Aurora’s plane had gone missing. This was infuriating for two reasons – first, as a bush pilot, the airplane represented Aurora’s livelihood. Second, the airplane had belonged to her father (she told everyone that it was her “Air-loom”) and she loved it dearly.
It had vanished under the most unusual of circumstances. It had been docked at the Anchorage docks like it was every night. Rudy the night watchman had said that he’d seen it on his last round before he went home at 2am, and she knew she could trust Rudy at his word. But by 7am the next morning, the airplane was nowhere to be found. Nobody had heard it take off, nobody had heard anything at all. Aurora was forced to take a week off from piloting and file a report with the anchorage police.
After a week, it turned up. Rudy, working late again, heard a sound this time, but even that didn’t make sense. He’d been in the office at midnight when he heard a noise like a thousand whispers all at once, and when he went to the window to check, there was Aurora’s airplane, with a fresh coat of black paint but otherwise completely unharmed. He ran out to it, and climbed aboard, and heard the sound again. As he watched, the flight controls on the flight deck all turned on one by one by themselves, and then turned themselves off.
“The ghosts of salmon fishermen,” is what he told Aurora over beers a few nights later. “Had to be. No other explanation.”
Aurora hated ghosts. She bought ghost repellant and a ceramic cat to chase them off.
Then, considering that her father might be one, she took the charms down. Losing a week’s worth of work to ghosts really wasn’t all that big a deal.
Written on 4/16/16 at ArtAwake