13. The Man Who Forgot to Die

Sometimes you just wanted to take a walk. Not everything had to be about something, Ray thought to himself as he stood at the bottom of Bridle Hill. So what if people said it was haunted up there? So what if it had been the site of hangings in colonial times. And what of the crumbling ruins of a sanitarium that sat atop the hill? What did it mean?

“It means nothing.” Ray muttered under his breath, as he began to climb. He soon discovered the slope was steeper than it looked. The wind blew across the land, causing the tall grass to wave back and forth, stirring up leaves and other debris on the path. Ray stopped to catch his breath, some teenagers bolted past him, laughing.

He leaned against the split rail fence that made its way up the hill. He was probably halfway to the top. A middle-aged woman was making her way down the path. Her face was flushed. Sweat was beading on her forehead. She gave him a tired smile. “Sorry I’m so slow.”

“Take your time.” he told her.

“Thank you. I didn’t realize it was so steep.”

“Neither did I.”

She started to pass him and then stopped. She frowned. “I know you. You’re Ray Hobbs, the psychic.”

“Yes.”

“I went to one of your shows a few years ago. My daughter took me. It was interesting.” she said vaguely. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it up there.” She glanced up the steep incline. “They say it’s haunted.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that.”

She opened her pocketbook and rummaged through it, pulling out a crumpled store receipt. “Can you sign this?” she asked, offering it to Ray.

“I don’t have a pen.”

She dug into the bottom of the purse and produced a ballpoint pen. “Here you go.”

Ray took the receipt and pen and signed his name. He gave them back to her.

“Thanks. My daughter will be thrilled.”

“I hope to see you both at my next show.”

She gave him a knowing smirk before continuing past him and down the hill.

Ray took a deep breath and renewed his effort. He trudged upwards for another few minutes, being passed several times by younger people. Finally, he crested the hill. A warm breeze blew at his face as he looked across the landscape.

He could see the whole county in its lush spring greenness. White church steeples poked up from the canopy of trees to indicate the various towns. Far in the distance was a mountain range. Ray wished he had brought his camera. You didn’t see a view like this very often.

He stood for a moment, looking over the countryside, and catching his breath before continuing up a grassy embankment to the crest of the hill. A crumbling cement wall, two stories high, and the remains of a scratched linoleum floor were all that was left of the sanitarium. It had been built in the early 1900s and operated until the late 1960s, when it was abandoned and left to the elements and local vandals.

Ray walked around the structure, careful not to trip on the jagged heaps of broken cement blocks that littered the ground. It was hard to tell if the elements, or humans had caused the near destruction of the building. The wall that remained contained two windows, one on the ground floor, and one on the second story. The glass had long broken, leaving gaping holes for ivy to gain purchase.

Ray circled around the remains of the sanitarium. The backside of the wall was quiet, looking into the woods. Birds tweeted as they darted to and fro. Ray took a deep breath as he enjoyed the solitude. Then he saw it, a flash of white in the corner of his eye.

“Oh crap.” he muttered. He had come here for some peace and quiet.

No sooner had he uttered the words then a man dressed in a hospital gown came up beside him. “Who are you?” the man asked.

Ray tried to pretend he didn’t see him.

“Don’t ignore me.” the man said, gliding in front of Ray. His face was ashen, his dark hair sticking nearly straight up. “You’re one of them strange types who can see the dead. When I was alive I didn’t believe in your kind. There’s all sorts of dead people around here for you to gawk at.”

Ray finally looked at him. “I’m not here to gawk. I’m here for some quiet time.”

The man seemed doubtful. “People like you always want to be the center of attention.”

“I don’t.”

The man looked over Ray’s shoulder and laughed. “Look who’s here!”

Ray turned around to find a dead man in a colonial great coat and breeches strolling towards him. “Rayven Hobnail. I haven’t seen you in nearly two hundred years.”

Gerald Fife. What did he want? “I’ve been busy.” Ray said.

“Posing as a mystic?”

“I’m not posing. I’m real.”

Gerald laughed. “Do they know you’re three hundred years old?”

The man in the hospital gown chuckled. “You’re ancient.”

Ray glared at him. “Be quiet.” He turned to Gerald. “Why are you here?”

Gerald shrugged. “It’s a good place to haunt. That’s why people come up here. That’s why they go to see you. They want to believe in you.”

Ray didn’t say anything.

Gerald chuckled. “Ray Hobbs. It’s sounds ridiculous. Why don’t you use your real name?”

“You know why. Someone might connect me with the past.”

Gerald laughed some more. “Oh yes, you were so important back then, someone might remember you.” The man in the hospital gown laughed too.

Ray turned away from them. He walked around the ruins, leaving the two dead men behind to snicker about him. He hurried down the hill to the parking lot. He didn’t need to stop to catch his breath. Not only was it easier to go downhill, but the site of Gerald had brought him hundreds of years back in time. His mind was suddenly in the past.

As he started to open his car door the woman who had asked for his autograph came up beside him. “Well, what did you think?”

Had she been waiting for him all this time? “About what?”

“Up there. Did you get any vibes?”

“No.” he said, opening the driver’s door.

She nodded as though she knew a secret about him. “I thought as much.” She hurried away.

He got into the car. It was broiling inside. He rolled down the window and started the engine. As he pulled out of the parking lot the woman waved at him, still smiling her sassy smile. She thought he was a fake.

“If only.” he muttered to himself, before pulling onto the road, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.