She heard something. Outside of city limits there’s all kinds of noises at night. Mad dogs barking. Coyotes howling. Heavy equipment doing early morning sweeps through cornfields. And, every seventeen years, the cicadas singing into the night. Like a Biblical plague. She heard something.
Voices echo out here. You can hear a whisper for miles. There are no secrets. A small child crying over a mess they made. Parents scolding a kid. Lovers arguing on front porches under a shady moon. But, this noise was different. This noise she heard. Came from down the road. It was a beat, a thug, over and over again. Like some Indian hitting a drum. There was a rhythm to it.
Ghosts run rampant out here. They walk down roads. Dance in fields. Sometimes sit at the dinner table. Maybe it’s a ghost, she thought. Calling out for help, the girl mumbled. Always calling out for help. Wish God would make up his mind on where to send em, she turned on the truck and followed the beat.
There was a light coming from the woods. A supernatural light. A glow. It was a small boy shining in the dark. Beating a drum. They looked at each other. Neither smiled. Just looked at one another. Then, he was gone. In a flash. Gone. And, so was the sound.
Maybe he was calling out for something. Somebody, she said the next morning to her mother. I don’t know what he wanted, the teen washed out her glass. Could’ve just got here. Just arrived. One more noise I gotta put up with, she said. One more ghost.