I
Phillip Fox pulled the stolen army green truck into the rest area, its one headlight bobbing as the truck rode over the loose gravel and shaking gently as Mr. Fox put the truck into park. Eric hopped out of the truck, his worn out black canvas shoes smashing some hopeful clover amongst the loose gray rocks. He looked into the blackness with a hand placed over his eyes as if to guard himself against the absent sun. He turned towards a beige mid-size SUV and held his gaze there for a moment before making a puzzled frown and turning to Mr. Fox.
“I don’t see anyone Pip, you want me to like, knock or…”
“Shh!” Mr. Fox held his face in a tight frown and shifted the truck into reverse, nearly taking Eric with him as he leaned into the window and re-adjusted the truck so that the lone headlight shone into the SUV. “Shit!” Mr. Fox put the truck back into park and stepped out of the truck, the treads of his dark work boots absorbing the loose rock.
“Pbbf” Eric sighed and put both of hands on the back of his head and chewed on the left side of his lip thoughtlessly, his face barely caught in the shadow of the headlight. Mr. Fox scoured the horizon and paced the small area of the rest stop. As he stepped back into the headlight a thunderous bang ripped through the relative quiet of the cicadas and croaking frogs. Erics left hand wrenched violently backward along with the bottom of his eye, and top of his jaw. Eric fell twisting to the ground. He lay contorted and strange, the viscera contrasted in the sparse light, a dark pool forming under his now destroyed head.
Unthinking, Mr. Fox sprinted into the woods, faltering in the moonlight amongst the thick brush, but always moving. He began to slow, no longer guided by the recent crack of the gunshot, growing more uncertain in his bullish charge. Before he could process the second cacophonous bang his left hand exploded in white hot pain. Hastened now by a new adrenaline he rushed towards the gunshot and brief muzzle flash. An enormous man in mismatched camo held the rifle, his face turning pale with fear as the bloodied and disheveled Mr. Fox barreled into him, knocking the rifle from his hands as he fell back his spine smashing into a gnarled root. Before he could so much as let out a brief yelp from pain Mr. Fox had grabbed the rifle by the barrel, and he brought it down upon the mans head as if he were chopping wood. Then he brought it down again, and again, and again until the rifle butt hit nothing but a red ghost upon the decaying oak leaves and sparse grass.
Mr. Fox’s grunts echoed through the forest as he dragged the enormous man back towards the vehicles. He patted down the man for keys, but finding none he broke the back window of the beige SUV with the butt of the rifle, reached in, and opened the back. With great effort he heaved the man into the SUV. He put his hands on his knees, breathing heavily, and spat onto the corpse before rising again. He began to walk back towards the truck but stopped momentarily at Eric’s disfigured corpse. He let himself, for just a moment, feel the pain of Eric’s death. To feel the pain in his left hand and grieve the loss of his missing pinky and ring finger. To grieve the fucking $10,000 he was supposed to be driving away from this deal with.
He collected himself, went to the truck, and rifled through the glove box. He pulled out a wad of mismatched napkins, walked over to the SUV and stuffed them into its gas tank, letting it sit at the end. He gently lifted Eric’s body into the SUV and closed the hatch. He pulled a cheap plastic lighter out of his pocket, and unsuccessfully sparked it a couple of times before holding his hand over the flame, which he brought to the wad of napkins and lit. As soon as they caught, he pushed them into the gas tank, and jogged back to the truck, it’s screeching tires preceding a disappointingly small boom as the trucks one headlight bobbed down the highway.
II
“Aww fuck.” Richard muttered under his breath, finally backing away from the game machine on the bar counter.
“Don’t know why you’re trying dude; your luck hasn’t exactly been awesome lately.”
“Fuck off Trevor, that’s why I’m playing. I could use a win.”
“Yeah… So no chance then?”
“No, she said she’s going in to file tomorrow. I’m… I don’t know man, I’m fucking over it.”
“You definitely aren’t”
“Not her, just… all the drama. You know what she said.” Richard sat back down at the table where Trevor was and took a long drink from a dark colored beer. “She said I was a coward man. What the hell does that even mean? I’m not actually asking, she fucking told me, it’s just, I feel like she’s trying to be mean at this point.”
“Yeah. Yeah maybe.” Trevor sighed and looked down into his drink. “It’ll be okay man. Somehow.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Richard finished his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “Well, I gotta work tomorrow, I’m heading back home.”
“You good man? I can drive, I just had a light…”
“I’m fine dude.” Richard walked out of the bar and clicked the unlock bottom on his key fob, using it to locate his red pickup. He climbed in and turned on the tape deck before putting the keys into his ignition.
… Hell’s wrath on the gates of heaven…
He only made it a couple of miles before he pulled off the highway into a gas station to relieve himself. He opened the doors into the too bright overhead lights to a strange man remarking loudly upon some of the products. Richard thought he looked homeless, or maybe drunk. Maybe both.
“Too many damn flavors man. How is a reasonable person supposed to choose? They don’t want us to think, just grab, buy, consume…”
Richard shuffled quickly to the bathroom and shouldered open the stall door. It was nearly so disgusting that Richard turned back to find another option, but… there was no other option. Richard sat down and relieved himself of the roiling that had taken over his guts. He did his best to hold his breath.
When Richard came out the strange man seemed to be continuing his diatribe, but this time directly to the clerk at the counter. The attendant seemed a bit annoyed, but otherwise unperturbed by the harassment. Richard went over the cooler and grabbed a six pack of his favorite IPA. He went over to the counter where the disheveled man was still talking at the gas station clerk. He stepped into line behind him loudly, hoping he would get the message, but the man continued unaffected.
“Hey man, can you” he thumbed off to the left “a bit so I can help that guy” said Andy, the gas station clerk, in a tired voice.
“… it’s all bright colors and fruity flavors now” the strange man continued. He rubbed the two fingers of his left hand on his thumb. “That’s where the money is. It’s not just to target the kids, it’s to turn us back into fucking kids man. It’s more than just some nostalgia grab, they want to psychologically revert us back into children…”
“Would you move you crazy son of a bitch!” Richard belted, finally losing his patience
“Excuse me.” Said the man, sounding suddenly more sober
“I… I said move man.” Richard said, a bit more uncertain.
“No, no, that’s not what you said. Not only are you mean, now you’re not even being honest. This is you’re fault really.” The strange man reached into his waistband and pulled out a semi-automatic pistol. He gestured with it dramatically. “See, now, now I have to rob this place.”
Richard thought about his wife. He thought about being called a coward. He thought about reading his name in the paper. He did not think about his shit luck, as he lunged towards the man who deftly stepped aside.
“I ain’t scared of some… bum with a gun” Richard choked, puffing out his chest as he regained his balance.
The man looked at Richard and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. He then turned to the clerk, shrugged, and shot Richard in the head.
III
Andy woke up to the familiar shriek of his alarm clock. He clicked the small button down as violently as possible then sat up, rubbed his eyes with his palms and pushed himself out of the bed. He put on a pair of brown cargo pants, a highlighter yellow shirt that said, “Wright Landscaping,” and a pair of relatively new work boots.
“You don’t need to pack a lunch; your dad says he’ll take you today.” His mother shouted as he pounded down the stairs.
“Thanks mom” Andy swiftly replied before rushing out the door, already verging on late.
His father shook his head as Andy pulled in just before eight o’clock.
“Letting you start a couple hours late and your still barely make it.”
“Are you gonna fire me for not being early?”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, they tell me I’m going easy on you ya’ know.”
“Well fire them then, you know I do enough”
“Yeah well, don’t think I haven’t thought about that either. Aright same as yesterday you know what to do. Come back by at lunch I told your mom I’d take you out.”
–
Andy opened the door for his dad as they entered a small bar off the highway. They sat down at a booth opposite the bar. A blonde woman in her late 30’s walked up to the booth and laid down a couple of menus.
“Drinking today, Mike?”
“Nah, gotta go back to work. Uhh, a couple of cokes?” Mike said, motioning toward Andy with a question on his face. Andy shrugged.
“Alright, I’ll go grab those, let you look at the menu.” The waitress walked towards the back.
“Anyway what’s the occasion Mike.” Andy said to his dad wearing an exaggerated smug look.
“First off, she’s a waitress, they’re supposed to be friendly. Secondly,” Mike hesitated to continue, but pushed on “you’ve been a pretty big bummer lately man. What’s up with you?”
“Are you serious?” Andy replied shortly.
“Yeah I’m serious. Look, I know shit isn’t exactly going how you planned it but, how long did you really think that it was gonna last? You lost more money than you ever made, and I, look… I think, it was a really great life experience you got to have for a while, but you’re not too far from thirty now kid, you gotta… grow up.”
“Grow up and what, work two jobs for the rest of my life!?”
“I already told you that’s just for the summer if you wanted to stay with us.”
“Fine, whatever, then I what, work at a gas station for the rest of my life?”
“Not for the rest of your life…” The waitress set down the cokes quickly, but reading the situation a little late, stepped away before asking if they were ready to order “Not for the rest of your life” Mike continued a bit less heated “but for a little while. We’ll help you find something better to do, it just might take a little bit.”
“Like what, running a landscaping company?” Andy replied barely holding back his welling, and not particularly age appropriate teenage angst.
“I mean, look if you actually wanted to, but, no, something you might not hate. Maybe you won’t love it, but something you don’t hate.”
“A lot of somethings and somedays.”
“That’s life kid.”
IV
Some of the blood, and a little bit of skull with some attached brain matter landed on the counter in front of Andy. Without thinking he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser near him and wiped it away in the trash can beneath the counter.
“Would you look at that, not even phased. What a pro, you must have seen this before. Hell, maybe you’ve done this before.”
