Ashlyn's Radio (17 page)

Rachel grabbed the DVD/TV remote from the table. “So what do you want to start off with? A tormented Vincent Price slowly going mad in
The Pit and the Pendulum
, or a tormented Vincent Price slowly going mad in
House of Usher
?”

Ashlyn set her glass on the table. “Before the movie, do you want to see something really freaky?”

Rachel turned toward her. “You’re not going to rip your face off, are you, Ash? ’Cuz that’s been done to death.”

Ashlyn snorted a laugh. “Better. Come with me.”

Rachel followed Ashlyn as she jumped off the couch and headed through the kitchen to the basement door. Ashlyn opened the door slowly, mentally telling herself it was more for dramatic effect than due to any real fear she felt. And then telling herself that again. The radio scared the bejesus out of her. That song. The one to the tune
of Coming ’Round the Mountain,
but with words all of its own.

Those haunting, mysterious lyrics.

She’d been chewing on those for a while. But not with any real conviction that there was any other conclusion to be drawn than the one she’d arrived at. Without doubt, the radio’s prophetic song was about Rachel. Her friend was the one meant to
get on board the train/whose life wouldn’t be the same
. Hadn’t the conductor been there to meet her the other night? And hadn’t Rachel almost stepped onto the train as he beckoned, ‘All aboard’?

When they reached the bottom of the steps, Ashlyn reached up and turned the light on. Carefully this time, releasing the cord gently so the light didn’t send those shadows flying around. The old Henderson Radio stood there under the low-light glow, looking every bit as still and harmless as it always did when silent.

Ashlyn wet her lips. Now, how to broach this with Rachel? How to tell her she was standing before a haunted radio? A device capable of—

“Oh wow,” Rachel said. “Is that Crazy Catherine Brennan’s haunted radio? The one with the prophecies! I’ve heard so much about it! Is it true that if you scuff it up, the scuff marks won’t stay?” She stepped forward and laid a flat hand on the glass radio dial, pulled it away and looked with glee at the popcorn-greasy fingerprints she’d left behind. “Let’s see what happens.”

“You knew about this?” Ashlyn asked.

“Duh. Everyone in Prescott Junction knows about this! Catherine Brennan’s radio is the stuff of legend. I remember my grandmother talking about it. About how Catherine would go around the Junction warning of impending death and illness. Singing her sad songs as she walked along the tracks — songs of doom and destruction. Wouldn’t that be cool? To hear something like that? Let’s turn it on. Maybe we’ll get some news—”

With a quick hand to her arm, Ashlyn stopped Rachel from reaching for the dial a second time. Her friend didn’t share her fear, nor did she share her knowledge.

“Better not, Rachel.”

“Why?”

Ashlyn drew a deep breath. “We never turn it on. It just turns itself on when it has something to say. Sometimes it’s a bit of news. Or a strange song. But it’s on its own timing.”

Rachel was practically vibrating with excitement. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe we’ll hear it later.”

“Yeah … that’d be great,” she said, lying through her teeth. “Lucky or what.”

Back upstairs, they polished off the popcorn in no time. And Ashlyn made up the second batch of smoothies as Rachel popped
The Pit and the Pendulum
into the DVD player. Happily, they both loved those old movies. They were good and scary, but without the gore. And Rachel seemed really relaxed this evening, more relaxed than Ashlyn had ever seen her. Less on guard than she was at school or even when they’d walked around the Junction this afternoon. Ashlyn had shown her the yearbook she’d “borrowed” from the library earlier in the day, and she’d genuinely been interested in the old photos and blurbs about Ashlyn’s parents.

They popped in
House of Usher
next, and soon enough fell into a comfortable silence as they watched it. For the most part. Just when it was getting really good, and Ashlyn was getting really scared, Rachel started snickering…. And Ashlyn would maybe have joined in with a chuckle, had she not seen the tears in Rachel’s eyes.

“What’s so funny?” Ashlyn asked. “Being buried alive by a madman, while nobody knows about it?”

“There are worse things.”

“Such as?”

Rachel wet her lips. She hesitated so long, Ashlyn didn’t know if she’d asked the question aloud. Finally, Rachel took a deep breath. “Being buried alive, while someone
does
know about it,” she said. “And yet … and yet they just don’t give a rat’s ass. Being buried alive by a madman, and nobody giving a rat’s ass about it. Yeah, that would be worse.”

