The Ghost Dog

I think I was 16 when a group of my friends from the Bay Shores Trailer Park decided we would go try to see the Ghost Dog in the city of Anaheim. A classic urban myth, but Gail our eighteen year old bad influence, said she knew where it was and volunteered her 54 Ford truck to go there. Laurie, my then girl friend, plus Nick and Dave could all wanted to go too.

We pile into the dark green truck three in the front, and Laurie and I in the back above the large slick tires. The modified V8 revved up and we screeched out of our low rent park and hopped onto the 55 freeway. We were all excited about going out and looking for trouble, but by the end of the evening it would be looking for me alone. We did not get lost and after a few turns Gail soon had us stopped and looking at the Ghost Dog; it was an apparition on the road below a streetlight at the end of a street populated by by homes. It was a combination of grease stains and background shadows, but it did look like a dog to all of us. We got excited and drove up the lane to where the dog seemed to be standing and pulled over a bit on the wrong side of the neighborhood road. A house to our right was completely dark and a group of occupants were inside using flashlights in a random way. At least we thought it was people because the drapes were closed. This gets us all excited, “what the hell is going on in there” we all think. Dave gets out of the front and into the back of the truck and doing so grabs onto a branch of a tree to help him get in. He is hanging onto that branch when Gail finally spooks and guns the engine to life. As Dave a tall and skinny guy falls into the box of the truck the tree somehow splits in half and makes a cracking noise as it falls to the ground behind us. The truck squeals it’s tires and the engine roars as we leave the Ghost Dog behind.

Gail finds a donut shop very close to where we had just been and she pulls over for some food. Laurie and I remain in the back of the truck as the rest of them buy the donuts and coffee. We talk about what we had just seen sitting in lawn chairs, our back to the cab and Laurie to my right. I am looking around to my left and I see something strange. An old beat up black sedan is driving slowly into the parking lot and turns towards us. I notice because the car has no windows, they have all been broken including the one in front. I can clearly see the man driving and he locks his eyes on mine. He pulls up to my left and Laurie is not paying attention at all, but I am. The man has a rifle and points it at me. He looks like a homeless guy, dirty and unshaven but he speaks clearly when he says, “Why don’t you all go find somebody else’s backyard to play in”. I say sir we are leaving and going home after we leave here, next to me Laurie still has no idea what is being said between us. The man lowers the gun and then slowly drives away and then Laurie asks, “what’s up with that car”? I tell her and go into the store and tell the rest of the “gang” what just happened to me.

Dave is the only one who thinks we should go back, the rest of us being of sound mind elect to bail and go home. On our way back Laurie starts throwing donuts at the car behind us on the freeway; I’m quiet and brooding and disgusted with her.
You see for all intense and purposes, I‘m the only one who saw this guy. For the others he was just a ghost I had seen. A ghost who has dogged me for the rest of my life.

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Tags:

dog, ghost, truck, driving, story, memory and reckless