The Equinox- A Ghost Story

 “Ghosts” said Pastor Plait, “I’m agin’ ‘em!”

He learned early in his career that use of the vernacular helped a pastor better connect with the flock. But regardless of how he put it, those in attendance that evening at the Double Rock Fellowship had no doubt of how Pastor Plait felt about ghosts. For he had become known to many in the region as the preeminent authority on all matters related to the damnable spirits that started showing up around the globe two years before.

Pastor Plait had performed “deliverance of justice” (Plait found the term “exorcism” to be too Church of Rome) on three ghosts. Though most people by this time had accepted the existence of ghosts, what with the preponderance of evidence, to actually see one was a rare occurrence. The typical encounter consisted, at most, of a fleeting glimpse, and only a brave few had actually interacted with these manifestations of a new reality. So around here, three ghosts made Pastor Plait the expert.

He told his new friends at Double Rock about his work. It wasn’t something he looked to do—it just kind of happened. The first ghost was near Arken, about an hour south, his former mother-in-law’s house. Because she just didn’t know who else to call.

The pastor dropped in his little joke about how nothing prepares you to face the demons of hell better than a visit to the in-laws. Wherever he went that one always got a chuckle. He learned long ago that the occasional irreverence serves to puts the flock at ease. Then, having broken the ice, he could tell his tales of holy deliverance.

And tales they most assuredly were, though not outright fables. For he did confront the ghosts and drive them away, but…the experience wasn’t quite as dramatic and intense as the theatrics that accompanied his story would suggest. The ghosts he delivered were not “menacing, screeching specters armed with the powers of Lucifer”. They were not “at the vanguard of a phantom revolutionary hoard that would consume this realm” but for his intervention as a humble but faithful servant.  

Truth be told, what the ghosts were was pathetic. For one, they weren’t haunting as much as they were hiding. Plait found the one at his former mother-in-law’s cowering in a corner of the root cellar. And it wasn’t “screaming the names of ancient devils in ancient tongues”, but was instead sobbing, ever so softly, and begging to be left alone.

It was nothing at all like what he’d heard about ghosts, certainly not what he had expected, and seemingly nothing at all to be frightened of. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, but he figured he ought to put on a show for his former mother-in-law so even if that didn’t get rid of the thing he’d at least be able to say “well, I tried” and go home.  And if he did manage to chase the thing off, he’d have done something to get under Melissa’s skin (maybe her momma would tell her she was wrong to have left him after all).

He didn’t share this internal monologue with his new friends at Double Rock, or anyone else for that matter.

Not having any kind of guidebook, Plait did with the ghost what came naturally—he went into Revivalist mode and let the ghost have it in the names of all the Prophets (by name!) and the one of which they prophesized. He waved. He shook. He screamed.  When he built up to the big moment and found that laying hands on the ghost was problematic, what with it being incorporeal and all, he instead threw his Bible at it from across the room. And with that the ghost vanished.

Pastor Plait was a man of the early days of The Awareness, when to encounter a ghost was by nature unnerving, like discovering a serpent in the garden. Very few people were inclined to seek out the spirits, and there had not yet developed any kind of consensus or protocol on how to deal with ghosts once you found them. The general feeling among the multitude was that if these strange phenomena could not be denied, they could at least be ignored.

But unlike the multitude, Pastor Plait was ready to believe and ready to act. For he saw ghosts as being embodiments of the wickedness he saw hiding in everyone he met. With so much fuel in God’s once-pristine garden for this unholy fire how could it be otherwise? He had at that point come to a dead-end in his career—leading a modest church and drawing a very modest salary. Maybe, just maybe, he had found his purpose.

So it was that word spread of Pastor Plait’s work in Arken, and he began to get calls from people throughout the region asking for his help. The first such call came from a man who lived in Dickens. The man claimed kin as being one of Melissa’s cousins (she had, like, forty people she called cousins, many of whom called and threatened to kick Plait’s ass after she left him). Plait didn’t immediately remember this “cousin” but the man did promise a little “honorarium” for the trouble, and he did sound pretty scared.

And with that Plait drove all the way to Dickens, where he discovered that the “ghost” haunting the garbage can was an opossum that somehow got herself entangled in an old burlap sack. He used that incident as a little bon mot comic relief for his new friends at Double Rock.

