71. Uh Huh
“So do you know a lot of the urban myths and all that for Solitary?” I ask.
Mounds has a jumbo-sized thing of soda in his hand. “I hate that term, ‘urban myths.’ That’s a way to cover up genuine ghost stories. And this town is full of them, my friend.”
“Do any of them involve werewolves?”
We’re sitting at a McDonald’s after visiting a cemetery over by Hendersonville. We didn’t find anything there, not like the stuff we’ve found in Solitary.
“Why?” Mounds asks through a mouth full of Big Mac and fries. “You seen some horror movies recently?”
“Just wondering.”
“Yeah, but why werewolves?
“Am I right?”
He picks up six fries and slides them down across the glob of ketchup, then rams them into his mouth.
“I don’t know anything about werewolves, like people turning into them. Not around here. But a lot of people say there’s a pack of wolves that’s haunted. Or cursed or possessed. One of those.”
“Why?”
“You saw those wolves at the old burnt-down church, right? This place is full of wildlife roaming around. People say they’ve seen glowing wolves or black wolves standing at their door. Doesn’t mean they’re werewolves.”
“Ever heard them howling in the night?”
Mounds shakes his head, and I notice his three chins. “You hear one?”
I nod.
“I’m telling you, Chris. You could make a fortune out of ghost hunting. Start a television show, become a brand. You’ve got the knack.”
“A knack for finding ghosts?”
He chuckles. “No—it’s more like they find you.”
“You think I heard some kind of ghost?”
He nods. “I think it might have been a wolf that got killed years ago. Or one looking for the rest of its clan.”
“Seriously?” I can’t believe he’s accepting my brief story as fact.
“We can check it out if you want to. Not today. I’m tired.”
It’s only two in the afternoon on a Wednesday.
“Sure,” I say. “Anytime.”
He slips the rest of his second Big Mac into his mouth, then wipes his hands. “I got something for you. Hold on.”
His faded backpack where he carries everything important is sitting next to him. Mounds digs around in there and pulls out a camera.
“I bought that online,” Mounds says. “It’s supposed to take pictures of dead people. Like The Sixth Sense camera. Takes an idiot like me to fall for it. Got two packs of special ‘sixth-sense film.’ Nothing more than a Polaroid.”
The camera is white and black and has a special star sticker on it. It’s lightweight and snaps open and shut.
“It’s yours,” he says. “I’m hoping that perhaps with your abilities you’ll be able to actually get some shots of ghosts. Who knows?”
“Why don’t you get your money back?”
“I tried. The number’s disconnected and the website is gone. Guess I can understand why.”
He grabs the two rolls of film, square blocks that look like large candy bars.
“Knock yourself out,” he tells me.
With my luck, I probably will.
Later that day, I load the camera and try to take a picture of Midnight. The camera makes some weird catching sound and then does nothing. I play around with it for thirty minutes until I decide that Mounds was sold a hunk of junk.
I’m in my room, listening to albums and playing around on the Internet. Facebook just overwhelms me when I go to it. I still don’t like seeing what my old friends are up to, because if they only knew what I was up to …
Hey, Brady, I’m battling dark supernatural forces, but other than that things are fine.
Yeah. No thanks.
I like going on iTunes and discovering new groups or old albums or stuff I’d never in a million years discover without listening to a sample.
So yeah, this is my spring break.
Sometime around dinnertime Kelsey texts me.
I can’t help smiling. It’s nice hearing from someone. Especially her.
I can’t help teasing either.
she asks.
Okay, when she goes and says stuff like that, I can’t joke around anymore.
I text,
I ask.
Should I be looking? 
We keep texting. I don’t worry about the time or whether we have unlimited texting or about eating or about the wolves that might be howling at my door.
We talk about her time seeing her brother and her time with her parents. She loves them, but they drive her crazy sometimes. She says that they tend to put her brother on a pedestal while they baby her. I tell her I don’t know what either feels like.
Then we lighten things up and talk music. I share bands I’ve discovered, and she shares stuff she likes. A lot of the music Kelsey enjoys is from Christian bands I’ve never heard of. She tells me to check them out, and I say I will. She says it’s good to listen to some songs about hope.
I look at the time and see we’ve been texting for almost an hour.
I decide to call her. “You know how long we’ve been texting?”
“Not really,” Kelsey says. “Hello.”
“Hello.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I just—figured I’d talk to someone live and in person.”
“Okay.”
She’s suddenly less verbal.
“Wait, let me guess. Are your parents nearby?”
“Uh huh.”
“Same room?”
“Uh huh.”
“Now I get why you were texting me.”
“Uh huh.”
“Is that all you’re going to say?”
“Uh huh.”
We both laugh.
“You think that Chris Buckley is like the most amazing, cool guy you’ve ever known.”
“Uh huh.”
“And every day you wonder whether to steal your parents’ car and drive to Mexico with him.”
“Uh huh.”
“You’re searching for a really cool gift to buy Chris since he was left alone on spring break.”
“Huh?”
We laugh again.
“Well, it’s nice hearing your voice. Even if you’re not saying much.”
“You too,” Kelsey says.
I hear Mom calling me downstairs. “I think we’re having dinner. Or Mom is making me eat something.”
“You need your carbs. You know what Coach Brinks says.”
“Don’t remind me,” I say. “I’ll text you later, okay? Will you be around?”
“Uh huh.”
“Will you be thinking about me and how cool I am sitting in my little room in my cabin?”
She laughs. “Uh huh.”
“You’re just totally crazy for me, right?”
“Yeah, Chris. I am.”
Nice.
I say good-bye and head downstairs.
Sometimes I think that the girls have all been pretty distractions from the ugliness around here. I focus on them and temporarily forget about the mess around me.
But the ugly mess always comes back.
The night arrives, and I find myself wondering when the mess is going to slip back into my room.
I know it’s only a matter of time.
So I pray for God to keep the darkness and the ugliness away for a while. As long as possible. To bring a little light during this boring spring break.