Page 43 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

He brakes hard as we come to the intersection of two paths. A crossroads. “You said this place is a ghost town. I should have realized it as soon as we entered and everything felt deserted. It’s a town of vengeful spirits. They sleep during the day and wake at night to haunt the place.”

“An entire town of vengeful spirits? Full homeowners’ association–style? Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately. We have to get out of here before others wake up.”

Something flickers past his shoulders. “Might be too late for that.”

I nod at where the little girl materializes with a woman at her side. Her mother, I assume, if the gaping wound on her throat and matronly nightgown is any indication.

“Not that way, then,” Luke mutters, gassing the bike and making a sharp left. We fly down the alley between two rows of boxcars, emerging at the other end.

And slam to a stop.

“What the fuck?” I breathe against the back of Luke’s neck. The gates to the junkyard are blocked by what look like civilians, until I truly take them in. Their clothes hang loosely on their bodies, their eyes shine with a phosphorus glow, and all are sporting open wounds or injuries.

“You’re not leaving.” The little girl is at the front of the lineup, her bear still clutched in one hand and her mother’s hand in the other. “Not until the party’s over.”

Luke revs the engine of the bike, which sounds like it’d rather he didn’t if the responding sputter is any indication. He tilts his head so I can hear him over the roar and says, “I really wish you’d found those helmets.”

“What’s that supposed to— Ah!”

He guns the gas and we bowling-ball ourselves straight toward the spirit pins.

When we hit them, the bike fishtails but Luke miraculously keeps us from careening into the ground. I bury my head in Luke’s back to make myself as small as possible. Shrieks from the spirits rise past the howl of the engine, though the bike bursting through their ghoulish forms doesn’t seem to harm them. Fingers reach for me, dragging against my arms and legs, there one second and gone the next. Pain blooms in their wake, the marker of an unpleasant truth that these ghosts aren’t as incorporeal as the souls on the train. I have no doubt my jeans and jacket are sporting fresh rips. My knee throbs as my legs press in to hug the body of the bike.

“You okay?!” Luke yells as we soar through the gate and skid onto the cracked pavement of the main road we came from.

“Peachy!” I reply shakily, though my vise grip doesn’t relent. “Did we lose them?”

“I was about to ask you. I’m driving!”

Glancing over my shoulder, my chest spasms at the sight.

“Well?” he asks.

The spirits follow us, descending the hill we zoom down in a tirade. They move swiftly, like they’re floating, their feet dragging against the ground. Despite the speed we’re going, they’re not just keeping up.

“They’re gaining on us,” I tell him. “A lot of them. Twenty, maybe thirty. And it doesn’t look like they’re slowing anytime soon.”

“Shit.” He hauls us impossibly faster. The boost puts more space between us and the spirits, but not enough to ditch them. “Remember how I told you I didn’t want to make a scene at the Night Market? Change of plans.”

Fourteen

The endless darkness is broken up by a smattering of lights in the distance.

“Is that the Night Market?” I ask, hope searing through my chest. The spirits are gaining ground, and every bump in the road feels like an invitation for the bike to fall apart beneath us.

“Let’s hope so,” Luke yells back. We zoom toward it like a moth to flame, the lights growing brighter by the second. “Spirits don’t mix well with others, hence them having their own rural town. They’re basically anarchists that can’t be trusted in the office. Leading them here is going to unleash chaos in a place chaotic enough on its own. The faster we can lose them and leave, the better.”

He grinds to a stop as we arrive outside where the stalls start, lingering in the shadows of the first tent. “Get off.”

“Me?” I ask, as if we picked up a hitchhiker and he’s talking to someone else.

“You want to be a part of this as an equal? Now’s your chance. We need to cheat the clock. Time is different in the Night Market. It slips by unknowingly, with seconds actually minutes and minutes really hours. To give ourselves as much time as possible, we need to be in two places at once. You take our bags and find the stall with Hazaar. He sells potions. He’ll bargain with you for the contents in mine. Accept no less than two hundred soul jars. Don’t eat or drink anything, don’t make any deals with anyone else, don’t even stop to talk or look at other stalls. Find Hazaar, and I’ll find you. Got it?”

He unloads his backpack and my duffel into my arms. I gape at him as he gets back on the bike. “What about you?”

“They’re called vengeful spirits for a reason.” Luke nods back at where the spirits are still rushing toward us. “They won’t give up easily. I’ll give you a head start to slip inside the market and then I’m going to lure them in after me, giving you enough time to go make the trade.”