She was talking about herself. About her own home situation — she had to be. Ashlyn knew damn well she was. “Rachel, someone
does
give a rat’s ass. I do, you know I do. Tell me what’s going on?”

Rachel shook her head. “You should know by now, Ashlyn Caverhill from Toronto, just how it works in Prescott Junction. Everyone—”

Ashlyn cut her off mid-excuse. “Yeah, yeah, I do know. Everyone stays in their beds at night no matter what they hear, and nobody talks about the scary stuff. But Rachel, I’ve seen the bruises. I know you cut yourself. And I know there’s a reason. Tell me about the scary stuff. Tell me who’s hurting you. What’s burying you alive?”

A single tear slid down Rachel’s cheek, and angrily she slashed it away. “I can’t. I just … I just
can’t
.”

It was on the tip of Ashlyn’s tongue — what to say next.
You can trust me.
And Rachel could. But she just didn’t know it yet. Ashlyn could only pray in time, she would.

She broached another subject.

“Rachel,” she said. “You were going to get on that train the other night. And you can make whatever jokes you want, Caden and I both saw you. Saw the look on your face. If you’d grabbed that conductor’s hand, you’d be—”

“Free.”

“Dead!” Fear made Ashlyn snap. “You’d be dead and your soul would be on that train with the other lost souls. With my father’s soul. I don’t know what the hell Patrick Murphy found so horrible about my coming into the world, but whatever it was, he killed himself over it. And that’s
permanent
Rachel. That’s forever! And I don’t want your soul trapped there too.”

It was only when Rachel reached to brush away another tear from her cheek, that Ashlyn realized she had shed one herself.

“Rachel, I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Don’t get on the train.”

Rachel bit down on her bottom lip. “But I—”

“No buts. No excuses. No anything but a promise. A real one, between friends. Don’t get on the train. You’re being buried alive? I hear you. And I know you’ll tell me when you can. And when you do, I’ll do what I can to help you. But you’ve got to promise me.” Ashlyn grabbed her hand tightly as if grounding her somehow. “Promise me you won’t get on the train.”

Finally, Rachel nodded. Reluctantly nodded. “Okay, Ashlyn. I promise.”

Ashlyn let go of her hand, and both girls turned themselves toward the TV in time for a particularly blood-curdling scream. “I know how she feels,” Rachel mumbled.

Ashlyn nodded. “I know you do.”

It was a start.

The girls didn’t finish the second movie. Ashlyn found herself dozing off before the
House of Usher
had even started to shake. She looked over at Rachel. Realizing that she looked as tired as Ashlyn felt, she suggested they call it a night.

Rachel was all too agreeable.

Ten minutes later, they were tucked into their respective sleeping bags, lights were out, and the peaceful glow of moonlight shone in upon the girls. In less than a minute after her head hit the pillow, Rachel was gently snoring. After such an early start to the day, Ashlyn wasn’t surprised that Rachel was out like a light.

But of course, now she couldn’t sleep! She didn’t even feel like closing her eyes. Lost in thought, she stared up at the ceiling.

So much was different here from Toronto. She huffed a small laugh as her mind drifted to the popcorn. But it wasn’t just the little things that were different. And there was so much to be scared of here — the train, the radio. So much to understand that Ashlyn just … couldn’t.

Rachel chuckled softly in her sleep. Ashlyn looked over. It was good to see her sleeping so easy. Good to have a friend like her. Yes, she missed her Toronto friends, but Ashlyn had to admit, she missed them less and less every day. There was a little pang of guilt attached to that realization. But Rachel was fun. Funny as hell. Tough as nails, but she had a bit of a soft spot when you got through the protective exterior.

And then there was Caden.

Ashlyn snuggled a little deeper down into the sleeping bag as she wondered if he was thinking about her too right now. This very minute. Maybe he was dreaming about her. She bet. She hoped. Oh, God, she hoped! In the night, in the still quiet of his motel room, did he—

Her increasingly lustful thoughts were shattered as the radio sounded downstairs. Quite involuntarily, she screamed into her hand and bolted upright, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

The tune! Again the same damn tune as before! She could barely make out the words, but dammit, she knew what they were! Without taking time to unzip her bag, Ashlyn scrambled out of it and was beside Rachel in a flash. She grabbed her by the shoulders. “Get up!” she yelled.

