avatarPaul Mansfield

Summary

A ghost story unfolds in a rural setting where a preacher with the supernatural ability to communicate with spirits helps the ghost of a young girl, Susie, who perished in a car accident, to move on to the afterlife, providing comfort to her grieving mother.

Abstract

Set in a Southern landscape, "The Girl’s Last Ride" tells the tale of Susie, a ghostly presence living in an abandoned limousine, who is unable to find warmth since her tragic death. Her mother, bound by the yarn of her knitting and the memories of her daughter, is visited by a preacher possessing a divine gift to communicate with spirits. This preacher offers solace to Susie and her mother by guiding Susie's spirit to peace, relieving the mother of her spectral burden. The narrative explores themes of loss, familial love, and the intersection of the mundane and the mystical, culminating in a bittersweet parting that promises reunion in a warmer, better place.

Opinions

  • The author suggests that the bond between a mother and her child transcends death, as Susie's spirit lingers to comfort her mother.
  • The story conveys a sense of skepticism towards organized religion, as the preacher's unconventional methods are initially met with suspicion.
  • The preacher's gift is portrayed as a divine intervention, emphasizing the belief in a higher power that can intercede in human affairs.
  • The rural setting and the characters' straightforward manner of speaking reflect a certain authenticity and gritty realism, contrasting with the ethereal elements of the ghost story.
  • The narrative implies that acceptance of the supernatural can lead to closure and healing, as seen in the mother's eventual trust in the preacher's abilities.
  • The story subtly critiques the idea that material wealth, as exemplified by Pappa's failed dreams of riches, is a path to happiness, instead highlighting the importance of familial bonds and spiritual peace.

The Girl’s Last Ride

Susie lives in the back seat of a rusted-out old limo in the front yard of her Momma’s house if a ghost lives anywhere

Photo by Taylor Deas-Melesh on Unsplash

“Momma, I wish you’d knit me a sweater. It’s so cold at night,” Susie says from the back seat of the old limo.

The limo sits in the front yard of our house, rustin’ away beside the chicken coops and the other junkers Pappa worked on before he went to Raiford.

The grass is long and hides the rest of Pappa‘s treasures — junk Momma calls it — scattered through the yard. Pappa was going to get rich and move down to Florida, where it’s hot, and we’ll never have to work again. Well, he’s in Florida now, making a dollar a day on the chain gang.

“I know, honey. I would if I could. Maybe if this yarn were magic,” Momma shrugs and replies, her hands full of knitting, balls of yarn filling her lap.

“I’m sorry Momma. All I’ve done is bring you tears.” Susie cries.

“Shush, little girl,” Momma replies. “You’re here with us, and we’re family.”

“There’s a stranger coming up the laneway,” I yell.

A man with long, greasy hair tucked up under an old gray fedora is walking up the laneway. He wears a black baggy suit, at least one size too big for him, torn and dusty from the road. His cowboy boots — snakeskin — just don’t fit in with his suit. He’s holding something in one hand and has a rucksack slung over a shoulder. As he comes close, it looks like a book he’s carrying.

Yep, it’s a book — a beat-up bible bound in leather.

“Howdy, preacher,” I say to the man. “We ain’t got much use for preachers these parts, unless they’re dancin’ with snakes.”

I’m known for gettin’ down to business, and we don’t need no churchman up here snoopin’ — not with Susie in her state.

“I ain’t here to beg money for no noble causes, son. God gave us a beautiful land, but forgot to give us any gold. We all make do with what we got. I was just walkin’ on by, and thought I’d visit for a spell,” the preacher replies.

“Let the preacher in,” Momma yells, knitting away.

“Thank you, ma’am. Much obliged,” the preacher responds.

The preacher pulls up a chair beside Momma and chats away. It’s good that Momma has somebody to talk to, other than Susie. Talking to a ghost makes you tired and sad all the time.

After some pleasant chit-chat, the preacher stands as it is getting late. Momma hasn’t invited him for dinner, and he’ll need to find his chow somewhere, I suppose.

But then, Susie whispers, “Momma, I’m cold.”

The preacher peers at the limo and walks over. He stops outside the limo. “Child, you look cold. Why are you sitting in here when there’s nice, warm places for you to be?” Forcing the door open, he crawls inside the wreckage with her.