The Pastor ended up spending almost all of the honorarium on a very big meal at the Cracker Barrel on Exit 19, where he sat for very long time contemplating his life. He didn’t mention that to the folks at Double Rock.

But soon thereafter another call came, this one from nearby Parker’s Creek, and the reported ghost was very real. The phantom had been found—of all places! —in one of the deer stands on Mr. Thompson’s property. Being outside in the middle of a pleasant fall day, the discovery had attracted a crowd of curious onlookers from around the community—the type of fuel that fed the holy fire of Pastor Plait’s ambition.

Thus in his element, the pastor commenced his shaking, his shouting, and his screaming. The ghost, essentially harmless like the one before, was pleading for help—begging not to be sent back from where he came, but Pastor Plait’s zeal for justice was not to be denied.

“Thou art [Plait found Old Testament lingo to be of benefit in his profession] a creature of Hell, destined for life eternal in a fiery darkness of your own making! As it is written, it is just that Thou suffer, and Thou will find no succor among these good brethren! I now commandeth thee to return from whence thou came!”

And with a flourish he threw his Bible into the deer stand, and the ghost moaned in agony as it returned from whence it came. “See good brethren how they fear the Righteous!” he cried to the impromptu congregation of the fields.

The third “deliverance of justice” occurred at the old civic auditorium, right in the heart of Plait’s hometown. Some kids looking for a quiet place to huff spray paint got into the building (or what was left of it after the fire) and discovered a ghost huddled in the corner of the concessions area. Plait was summoned, (by the Mayor!) and he made the frightened, half-stoned kids watch as he went through his self-made “deliverance” ritual. This ghost was quieter than the ones before, almost resigned to its fate and merely uttering a tired “Please don’t do this” as Plait threw his trusty Bible.

“That’s when I started calling this Bible ‘The Postman’, ‘cause it sure does send things to far-off places!”. Guffaws from the new friends at Double Rock. Then Plait used the kids’ misadventure as an opportunity to deliver a short aside about how sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll inevitably lead one to embrace the twin evils of Communism and Collectivism.

The “deliverance” at the auditorium made Pastor Plait a regional celebrity. The flock grew at his home church, and he was very much sought after by local churches, revivals, youth groups, and so on.  It was what brought him to Double Rock this particular evening. After finishing his testimony, Plait held the alter call, humbly collected the love offering, and stayed around afterwards to greet the flock (even gave his first autograph!). So it was late and quite dark out before he began the drive to his home across town.

Along the way, the car’s headlights shone upon a man waving his arms in warning. Behind the man a very old-looking boxcar sat alone and motionless on a section of railroad track that ran across West Kitner Street.  Plait brought his car to a stop and cracked the window so he could hear what the man was trying to say.

“Just trying to make sure nobody runs into this thing, what with it blocking the road and all—hey! Is that you Pastor Plait?” said the man. Plait looked closer and recognized the man as one of the brethren he had met earlier at Double Rock, the one who introduced himself as Aaron.   

“Yes, it’s me—you’re name’s Aaron, right? What’s going on here?”

“I was heading along and came upon this boxcar just sitting here blocking the road, just like you see it now. No train people around, no warning lights, no nothing.  I was scared somebody would drive into it so I been trying to signal people coming down the road until some help can get here, but you’re the first one to come along.”

“That’s neighborly of you Aaron. I’ll drive by the police department tell them they have a problem to solve.”

“Actually pastor, if you did that they might end up calling you back here anyways.  There’s something not right about this boxcar.”

“Something wrong other than it being an abandoned boxcar blocking the road?”

“Well it…look now Pastor! It’s doing it again!”

Plait looked at the boxcar, noticing first the iconic but fading “Equinox” logo on the side. Equinox was the name of the regional freight company before it got bought out by International back in ’89.  Then he saw it begin to glow with a soft green light.

“That’s what it was doing when I happened upon it, Pastor. That light ain’t natural. I think we may have one of your ghosts here.”

Plait’s first thought was that Aaron was planning to rob him of the love offering from Double Rock, but then he considered that the damned boxcar might just be haunted, and it wouldn’t do for people to get the idea that the brave ghost deliverer shied away from his duty. He figured he could handle Aaron if need be, and if anything got too hairy, well, he had his pistol handy.