Wide-eyed, Rachel startled awake. “What the he—”

“We’ve got to get out of here! Quick, come with me to the kennels!”

“Why? And why are you yelling?”

Of course! Rachel wasn’t a Caverhill. She couldn’t realize she was yelling over the radio. She couldn’t hear it!

“Rachel, the radio.”

Rachel sat up straight, her face taut with excitement in the moonlight. “What about the radio?”

“It’s playing!”

“I can’t hear it.”

“I can! And we have to get the hell out of here. Maudette said if the radio played, we were to run to the kennel office.”

Rachel crawled out of her sleeping bag and left it on the floor as she raced out of the living room behind Ashlyn. But as the two entered the kitchen, instead of heading for the exit, Rachel pulled a sharp left and ran to the basement door.

“What are you doing?” Panic filled Ashlyn’s voice. Despite her earlier resolve that she would listen to what the radio wanted to say, she wasn’t so sure that doing so with Rachel there was a good idea. Not with her friend having been so close to boarding the train the other night.

“I’ve got to see this! I may not be able to hear it … but maybe I can see what’s going on.” Deftly in the dark, quickly, Rachel ran down the basement stairs.

“Rachel, don’t!” Ashlyn’s warning was of no use. Ashlyn started down the stairs as Rachel turned on the light.

The song. Ashlyn wanted to cover her ears as the song played, over and over….

The conductor will be there to greet her when she comes

When she comes

The conductor will be there to greet her when she comes

When she comes

She’ll get on board the train, her life won’t be the same

The conductor will be there to greet her when she comes.

Trying to stay calm, trying to keep her breathing even as she stood at the bottom of the stairs, Ashlyn turned to Rachel.

“They’re gone, Ash,” Rachel said.

“What’s gone?”

Rachel giggled. “My fingerprints!”

Ashlyn nodded, and waited. But Rachel said nothing about the glowing radio dial. So even down here, inches from the radio, she couldn’t hear it in all its haunting glory. Apparently, she couldn’t feel the booming vibrations coming from the beastly thing either, as it played that damnable, damnable song!

“You’re right,” Ashlyn tried to keep her voice even and low, suspected she was failing miserably. “Your prints are gone. Well, nothing else to see here. We’d better—”

“What do you hear?”

Ashlyn stood very still.

“Tell me, Ash. What’s the radio saying?”

Ashlyn hesitated too long to come out with a plausible lie. But the last thing she wanted to do was reveal those lyrics to the one who was undoubtedly the subject. But Rachel saw it — the look on her face as she mentally scrabbled for a way to evade the truth, to hide it from her friend.

Rachel’s look grew cold. “You asked me to promise you. To trust you and now … and now you don’t trust me. Is that the way it works, Ashlyn Caverhill from Toronto? Trust is only a one-way street? Good enough to trick the witchy girl, but not real on your side, huh?  Well, if that’s the way our friendship is, then I don’t want it. Thanks but no, thanks.” She started up the stairs. “Been a slice but—”

Ashlyn stopped her with a hand on her arm. Not gently touching but clawing. Her heart sank like a stone. Because Rachel was right. She had to trust her. Sweet Jesus, she had to warn her.

The lyrics started all over again as Ashlyn made her decision. In a voice that she knew was a whisper compared to the radio’s roar, she began. With a tentative voice, she started to sing along with that evil radio:

The conductor will be there to greet her when she comes

When she comes!

The conductor will be there to greet her when she comes

When she comes!

She’ll get on board the train, her life won’t be the same

The conductor will be there to greet her when she comes.

She could practically feel the goosebumps growing on Rachel’s flesh. And see the terrifying delight in her friend’s eyes when Rachel said, “It’s me. The conductor’s waiting for me. That song has to be about me.”

“You promised me, Rachel. You promised you wouldn’t get on that train.”

After her own blip of hesitation, Rachel nodded. “I know I did. And I meant it.”

“Now, can we get out of here?”

“Yeah, we can.”

Two at a time, the girls ascended the steps. They left the light on below — to hell with walking up in the dark. Then Ashlyn stopped them both dead in their tracks. For the song had ended once again, but instead of restarting with those unholy lyrics, Ashlyn heard different words from that sexy, seductive voice: