Home » Writing » THE GHOSTRIDER » Chapter 1


by Dragomira

Libraries: Drama, Mystery, One Shots, Original Fiction

Published on / 1 Chapter(s) / 0 Review(s)

Updated on

Buckle up your seatbelt as you go on a ride with the Ghostrider... it will be the drive of your life.





Tick, tick, tick.

The rhythm of the constant rain had caused a slumber atmosphere in the small, standard NS bus stop. It was a quiet day; only 4 people were hiding under the glass shelter with its characteristic single  bench, which no one sat on because it looked like it was being held together by chewing gum and other nice surprises for the people who dared to sit on it.  One of the four was an old lady with such a suitcase-looking bag as every single old woman had for the groceries, the others were a business man in suit complete with little black suitcase and long brown raincoat, a lanky looking student who was standing just on the edge of where the rain would make him wet, smoking a cigarette, and a teenage girl named Morana.

“global warming my ass.,, she thought cranky as she combed her long brown hair out with her cold hand and gazed through the rain, looking out for the bus.

It was exactly half past three now, it should be here any minute. This thought crossed her deadly bored mind as she moved her gaze from her watch to the student, and kept surprising herself about him, the way he knew where the edge between getting wet and not getting wet was kinda intrigued her. “must be pretty practiced.,, she thought cynical while the student coughed and threw away the little cigarette end. Morana sighed and tried to gaze through the rain, in search for the bus, when suddenly out of nowhere a engine roared close to her.  She jumped a bit and looked up fast, just fast enough to saw the back of the car disappear in the rain. That wasn’t an ordinary car, she knew, as she looked out of a now empty road waiting for her heart to slow down. It had been the back of a classic black Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham, one from 1966. She wasn’t that much of a car lover, but it happened to be one of the favorite cars of her uncle, or had been, considered he had died three months ago. Uncle Joe had been everything she could possibly wish for, he was funny, playful and always had this little shine in his eyes which made people laugh at everything he said, funny or not. He had this air of “being cool without acting cool” which she had admired about him. He had been like some sort of second dad to her, after her own parents divorced 9 years ago. It wasn’t that she didn’t see her own dad anymore, it was just that their bond (if you could call it a bond) could be best compared to a slowly dying little animal, you knew it was going to die sooner or later, you just kept lying to yourself that everything was alright, while you were just waiting for it to die. That made the day she heard about his death even more painful. She could remember every bit of it, how the commissary told her mom, brother and her that he crashed in that same black Cadillac on the route to his house, how her mother had cried, how she had cried, how even her tough brother had cried, while thinking back of how it used to be: his smile, his endless explanation about his car… the same car that would literary kill him someday.

The sound of the buss stopping by woke her up from her thoughts, as she grabbed her card and ran to the opening doors, which promised a dry seat inside.

“why is the bus always late?,, she thought with a sigh and mental eye roll as she looked at her watch again.



That evening the rain had luckily stopped. Her happiness came from the fact that she was out of credit for the bus, and she had planned to meet a couple of friends in the popular youth café The Red Rover. This was the place for people at the age of 15 till 21 to hang out, in the weekends there were concerts and the drinks and food were cheap.  She looked in the mirror for the last time and grabbed her leather jack before yelling goodbye to her mom upstairs and leaving the house. Tonight she’d go oldschool with her bicycle, the 20 minute drive wasn’t the worst, she was just way too lazy to cycle every time she went to The Red Rover.

She looked up to the sky and prayed that it wouldn’t rain tonight. (god I never ask for anything because I actually don’t really believe but please if you make sure that it won’t rain tonight I will even go to church… someday. Amen.)

She already recognized Matt’s bike, and Abby’s and Damian’s too. The doors were open and laughter rolled outside over the street, like the yellow dim light of the lights inside. She would order a big cup of coffee, and then… maybe a beer or two, who knew? Most people of age sixteen would starts with the beer, but she wasn’t the “let’s get drunk” type. She was more the “lets watch people doing dumb stuff when they are drunk” type. She hurried inside and looked around, it was crowded today, everywhere she looked in the room with its orange-brownish walls and wooden tables and chairs. Most of those tables were occupied tonight she saw as she searched for the owners of the familiar bicycles outside.

She found them in the back, after walking around for a couple of minutes.

“hey Mor!,, a happy voice, a flash of red hair when Abby got up and squeezed me in one of her death-trap hugs. “hello Abby,, I smiled while waiting for her to pull away, I didn’t like getting hugged, I had hugfobia and she knew that damn well. “hey, how’s it going?,, Damian’s voice, calm and relaxed as always he sat there. He was a very handsome guy, no denying in that. With his flawless dark skin, big dark-brown eyes and teeth whiter than pearls he was in my eyes way too beautiful. Every time I was near him my self confidence slunk, dammit. I sat down and looked around, Matt, with his brown always messy hair and twinkling blue eyes was the drinker of the group, he had Russian relatives and nobody had ever beaten him in a drinking game. He could easily  drink a bottle of Bacardi pure and then walk away.

“have you heard about Angelina and Mark?,,  Abby began fast. “what? You mean the party they threw after being a couple for 3 months? ,, I never really liked Angelina, thought she was way too much of a girly-girl, but I didn’t know her enough to be sure. even the boys were listening now, something they never did when Abby began to talk to me like this. “No.,, Matt said slowly. “she meant the fact that Angelina never returned from a night going out.,, I almost dropped my coup of hot coffee. “what?,,

“I said-,, Matt started, before I interrupted him. “thank you, captain obvious. What happened?,, I turned to Damian and Abby.