Andy stood there and blinked in what felt like slow motion. He looked to the man as if he were looking at an incoming car. His mind raced as if in some foreign language.
“What?” Said Andy.
“I said” The man spoke louder “You must have seen this kind of thing, and or done this kind of thing before, as you seem to be taking it pretty well.”
“I… I’ve never seen anyone killed before sir.”
“Sir… Hmm… Yeah, I like that. Yeah. Call me Mr. Fox.” Mr. Fox chuckled a bit and went over to the door. He turned the key in the upper corner from “automatic” to “off,” and turned the lock on the inner door. Mr. Fox continued.
“You must be a natural then.”
“Uhh, a natural what?” Andy looked a bit pale, and leaned unto the counter
“A natural killer.” Andy threw up into the trash can beneath the counter. “Hmm, well never mind. Still, maybe I can make you work anyway. You see, most people are naturally violent. People like you and me, well we were born with a moral core. You look like you’ve still got yours, unless you just puked it out of you. My momma, well, my momma beat mine out of me. Beat me half to death. Beat me to death, I think. Hit me upside the head with a frying pan. Ever since then, me and God have been real close. Pick which one. He told me, he did, that humanity is a violent breed, and he sent me back down here to punish your wickedness as I see fit. Ever since then I’ve been a ghost you see, a ghost sent down to haunt you bastards.”
“You’re a… you’re a ghost?”
“Damn. You really are turning out to be a fucking disappointment. You’re not particularly bright, are you? Not an asker of inciteful questions? Certainly not an answerer of one. Yes. A fucking ghost. A ghost because people can’t keep their nasty hands to themselves. Like that asshole on the floor. He lunged at me. You saw it. He came after me, and then he still died scared, despite what he said.”
There was a knock on the door. Mr. Fox walked over and saw an old lady waving angrily. He shooed her with his hand, but she kept pointing inside the store, and then at the sign that posted the stores hours. Mr. Fox raised his gun towards the old lady and fired, missing her just barely as she turned and ran back toward her car.
“Now where was I” Mr. Fox continued as he walked back towards the counter, kicking Richard’s dead body on the way over. Mr. Fox looked around. “While in Rome. Tell me kid, what’s the best thing in here.
“Th.. The door.” Andy said shakily
“Alright, now you’re getting it. Not what I wanted kid, but good try. No no no, best food. Candy, chips, that kind of shit.”
“Uhh, the uhh, red sour whatever” Andy said pointing to a brightly colored display of neon yellow packages. Mr. Fox grabbed a bag off the top and tore it open, spilling citric acid onto the already sticky floor. He grabbed a handful and tossed them in his mouth, chewing with exaggerated jubilance. He set the candy on the counter and nodded approvingly towards Andy.
“Good choice, fantastic manufactured chemical sugar bullshit. For a people so terrified of death we sure do love doing things that rush us towards it. This store is fucking full of them. Cigarettes, those stupid fucking vapes, liquor, fat, sugar, processed meat, god damn lotto tickets oh America what fucking wonders you provide. Slow deaths most of them, maybe so slow people don’t notice. Bunch of cowards, afraid of getting it over with.” Mr. Fox sighed and looked around, perhaps a bit bored. “Tell you what, empty the register print me some lottery tickets and let’s get on with this thing.” Andy got to work putting bills in a bag and hitting the buttons with the highest numerical value on the lottery machine.
“Print me a winning number” Mr. Fox said sarcastically. “I’m sure you get assholes like that all the time. Fucking posers man. A real gambler wants to lose. It’s an act of self-sabotage. You ever see someone win big and walk away?”
“Yeah.” Andy said sheepishly
“Yeah well, sure whatever, but not a real gambler. They’ll put all the winnings back into the pot. They don’t want to end up ahead. A real gambler…” Mr. Fox was interrupted by the sound of police sirens.
“That wasn’t you kid, was it?” Mr. Fox said jokingly and pointed the gun towards Andy. “Just kidding, I know it was that old bat.” Mr. Fox put his elbow on the counter and then put his chin unto the gun, bobbing his head in an exaggerated motion to signal thinking. “You a gambler kid?” Mr. Fox stood back up with his hand and the gun on the counter.
“Uhh….. Not.. Not really”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. That other asshole, when he tried to stop me, the odds weren’t in his favor. Now like you said, you’re not a gambler, so I’ll put the odds in your favor.” Mr. Fox placed the gun on the counter and pushed it so that it sat closer to Andy, with the handle pointed towards him, the barrel towards Mr. Fox. Mr. Fox smiled slyly and put his hands above his shoulders “Go.”
The immediate crack of a gunshot reverberated through the gas station.
If you enjoyed “Ghost From The West” you should check out my book “Stupid Shit: Adapted Lyrics and Poems,” and subscribe/join the mailing list for updates on the second book I swear I am working on.
Dirt Witch Records 
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