“I can’t leave, mister. Momma needs me to help around the house, but I’m always cold,” Susie replies.

“It’s OK, honey,” the preacher replies. “What’s your name, and how did you get here?”

“I’m Susie, sir. I was coming home from prom, with my boy. It was past midnight and raining. These here mountain roads get awfully slippery in the rain. Our driver wasn’t from here and took a corner too fast. We slid off the road.”

“It was scary,” Susie continues. “The car slid, we hit something and started rollin’. All I heard was metal crunchin’ and people screamin’. Then it started hurtin’ real bad, and I got real cold. Then it stopped hurtin’. But I’m still cold.”

“That’s terrible, my child. I’m sorry,” replies the preacher.

“I saw a bright light but Momma needs me, so I didn’t go. I couldn’t leave Momma,” Susie continued. “And next thing, I’m here, with Momma, and I’m cold.”

“There, there, hun. It’s OK. I know you love your momma, but this ain’t good for either of you,” the preacher says soothingly.

The preacher looks out the window to Momma and says, “You know this ain’t right. You know that if she stays here long enough, you’ll be gone and she’ll be alone. And then she’ll be free of the limo, angry and sad and lonely. And you know what happens then.”

“Yes, sir, I do, indeed know. My momma and her momma told me stories. I know,” Momma asks. “Can you help my baby?”

“With help from my Gift and from above, I can,” the preacher replies.

“Your gift?” Momma asks. “And what Gift is that?” She stares at him, all suspicious-like.

“My Gift is from our Lord. I can talk to spirits, and help them move on when they get stuck here on earth,” the preacher replies.

Momma makes the sign of the devil, and yells “Blaspheme! Don’t you blaspheme here.”

“No ma’am, tis true. I swear it on my bible, your bible, a stack of bibles, on the corpse of our dear Lord and Saviour, if that’ll help you believe,” he responds.

“Your little girl is in trouble, and she needs our help. Will you let me help?” the preacher pleads.

“Yes, she needs our help. All of our help. If your Gift can do it, please help her. Please help Susie.”

“I will do what the Lord allows me to do,” the Preacher replies. “Can you get in here with her, so she knows that she’s loved as we go through this ordeal. This voyage from this life.”

I help Momma to the limo, and hs manages to squeeze herself in with the Preacher. The preacher begins his prayers.

Momma then turns to Susie; Momma says, “Susie, it’ll be alright. You’ll be warm, soon.”

“But I don’t wanna go,” Susie replies.

“Hush, little baby, make sure everything’s ready for Momma when I come.” Momma smiles sadly.

“You’ll come soon, Momma?”

“Soon, baby, soon.”

“Momma, I feel funny,” Susie says. “Y’all are fading away, but I see a light.”

“Go ahead, honey. Be strong. We’ll be comin’ to join you sooner than you know,” Momma whispers into Susie’s ear as she fades away.

Momma stiffens as her little girl disappears, and with a sigh, says, “She’s to a better place. Rest in peace, little darlin’.”

I help Momma climb out of the limo and lead her back to her rocking chair, where she grabs her yarn and starts her knitting.

“I wish she had a sweater. She’s always cold,” Momma sighs.

I turn to the preacher and say, “Thank you for your help, but it’s probably best if you move on. We’ve got chores, and if the neighbors knew about your Gift….”

“I understand. There are always people needing my help down the road,” the preacher responds.

“Jed, get the preacher some fried chicken and a glass of apple-pie shine before he goes,” Momma yells. “Ain’t nobody leaving my house on an empty stomach, even if they’ve got the Gift.”

“Yes, momma,” I reply.

“If you could just wrap some up, I’ll take it with me. I have to hurry along,” he replied.

Momma and I watch the preacher walk down the laneway, eating fried chicken. We both cry a spell.

This story is mostly what I submitted to NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge, Round 1. The genre required was “Ghost Story,” the location was “in a limo,” and the required object was “yarn.”

I added to the story where it was the weakest (Momma accepting the preacher’s Gift as heavenly) since a thousand words just weren’t quite enough to tell Susie’s story.

Paul Mansfield is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all.

You can follow him on Twitter @pmansfield.

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Fiction
Flash Fiction
Short Story
Ghosts
Religion
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