“You’re right Aaron. I’ll have a look—you keep watching out for cars. If nothing’s there then I’ll go get the police, fair enough?”

Aaron agreed to the plan, and Pastor Plait, with “The Postman” in one hand and his pistol under his jacket, headed towards the boxcar. As he approached, he saw what appeared to be the flicker of firelight dance through a small gap in the boxcar door.

When he squeezed through the door he saw a small campfire burning in the center of the car. Curiously, no smoke was rising from the fire. A few feet from the fire a man wearing a grey work shirt was sitting behind an old wooden teacher’s desk. “Come in Pastor Plait”, said the man, “we need to talk.”  

“I just knew Aaron was setting me up! Well I got a little surprise for you!”, Plait shouted as he produced the pistol from his shoulder holster. He aimed the gun at the man and told him to get down.

The man gave Plait a patient but irritated look. “Yes Pastor, Aaron does work for me in a sense.  He’s also my brother. Now” he said, gesturing towards the pistol “I think we can dispense with that foolishness and get to the business at hand. And speaking of foolishness, you need to knock off all that carrying on you’re doing with the spirits around here.”

“Get thee behind me Satan!” Plait hissed. “I do the work commanded by the Lord our God! I will not be deterred from my vocation by a couple of charlatans bent on robbery and malice!”

“We don’t want your money and we’re not here to tell you that you can’t be a preacher or a teacher or whatever” the man said. “What we are telling you is that The Boss wants you to leave the spirits be. They are for me and Aaron to deal with, and you’re not making our job any easier.”

“I…I don’t understand”, stuttered Plait. The fire danced and sparked as if a fresh log had been thrown upon it.

The man stood up from his chair and walked around in front of the desk. Plait noticed the man’s blue Dickies trousers and work boots. “Look Pastor, your job is to save souls, right? Well, that’s exactly what me and Aaron and others like us do—we save souls, only we do it in a different manner.  Has it ever occurred to you that the ghosts you’ve been tormenting might be here for a reason?”

“Yes!” replied Plait, his gun still drawn. “The reason is because they’re trying to escape the everlasting punishment due them! I send them back to the Hell they’ve earned!”

The man leaned back against the desk. “Let me ask you this Pastor…if the Almighty intends their punishment to be everlasting, how could they possibly escape His judgement?”

Plait blinked twice, then shouted with fury “You deceiver! You blasphemer! I am His hand of justice! You are a spawn of Hell, and that’s where I’m sending you now!”

The man stood still as three shots passed through him and ricocheted off the wall of the boxcar. “Pastor, I asked you once to dispense with that foolishness.”

Plait stood unbelieving, uncomprehending. With all his might he threw his Bible at the man, who caught it out of the air.

The man thumbed through the pages. “It is indeed a good book”, he told Plait, “especially those parts about charity and mercy. It even has a pretty good ghost story early on, don’t you think? Man, that Saul…he was one of those guys who never listened.”

“Get thee behind me Satan!” yelled Plait once more. “I do the work commanded by the Lord our God, and neither you nor your brother will deter me from my vocation!”

The man gave Plait a sad look. “We don’t have to, Pastor.”

The man and the boxcar vanished, and with the floor having disappeared from beneath his feet Pastor Plait to a hard fall to the track below. As his caboose hit the crossties, he gathered his wits just in time to see a fast-approaching light and hear the echo of a horn. Followed by a roar.

The police officers arriving at the scene took a statement from an eyewitness named Aaron Gideon, who reported no fixed address. “All I saw” he said “was a man get out of his car near the track and start walking. It’s hard to tell now but I figure it to be the same man who got hit by the train.”

At the Coroner’s inquest, testimony was offered by Hubert and Earl, the Barton Boys. They lived in their old family manse on Daisy Hill, and their home overlooked the scene of the incident. According to Earl’s testimony: “We were watching TV sometime after 10:30 I guess when we heard a commotion coming from the tracks, and it wasn’t a train commotion either. We go out back and from the porch we see a man wandering the tracks and yelling at something we couldn’t see.  Then he starts firing a gun, and then with the train bearing down on him he commence to throw something at it! Whatever it was he threw, it weren’t gonna stop a 3,000-horsepower turbocharged diesel engine.” The Barton Boys knew their trains.

(NOTE: This is a silly ghost story, nothing more. Don’t see things that aren’t there—SN)