“apparently she was kidnapped when she was smoking outside, Mark came outside when he heard her scream, but… it wasn’t fast enough.,, Abby stopped, but Damian took over. “he said he saw her getting dragged inside a car, a black Cadillac.,,

Morana gasped, the coffee forgotten now. “I saw a black Cadillac driving past the bus stop at Merril Street. Never saw it here before.,, everyone was silent, and occupied by their own thoughts. Like the tables: every group their own table, every person their own thought. In the same café, but at the same time a thousand miles away from each other.

Suddenly Damian stretched out and broke the silence. “I doubt it’s the same.,,

Three pair of eyes looked at him in disbelief.

“how so?,, I frowned, her voice sounded a bit hysterical, but she couldn’t help herself. Just the thought the kidnapper (and possibly killer) had been just a few inches away made her shiver. Maybe Angelina had been there, inside that car...

“she was kidnapped in Burton City, right? It’s a long drive from there.,, Damian, calm and reasonable as always, continued relaxed. “he’d find out where she lived within no time, I’m sure. And even if you want to go to the airport, who would drive all the way to a little town like this?,,

We were still looking at him like he was shitting Skittles.

“you know what?,, this time Matt broke the silence. “let’s all go to the police this Saturday, okay? See what they got.,,

“yeah that sounds good.,, Abby said with fake enthusiasm. She was a much closer friend of Angelina, they had known each other for like two years or something.

And thus kidnapping became a taboo for the rest of the night.


A couple of days past within the familiar rhythm; school (okay, not every day, but hey, what do you expect with the amount of information they try to push into your brains?), going to the gym, and before I realized it, it was already Friday, and I didn’t even have a good week. Wednesday morning the disappearance of Angelina was announced on the radio, nice way of waking up. Everyone seemed to talk about it, as I tried my best to put the black Cadillac out of my mind. And yet I was surprised when I saw it was Friday, Funny how those things go. Tuesdays and Fridays had been standard Red Rover nights as long as I could remember. Not that I was an outgoing type, even in the Red Rover I wasn’t the party-girl. We drank some beer, got a little drunk sometimes, but none of us had been in a real coma so I guess we did a good job with that.

This night Matt would pick me up at my house, at Fridays after school he always worked at the little convenience-store within half a mile of my house, so he always dropped by around seven and we always were the first of the four. Today was not an exception, at five past four the bell rang and Morana grabbed her bag and favorite leather jacket, said goodbye, pretended to listen to what her mom said about drinking and loverboys and what creepy stuff not, and left the house.

They walked down the familiar way laughing and joking, not knowing that what would happen later would wipe the smile faster of their face than those damp wipes they sell with the overexcited toddler on the pack could clean dirt off your hands.

As expected, we were the first of our friends at the Red Rover, and suddenly I realized that I felt like getting really, batshit drunk for the first time in my life. Tomorrow we would go to the police station to talk about Angelina, it would be painful, even though we hadn’t particularly been “bff’s”.

And for the first time this week she felt terribly guilty about spending more thoughts over the Cadillac that her.

The guilt and worries poisoned her mind as she comforted herself with the thought of not being able to walk a straight line later.


It had been the wildest night she ever had.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had planned to get really drunk, and for the first time this year she wasn’t only able to walk straight, but she couldn’t even think straight anymore.

Around 2 ‘o clock she stumbled outside with Abby on her left, Damian on her right and Matt on Damian’s side. They laughed and she had the time of her life, when a black Cadillac stopped near the pavement. Damian let go of Morana’s shoulder (she wasn’t even aware of that) and stumbled to the car, the driver scrolled down his window and showed me his scary familiar face.

“uncle Joe!,, she followed Damian, it was her turn to hold on to him. A little voice in the back of her head warned her, but she pushed it aside. Maybe he wasn’t dead after all, maybe he was really there, maybe he had come back to her… the man behind the wheel asked for the way, his eyes glancing his old familiar glance. Sure she would show him, her friends were there with her, what could possibly happen? The two of them stepped in, Matt and Abby had gone further without them, knowing Matt probably going back to drink some more. Damian took a seat in the front, he had heard Morana calling him “uncle” so this was good. He started to drive, Morana looked at the back of his head from her comfortable seat, sniffing up the old familiar scent of leather which came from them.

Suddenly the man turned around and looked me straight in the eyes. “you remember me don’t you?,, he said with a sly smile on his face. “of course I do! You’re my uncle! How cou-,, she stopped in the middle of the sentence, the alcohol wasn’t enough to keep away the nerve wrecking fear and realization that took over her body. A funeral, there had been a funeral. Even if he wasn’t dead from the car accident, he had lied in the coffin…

“y-you’re dead,, she whispered. She heard Damian jump up from his seat, unsure about the whole thing he started pulling the handle on his side, without result.

“yes I am.,, he said in a tone like he was telling me that trees are green. “since then doomed like a ghost, luckily enough I could keep the Caddy… and you two will join me soon… you know too much, Morana, you have to follow  me. Trust me.,, the ghostrider smiled for the last time at her and before she could make any attempt of a escape-

BANG! The car had crashed through the safety rail on the side of the road and hit the trees, everything started spinning around as the car rolled down the hill. When it finally came to a rest, red hot flames came from under the car to devour what was left of the car.


The next morning, Commissary Myles Kennedy came in with a newspaper in his left hand and a coffee in his right. The paper said:

“one teenager, age 16 named Morana Abbadon crashed in a  1966 black Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham.”

And the second part said: “second missing teenager, Damian Johnson”

Just a few meters away, outside of the police station, a black Cadillac drove away with growling engine.


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