Koji Suzuki - Edge

There were a number of variations, and Hans had read similar stories in a number of books. Families of ghosts wandering the highways …

The sight Hans beheld now was different. Everything about the Pontiac suggested that it had held passengers just moments earlier. But somehow, they had vanished from sight, as if swallowed up by the desert. In fact, it brought to Hans’ mind the image of a ghost ship at sea.

On the one hand you had the vast ocean, on the other, a North American desert. The setting was different, but the common thread was the theme of an empty vessel, its inhabitants absent but the traces of their existence still very much apparent.

Then again …

Perhaps there was a much simpler explanation, Hans reminded himself. Maybe the car had broken down and when the family had pulled over, another car had happened by and given them a lift. Perhaps they had grabbed only the barest of necessities and headed back towards Route 58.

That was probably what had happened. Hans had almost convinced himself when the scent of citrus reached his nostrils. The tangy, lemony scent hit him full force.

Maybe some sort of desert plant gives off this scent , he mused. But the fragrance was so fresh and juicy. He breathed deeply, his nostrils twitching and his eyes widening.

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he thought he felt the earth vibrate ever so slightly. Not like an earthquake, really, more like something bubbling up from underfoot. Like when you stand above a subway vent and a train goes by below, sending up gusts of warm, humid air.

Hans was dressed casually in a t-shirt and shorts, leaving much of his skin exposed. The breeze ruffled his leg hair and the hem of his t-shirt as it blew up his back to the nape of his neck. He took a step backwards, and then another.

There was no need to look up; Hans knew there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. This was no ordinary wind. It was absolutely localized, gusting suddenly straight up from the ground in just one spot.

He recoiled and raced back to his car. Less than a minute had elapsed since he’d parked his car and gone to investigate the Pontiac, but it felt like much longer. He opened the door, slid into his seat, and released the parking break. “All right, let’s go,” he said to his wife.

There was no reply. Hans didn’t need to glance towards the passenger seat. Even staring straight ahead, he knew.

His wife wasn’t there.

“Claudia!” Hans cried, almost shrieking. His body turned to stone. Where was his wife? Even if she’d gotten out of the car and run as fast as she could, she couldn’t have gone far. Hans looked left and right, but Claudia was nowhere to be seen.

But more than the terror of his wife’s disappearance, Hans was paralyzed by something he sensed behind him, an unidentifiable presence that seemed to grow ever closer. He had never experienced anything like it. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end. Hans knew Claudia hadn’t snuck into the back seat to give him a scare. This was nothing so innocent. In the dark stillness, he could feel the air waver ever so slightly, like the warm clamminess of someone breathing slowly in the back seat. The air flowed over the console box. Not from the air vents, but from behind. Slow, rhythmic breathing …

“Clau …”

Hans tried to call his wife’s name again, but his voice stuck in his throat. He knew he could catch a glimpse of the back seat through the rearview mirror, but he lacked the courage to look. Of course, he knew there was nothing there. But what on earth was going on? Hans had no idea what to do. Should he open the door and dive out of the car? Or step on the gas and speed off?

As if trapped in a nightmare, he found himself rooted to the spot. He was finding it harder and harder to breathe. He tried to inhale and began to choke, tears welling in his eyes as he coughed and sputtered. In just a few brief moments, the world had gone mad. But he didn’t even know what it was that was strange. Outside, Soda Lake glowed ever redder in the chasm between the mountains.

As if in response to the reddening surface of the lake, Hans felt a hand reach out from behind him and tickle his earlobe, whispering sweetly in his ear. Indescribable seduction. Hans knew what the thing wanted. It wanted him to turn around. It wanted him to see once and for all what was in the back seat.

Come on. Look back here. Hurry .

Hans struggled desperately, but he knew it was inevitable. In a matter of ten seconds — no, less, probably — he would have to turn and look.

9:34 p.m., December 13, 2012

Summit of Mauna Kea, Island of Hawaii

Even in Hawaii, where summer was said to reign all year long, at 4,200 meters above sea level the temperatures were below freezing. Mark Webber, a member of the Hawaii outpost of the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan, had just returned from the dome that housed the Subaru Telescope and was taking a seat at the monitors in the adjacent control building. He hadn’t walked far, but the frigid air had chilled him to the bone, and he was still shivering.

All Mark had to do was descend the mountain into the town of Hilo, and he could stand on the beach in the summery sun. When he returned to the summit it would be winter again. Mark had now been living in this summer-winter dichotomy for five years. Of the two, he preferred the warm sunny beaches, but with Christmas approaching, the mountaintop scenery certainly had its charms. His plans to spend Christmas vacation with his fiancée Miki were coming along smoothly, and the very thought made him hum a cheerful melody. They would make a long overdue return to the mainland and stay in Las Vegas for a week, taking in as many shows as they could. The plan had been in the works since last year, and Mark had managed to obtain tickets to everything they wanted to see. It was finally really going to happen. He buzzed with excitement anticipating his last prenuptial Christmas.

Leaned all the way back in his computer chair, he reached for a sandwich on a nearby cart. When he sat back up again, the motion brought into view a section of the distant sky. The monitors he sat before displayed light patterns gathered by Subaru’s 8.2-meter-wide lens, the largest single one on the planet.

Mark had peered into countless telescopes since junior high school, when he’d first taken an interest in astronomy, and each time he was utterly enchanted by the glittering views of space they contained. At an altitude of 4,200 meters, with air pressure two-thirds that of sea level, the sky was usually clear and dry at Mauna Kea’s summit. The conditions here were ideal, and the Subaru was one of the world’s most sophisticated telescopes. Not surprisingly, the view in the monitors was breathtaking. It bore almost no resemblance to the sky he’d viewed through the telescope he’d gotten for Christmas as a boy.

As Mark finished his sandwich and reached for his mug of hot coffee, his hand froze in mid-air. It was an unconscious response, and for a moment he didn’t even know what it was that had made him freeze. Probably some slight disturbance in the monitors before him. The telescope was currently pointed at the Sagittarius constellation, towards the Milky Way bulge. He was investigating the electromagnetic waves surrounding the black hole thought to be at the center. Had he spotted one such wave? No, that wasn’t it. It was something more basic, something even a child could notice.

Mark entered a command to set the images back in time by one minute. The view was automatically recorded by a separate device, so he could rewind the footage without causing any problems. He stared intently at the images, trusting himself to pick up whatever it was that had given him pause.

“What?” Mark said aloud, leaning in towards the monitors. He rewound the footage by two seconds, then played it back again, in slow motion this time.