can’t make anything out from it. Is it a name or what?” Travis grabbed what was left of his pint and drank it down.
“No, mate. I think you’re pronouncing it wrong. I think he meant, ‘Yurei.’ Like ‘you ray.’”
Travis swallowed hard and said, “Fuck, that’s it. I pronounced it wrong, but that’s what it was,”
It was Kenny’s turn to swallow his pint. He downed it and raised a hand for two more. He leaned in close to Travis.
“Trav, a Yurei is a spirit. A vengeful ghost that haunts something. Usually like a house, or something. I don’t see why it wouldn’t go to a car.”
“What, you mean an angry ghost haunting a fucking race car? That’s stupid.” Travis tried to laugh.
“Yeah? You’re the one who’s been looking for an answer all this time, and I just gave you one. This stuff is no joke, mate.” Travis looked at Kenny.
“And no,” Kenny said, paying the waitress, who had brought the next round. “I’m not taking the piss. Tomorrow, we’ll go see my granddad. He only speaks Japanese, but he’ll lay it all out for you.”
“But, this is England, Kenny. You’re the first and only Japanese anything I’ve ever seen. How does a Japanese evil spirit wind up in an
English Race car?” Kenny shook his head.
“You don’t get it. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure it’s called other things everywhere else, but it’s not like one thing is stuck in just one place. Bad stuff happens everywhere. I’m Japanese, but I’m fucking just about as
English as you, yeah?”
Travis let that sink in as he clinked his pint with Kenny.
The following year, he managed to find someone, on Kenny’s grandfather’s suggestion, who could help. He had spent three months in Japan, learning from a Buddhist priest named Master Inshiro.
He had learned enough of the language for the ritual and had memorized the words, but Master Inshiro said that the book with the ofuda was more powerful.
“The Yurei is a powerful spirit,” Master Inshiro had told him. “And it matters little how or why it is in this object. It only matters that it be removed. The incantation will drive it out and the ofuda will keep it out, but be careful.”
And here was Travis, years later in front of a car he was convinced was possessed by a vengeful spirit.
And, he had been right.
He heard Tim on the outside of the door trying to open it, but failing.
“You weren’t supposed to lock the fucking door!” Tim yelled, pounding on it furiously. “You have got to come out of there!”
Travis drove Tim, and his grandfather’s death out of his head. He kept reading the incantation from the book of Shinto writings Master Inshiro had given him. The Hamiliton thing was still writhing in the seat and beginning to fade.
“You can’t do this!” the thing screamed.
Travis closed the book.
“I have done it,” Travis said. “Now, get out and leave this car.”
A second and a third light bulb exploded over head, leaving only one left. A loud wail rose from the car, but Travis sensed it went deeper than the car and became nearly deafening and then was quiet.
After a moment, Travis reached out and touched the hood of the car.
He felt nothing but the hood, which was a little warm, but cooling. Tim continued to hammer on the door. Travis, satisfied walked to the door and unlocked it.
Tim burst in, not knowing quite what to expect.
He looked at Travis and what he was holding and then at the car and then back to Travis. He blinked a few times.
“Sir? What did you-“
“It’s over, Tim.” Travis said. “This car is just a car. It’s done.” Tim rubbed his jaw and looked at the bag on the hood of the car. “What’s that then?” Travis smiled.
“Let me tell you all about it.” He said, gathering all of his things. “Fancy a pint?”
3
One week later, Travis sat down at his computer in his home office in Penkridge. His girlfriend had gone out with her friends for a few drinks and some Indian food down the street.
“I wish you’d come out with us,” she’d said somewhat sadly. He’d been in an odd mood since coming back from his trip to view the car. “Are you sure you won’t come out?”
Travis smiled and shook his head.
“I’ve got a few more things to do and I think I’m going to turn in early, love. You have fun. Bring a curry back for me?” She kissed him on his head.
“Sure thing.” And off she went.
He grabbed his messenger bag off of the floor and pulled out the camera. He hadn’t looked at it since he shoved it in the bag at the garage, almost afraid to look at it. He turned it over in his hands and pulled the memory card out. He put the camera next to the keyboard and inserted the card into the hard drive port to see what pictures were on it.
As it loaded, the lights flickered slightly and finally the menu appeared on his screen.
It was thirty pictures of the car at different angles. Travis felt his heart begin to pound in his chest. He clicked on the first one and there was nothing out of the ordinary. He clicked the little arrow to see the next one.
Nothing.
And then the next one.
Nothing. And yet…
He clicked the next one, and saw that something was there, although faint.
He clicked the next one, and it looked like something was forming, or coming into the empty car seat.
He clicked the next one and the next one.
Something solid was showing up in the picture. His heart began to pound harder and harder.
With each click, a thing, shadowlike in appearance was indeed forming in the seat, and he was expecting to see a version of the first apparition in the seat of the car. He clicked ahead faster now and then he stopped.
It was not the first apparition.
It was…him.
It was blurry, but it was him, looking at the camera directly. His face was expressionless and dead. His eyes were black and he saw what looked like drool coming out of his mouth.
He raised a hand to his own mouth and noticed he was drooling. He jerked his hand away and the next picture clicked on it own. There was no car.
It was a picture of him, in front of his computer, as if taken from behind.
He looked behind him and saw nothing. When he turned back around, the next picture was him again, except looking for what was behind him.
His expression was one of sheer terror.
He looked at the camera next to the keyboard and he knew.
He knew right away where the Yurei had gone.
The next picture on the computer was a closer picture of Travis, slumped dead on his keyboard and Travis, screamed.
For the very last time, he screamed.
Copyright © 2014-2024 Nelson W Pyles All Rights Reserved
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