Gleason McCormick had wasted most of his Saturday doing chores—cleaning his apartment, washing his car, and grocery shopping for the next two weeks. He needed to get away from people. The trim young electrician carried a bottle of Negra Modelo to the balcony of his rented townhouse, planning to sit in a wicker chair and enjoy the mountains to the east. The crisp air made them glow in the late autumn sunlight. Chugging from the squat brown bottle, he surveyed the landscape. The juniper and pinon forest was only a few miles away. He checked his watch, noting that there was plenty of time to drive to the trailhead on Old Santa Fe Trail and hike to the tops of Monte Sol and Monte Luna. He’d be back in his car before dark. Besides, there’d be a full moon tonight.
“I hope I don’t meet any werewolves,” Gleason joked, finishing his beer. “Especially this close to Halloween.” Chuckling, he walked to his white Fiat convertible and drove, top-down, to the trailhead. He stepped out, looking up to gauge the sun marching toward the horizon. Soon it would sink behind the Jemez Mountains. “There’s plenty of time,” he assured himself before raising the cloth top, locking the doors, and stepping onto the trail.
Engulfed in his own thoughts, he walked alone. Memories tinged with regret and melancholy consumed him as he walked up the trail toward the summit. He knew that encountering a bear, cougar, or even a rattlesnake was unlikely. Still, he felt anxious about encountering something dreadful and dangerous.
At the top of Monte Sol, he viewed the city below for several minutes while a few wispy clouds accented the sky. The distant mountains in the west darkened as they melted into shadow. He decided to go to the next peak, Monte Luna. A saddle ran between the two peaks. Walking at a slow pace to avoid tripping on the loose rocks littering the trail, he noticed the changing light and cooling air. Looking west, the sun had disappeared completely, leaving footprints of clouds, some brilliantly lit, others as gray as ash.
“The sky’s still bright,” the wiry man told himself. ”I’ll be fine.” Now at the bottom of the saddle, he began his climb to Monte Luna’s peak. His clothing fluttered in a strong gust as he wove his way around boulders and fallen pinon branches. Looking back, dark clouds appeared quickly from the north. In the summer, it was common to have a sunny day last until late afternoon. Then dark clouds would race across the sky to deliver their watery cargo. However, it was highly unusual at this time of year. Almost spooky.
Fear made him shiver with a sudden dread. His hair rose. Lightening cracked the sky, and a bolt crashed a mere hundred yards behind him. He quickened his pace. At the top of Monte Luna, he could once again see the city lights and guessed his car was within a forty-minute descent. Yet some presence was slowing his progress. As another flash followed by thunder crashed through the air, the electrician began jogging to get off the mountaintop—a prime target for lightning strikes. Branches of trees and thorny shrubs scratched at his face and hands and tore at his clothing. He tried following a downward path only to run into impassable outcroppings of granite and steep, hazardous slopes. At least it hadn’t begun to rain yet, making the terrain even more slippery. He muttered a prayer of thanks after seeing the moon burst momentarily through the clouds, hoping Luna would lighten his way.
With strained eyes, following down one false path after another, Gleason realized the shadows from the trees all went the same direction making every narrow clearing look like a trail. “Please help me,” he cried, hoping someone would hear him: God, the Universe, his ancestors, anyone. He stumbled onto what looked like an actual path, three feet wide and winding eastward. He picked up his pace, focusing on getting to the car. Aloud, Gleason encouraged his tired limbs and thundering heart to continue. One step, then another. The moon disappeared again, but enough light from the city allowed him to see vague outlines. He counted his steps to keep his thoughts focused, like a new Buddhist monk counting his breaths as he learned to meditate. He stopped abruptly, heart skipping a beat and shaking from head to toe as something flashed across his path. He raised his hands to his chest, lungs aching. He calmed himself for a moment and gathered his wits. Then shaking his head, he muttered, “A rabbit; it was just a rabbit.” Then refocusing, he added, “I got to get back to the car.”
He began again at a rapid pace. But before covering more than forty feet, a loud, commanding voice within his head shouted, “Stop!” Immediately he froze, looking at the gnarly tree to his right. Turning once again to the gloom before him, he saw that he had stopped before stepping off a cliff thirty or forty feet above a landing of jagged rocks.
Gleason stared at the tree again. He shook his head, feeling he imagined the voice. Perhaps his intuition had saved him. A slight glow appeared within the branches. A formless dim light took shape, becoming a face and upper torso. “Are you the one who saved me?” he asked the specter.
“Yes. Look over the edge.”
Gleason stepped to the edge as closely as he dared. Half a dozen skeletons and rotting corpses lay on the scattered rocks below, illuminated by a greenish, unholy light. He turned from the fluorescent vision to the pale face within the branches. “Thank you. Thank you.”
The ghost in the tree saw the questions in Gleason’s eyes. Its face softened, and its glow became warmer. Tears shone in its eyes. After long contemplation, it said, “A hundred years ago, maybe more, I argued with my younger brother, David. We were walking this very trail, and we began to fight. I was bigger and stronger. The boy escaped my grasp and ran as I chased him to this very cliff. David’s tears kept him from seeing clearly. He fell to his death.”
“The bodies I know you see are no longer there. You see only echoes and reflections of the horror and agony left behind. I was distraught, and anticipating my parent’s reaction when I returned alone, I jumped too. I couldn’t bear to face them.”
The ghost saw compassion in the young man’s face as he asked, “Where is he now? Your brother?”
“He’s in heaven,” the spirit replied. “David is with God.” He paused a moment, then continued. “As our broken remains lay battered and bleeding, our spirits sat up feeling vibrant and strong. An angel appeared and told David she was there to take him to heaven. I was overjoyed for him, but my mind immediately realized that she had not come for me; I began imagining devils and demons clothed in fire coming to retrieve me, eyes bright with malice. Hearing my thoughts, she turned to me and asked, “Why?”
“I murdered my brother.”
“You did not. You were angry. You fought. But his death was an accident.” Squinting her eyes and tightening her lips, she added, “But yours was not.”
“So I am banished to Hell for eternity? Isn’t that what happens to suicides?”
“No. But you must wait until you forgive yourself for what has happened here and the death you inflicted upon yourself.” The three of us ascended to where you now stand. The angel spoke once more. “David, hug your brother goodbye. You will see him soon, but it will seem a long time to him.” We held each other, tears flowing from ethereal eyes. I told him I was sorry, and he forgave me.
The angel put her hands atop my shoulders and said, “Your soul has given you the task of warning others who venture too close to this cliff. You must warn seven people, and then you will be free.” After a long silence, the ghost smiled at Gleason. “You’re number six.”
The face faded as the sky began to clear. The full moon shone as before, and a million stars joined Luna in the black sky. A benign glow illuminated the proper path. Gleason made his way to the car, knowing that he had barely escaped death with the help of a penitent ghost.
Copyright ©2022 by Richard Lane Church
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be copied or used for any purpose without the express written permission of the author, including but not limited to printing, recording, public display, copying, or distributing, even without monetary gain.