38. Mounds

It’s a Monday afternoon, and I’m sitting on a bench on the sidewalk of the main strip of Solitary. A strip about as big as those nasal strips that professional athletes wear over their noses during games. There’s really not any kind of strip, but at least I’ll know when the guy I’m supposed to meet shows up.

So as for grand plans … well, this isn’t part of it. I don’t think this is part of any kind of plan, to be honest.

It’s just completely random. But it’s a job. A job that I discovered on the busy bulletin board just inside Harrington High. I took the little note written in regular handwriting.

I glance at it again now.

Interested in part-time work? Weird hours, great pay. Call Mounds.

I still have the paper in case Mounds doesn’t show up. Or in case he gets lost on the way to Solitary.

This job wasn’t given to my mom like the job with Iris was. Iris wanted me to work with her. I was always meant to work with her.

Mounds? Probably not.

Probably the last thing I should be doing is hanging out with Mounds.

The ad sounded like a joke, but I took the notice and called the number over the weekend.

“I’m right here,” a laid-back, low voice answered.

“Yeah, I’m calling about a job.”

“Really?”

I waited.

“Yeah. At the high school. Said ‘interested in part-time work. Weird hours, great pay.’ Said to call Mounds.”

“Yeah, I’m Mounds.”

“Well, then—I’m interested in the job.”

“Okay.”

More silence.

“So what exactly is the job?”

“You ever hear of a ghost hunter?”

“Is this for real?” I asked.

First the strange ad and the stranger name. Now this.

“Ghosts are for real, sure.”

The guy talking doesn’t have a Southern accent. He’s got the whole laid-back thing down, but he sounds more like he’s from the West Coast.

“So the job is for ghost hunting?”

“Nah, that’s what I do,” he said.

“Then what’s the job?”

“Pays great, man.”

“Doing what?”

It was like talking to a five-year-old.

“Helping.”

That was all he said.

“Helping with what?” I eventually asked.

“Ghost hunting.”

I didn’t think this was for real, but I was kind of amused. Which lately is a rare thing. Mounds eventually told me to meet him in downtown Solitary at 5:00 p.m.

It’s 5:20 when a dirty and rusted-out minivan pulls up and uses two parking spaces, not that anybody will really care. I can’t see the guy driving but figure if it’s Mounds, he’ll get out.

I wait about five minutes and then I go up to his door. He rolls down the window.

“You Richard?”

The guy has wild hair and an even wilder beard.

Of course he does.

I shake my head. “Are you Mounds?”

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“I’m Chris. The guy who called you about the job.”

“Oh, yeah. Chris. Rich. Yeah, sure. Come on. What you waiting for?”

How about you?

“Are we …?”

“Hunting,” Mounds says, raising his eyebrows as high as he can get them. “For ghosts.”

“So I’m hired?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Oh.”

“What? You want a job interview? Want me to check references?”

I smell Italian food coming from inside the minivan.

“Come on. The night is calling us.”

I guess there are worse things I could be doing than getting into a falling-apart minivan with a ghost hunter named Mounds.

Really? Like what?

This is the moment that I could just bolt and he probably wouldn’t care.

He might not even notice.

“Dude, look,” Mounds says. “I’m not gonna kidnap you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what I’m worried about.

“I mean, if I was going to, don’t you think I’d be a little more cleaned up? The whole van, too. Come on. That’s like just screaming Silence of the Lambs, right? Maybe subtlety isn’t my thing. But people like me aren’t the ones you’re supposed to be afraid of. It’s those guys looking like ordinary accountants who just sorta fit in and meanwhile they’re chewing on someone’s foot late at night.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or be completely grossed out.

He does have a good point.

Staunch and Marsh hired Lily to get to me.

“Man, I don’t have all night.”

I sigh and shake off my fears. If I keep thinking like this, I’m never going to open another door my entire freaking life. I climb inside.

“So, Rick,” he says as he turns up the stereo.

“Chris.”

“Uh huh.”

Led Zeppelin jams in the minivan. It definitely smells like an Italian restaurant in here. I look in the back and see what appears to be a red plastic briefcase sitting on the seat.

“Oh, yeah, the smell,” Mounds says. “I deliver pizza when things are slow.”

Taking one look at the very large figure of Mounds, I get the impression that he also tends to sample some of the pizza. Maybe lots of the pizza.

Suddenly the “great pay” seems a bit of an exaggeration.

But Mounds quickly answers what I’m thinking. At least one question I’m thinking.

“I do it so I can meet people. Scope out homes. I’ve been doing this long enough to just know. You just get that vibe from people. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“You do? You really know?”

I shake my head. I was just trying to be polite.

“Some people really do know, you know?”

He starts driving out of Solitary, and I ask where he’s going.

“Want some work?”

“It might be good to talk about hours. Pay.”

“Yeah, yeah. What, are you an accounting major or something?”

“I’m in high school.”

“Oh, yeah.”

There’s a particularly loud and long guitar jam, and he cranks it up as if I’m not even here.

He’s a big guy. His beard and hair make him look like a hippie. He doesn’t look like a bum or anything. He’s actually wearing long shorts and flip-flops and an oversized tropical shirt as if we’re in Miami or something.

He turns down the stereo so we can talk.

“The hours I can’t tell you. They’ll always be different. I’ll give you a hundred bucks every time we head out. Another hundred if we find something.”

“How do I know what we’re looking for?”

“That’s what I do. You just hang with me. Carry equipment. Bring me food and water. That sort of thing.” He looks at me, then laughs. “Come on, man. I’m just kidding about the food and water. Unless I need it, of course.”

I stare ahead at the winding road. This is the way to Kelsey’s house.

How about we stop by and maybe grab something to eat while we’re there?

“Where are we heading?”

Mounds looks at me, and for a second I picture a California Santa Claus.

“Into the belly of the beast, man.”

He squints his eyes and looks at me. And as he does, the minivan drives off the road and heads toward the ditch next to the woods.

Mounds jerks the steering wheel and gets us back onto the road. Then he gives me a soft punch on my arm.

“Man, I’m just messin’ with you. We’re heading to an abandoned church a little ways from here. Nothing big. Never been there myself, but heard some stuff. But then again, I always hear stuff.”

I nod. Then I ask the obvious question. “Is Mounds your real name?”

“Yeah, like my parents deliberately named me after a candy bar,” he says.

“So it’s a nickname.”

“No. My parents deliberately named me after a candy bar.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Really.”

“Yes.” He shakes his head. “They smoked a lot of dope on the beach. I guess they really loved their Mounds bars, you know?”

He just laughs, and I laugh with him.

Then a crazy thought comes to my mind.

This guy has got to meet Aunt Alice.

Being a ghost hunter now, maybe I’ll eventually end up back at her place. Maybe Mounds will finally be able to tell me what’s up with these mannequins that keep popping up everywhere.