David Morrell - The Shimmer

Before the birthday boy arrived, other kids hid in the field. When he climbed the fence and started into the darkness, they raised lanterns, but as soon as he headed in their direction, they covered the lights. That made him look around in confusion. The next thing, he saw other lights-more lanterns-and went toward them. Then they disappeared. The joke ended when the kids with the lanterns couldn’t keep from laughing.

But sometimes the kids who were hiding saw other lights, and it was obvious that those lights couldn’t be lanterns because some of them floated high off the ground. They moved this way and that, and merged and changed colors, and kept getting larger and coming closer. That was another way the joke ended-when it suddenly wasn’t funny and the kids with the lanterns decided it was time to go home. That rite of passage ended after the Fourth of July, 1980. No one wanted to go into the field after that, and when Chief Costigan came to town to replace his father, who’d been shot to death, the field remained off-limits because the chief kept driving out there at night to try to figure out what the lights were.

“Sure, we kidded around about the lights,” Johnny said that June, lowering his hamburger. “But the truth is, nobody knows what they are.”

“They’re nothing,” Jasper Conklin said. “I bet I’ve been out there a hundred times. Never seen ’ em once. People who claim to see ’em are putting you on.”

“Well, I’ve seen ’em,” Johnny said.

“So have I,” Luther added. “And my mom and dad have, too.”

“Let’s make a difference and do something the town’ll remember for a long time,” Johnny said. “Let’s find out what causes them. Let’s have a Ghost Light Hunt.”

That was a typical Johnny idea, but the name had a nice shivery sound to it, and he suggested that they do it after the shitty Fourth of July fireworks and make a real celebration.

“Why not?” Jasper said. “We’ve got nothing better to do.”

They mentioned it around town, and then parents heard about it, and some of them-especially the editor of the weekly newspaper- thought it might be interesting. So the newspaper printed an article, and the next thing, there was a meeting in the high school gymnasium. A lot of people didn’t want anything to do with the hunt-they were happy with the way things were and felt that some things shouldn’t be explained. But most of the people were tired of not knowing what was out there, and a few had their own reasons for wanting the hunt to take place.

“Hell, before he died, my grandfather told me he saw the lights way back during the First World War,” Josh McKinney said. He owned Rostov’s only movie theater. “At the time, the town was afraid they were German spies, sneaking across the Mexican border. The Army came out and couldn’t figure what was going on, so to be on the safe side, they built that training field out there. Then they reactivated it during the Second World War, when the lights made the military nervous again. All these years, people around here have been trying to figure out what they are, and no one’s ever succeeded. Personally I don’t think you’re going to find out this time, either, but I’m all for trying, ’cause when you fail, it’ll only make the lights more mysterious, and we’ll get more tourists.”

“And more customers for your theater, eh, Josh?” somebody joked from the crowd.

“Well, I wouldn’t turn down the chance to sell more popcorn.” The way Josh grinned got a laugh, and everybody started talking at once, but the mayor didn’t bother calling for order because it was clear there was going to be a Ghost Light Hunt. Those in favor would work out the details on their own.

So that Fourth of July, hundreds of people gathered at the gravel parking lot outside town. All those headlights blazing were a show of their own, Luther thought, and the overwhelming rumble of that many engines, mostly from pickup trucks, was awesome. Johnny arrived on his motorcycle. Luther had a 1960 military-style Jeep he’d bought from a junkyard outside El Paso. A natural mechanic, he’d re- built it and painted it yellow. Several cowboys arrived on horseback.

Everybody was talking so much that Waylan Craig-who owned the hardware store-needed to use a bullhorn to get everybody’s attention.

“Shut off those engines!” His amplified voice struggled to compete with the noise of the vehicles.

A few people complied, and then others. Before long, Luther could hear everything Waylan said.

“And shut off those headlights! I didn’t think I’d need sunglasses at this hour!”

A couple of people chuckled, and soon there were only enough headlights to keep people from stumbling around in the dark. Luther looked up into the cloudless sky and saw the stars of the Milky Way stretching brightly across the sky.

“I brought eight sets of walkie-talkies from my store,” Waylan announced, “As soon as you get organized into groups, I’ll hand ’ em out. Naturally I ’d like ’em back when we’re finished-unless, of course, some of you want to buy a pair.”

That got more chuckles.

“You’re supposed to have your own flashlights,” Waylan continued, his words echoing into the dark grassland. “But in case you forgot, I brought some of those from my store, also.”

“And you want them back, too, unless we decide to buy them,” somebody yelled from the crowd.

“This week, they’re on special.”

Even more chuckles.

It wasn’t that Waylan was funny. A lot of people in the crowd had come with a supply of beer, and most of the men were sipping from cans. A few kept going back to their trucks to drink from bottles in paper bags. Luther noticed that some of the teenagers had beer cans, too, holding them close to their sides, trying not to be obvious. A breeze carried the smell of alcohol through the crowd.

As a result, it took more than an hour to get organized. Somebody brought wire cutters from his truck and opened a wide section of the barbed-wire fence.

“We’ll want to be sure to repair it after we’re done,” Waylan said.

“Got any tools to sell us to do that?” somebody yelled.

Four pairs of spotters were placed at strategic areas along the fence, about seventy-five yards apart. Each pair had a telescope, a compass, and a walkie-talkie. People went through the gap in the fence and spread out in a line about thirty yards wide.

Mayor Ackerman took charge of the bullhorn.

“Once we get started, just keep walking straight ahead. Use your walkie-talkies to tell us if you see the lights. As soon as we get every- thing coordinated on a map, we’ll send trucks in that direction. They’ll get there so fast, whatever’s causing the lights won’t have a chance to slip away.”

“My motorcycle’ll get there faster,” Johnny said.

Luther almost added, “And my Jeep.”

“My horse can get to places nobody else can,” a cowboy said.

“Everybody’s help is welcome,” the mayor assured them through the bullhorn. “Those of you in the line, don’t use your flashlights un- less you absolutely need to. They’ll ruin your night vision. Be- sides… ” His tone indicated he was about to make a joke. “We don’t want to scare whatever’s making those lights. Heck, we may look as mysterious to them as they do to us.”

But it didn’t get a laugh, and Luther decided that some people in the crowd believed that the mayor was right.

Finally, a half hour before midnight, everybody started. Well, not everybody. Some people got tired and cold and went home. Others had too much to drink and fell asleep in their trucks. Lucky for them. But the majority spread out carefully and started walking into the darkness of the rangeland.

“Happy Fourth of July!” someone shouted.