Ghost Roads by Christopher Golden

Author:Christopher Golden [Golden, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Horror, Fantasy & Magic, Fiction, Horror & Ghost Stories, Juvenile Fiction, Media Tie-In
ISBN: 9780743431415
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2001-08-14T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

WILLOW THOUGHT SHE WOULD NEVER MAKE ITthrough the school day. When she finally got to her room, she collapsed in a heap and nodded off almost immediately.

In her dream, the Ghost of College Applications Past Due sat at the foot of her bed. He was very sad Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

because she had missed the cutoff date . . . because there were no nice Jewish boys at his college . . .

because she was missing so much school that her conditional status at Bryn Mawr was being revoked . .

.

“Little Willow.”

Her eyes flickered open.

“Spellcaster, awaken now, for you are needed.”

She bolted upright to find a man in her room, sitting at the edge of the bed. He was an old man, stooped and shaking, and at first she wasn’t sure he was really there.

“Um,” she said.

“Jean-Marc Regnier,” he said, stooping lower. Bowing, she realized.

“The Gatekeeper?” Of all of them, Willow had never actually met the Gatekeeper. She stared in shock.

He looked terrible. He looked like he was a thousand years old.

“Not for much longer.” He smiled sadly.

“They’re hurrying,” Willow earnestly assured him. “They’re trying really hard.”

“I have a task for you, little Willow.” He wheezed, coughing. He seemed to dim. She blinked rapidly.

Her heart was pounding. She’d seen a lot of weird things in her life, and this was not the weirdest, but it was the weirdest thing that had ever happened in her bedroom. So far.

“Task, okay,” she said, sitting up. She looked worriedly at her door. “But please, um, with the coughing, my parents might hear you. No offense.”

A smile flickered across his face, to be replaced by a look of such dead seriousness that she bit her lip.

“A breach,” he said shakily, “of such immense proportions even I can scarcely imagine it.”

“At Buffy’s house?” she asked shrilly, then remembered her own admonition and lowered her voice.

“Where?”

“In the sea. Beneath the surface. The Dutchman caused it.”

“The what?”

“The sailing ship. The Flying Dutchman. I bound her and her crew over a century ago. Now they are free, and my runestones tell me she has flown to your skies.” He sighed, looking defeated. “First the Kra ken, and then that infernal vessel. The breach is wide, and it is growing.”

“Oh.” Her eyes got huge. “She flies?”

Giles. Hang-gliding.

“You must bind that breach. I will help you,” he said. “But it must be done at once. There’s no time to Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

spare.”

“But I need time to spare,” she said anxiously. “I need to find Giles. Buffy’s Watcher.”

He shook his head. “Impossible,” he said. “You must get up from your bed and aid me. Now.”

At the top of his lungs, Xander sang, “‘It never rains in Southern California!’”

But, of course, it was raining.

It wasn’t much, really—a light but persistent shower that had been coming down since early afternoon.

They had waited in high anxiety for night to hide them. That would be dangerous enough for three unseasoned seafarers to go boating in. But with

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