Ghost Falls (Haunted Souls #22)

PROLOGUE

Carl Sr.

Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada, October, 2003…

Carl “Rooster”

Jackson stared out over the Niagara River. He’d been in town for the last few weeks and still couldn’t believe how much water spilled over the American Falls every second. Where did all the water come from? He supposed it was runoff from rain and snow melt in the Canadian Arctic. Not that it mattered at the moment. There would be plenty of time to do a bit more research about this magical place after he finished what he’d come here to do.

When Carl was a little boy, he was thrilled by the stunts pulled off by the great Evel Knieval and the Flying Wallendas. He admired these daredevils so much that all he wanted to be when he grew up was a stuntman. Standing here today on the banks of the Niagara River, he was about to take the next step in his journey.

Five years ago, he’d successfully jumped his motorcycle over five cars. Not a record by any stretch of the imagination, but after years of practice and broken bones, he’d finally done it. Two years ago, he’d completed a daring slackline routine over Lake Powell in Glen Canyon. It wasn’t the Grand Canyon, but he’d lived to tell the tale.

What was more important to Carl than living his dream was his making his ten year old son, Carl “Cannonball”

Jackson junior proud of him. Thanks to his daredevil lifestyle, his marriage to Carl jr.’s mother had only lasted a few years, but thankfully, their parting had been amicable. So much so that his ex and their son were here in Canada to see his next stunt.

In about five minutes, he was going to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel. The stunt had been tried dozens of times in the past with more people dying than succeeding. What Carl had going for him was modern technology. His barrel was made from materials guaranteed to protect his body and cushion his landing. Hell, if astronauts could survive the vacuum of space with these materials, surely he could survive a drop of a mere hundred and sixty feet.

“There’s still time to back out,”

Roger Denbart, Carl’s manager and best friend said. “I can release a press statement saying the weather was all wrong or that a last minute design flaw was detected. Delaying this stunt isn’t the end of the world.”

“My son is here.”

Carl pointed across the river to the observation deck on the Canadian side of the border. “He’s never been to any of my stunts before. I can’t let him down.”

The one person Rooster absolutely would never let down was himself. The bit about his son would be a good sound bite when the stunt was over. There was absolutely nothing, short of the second coming of Jesus, that was going to stop him from going over the falls today.

With a sigh, Roger nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

He signaled to the cameraman to start filming Carl’s speech.

Carl walked up to the camera. “Okay, everyone. Here’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. It’s go time! I just want to take a moment to thank you all for your support. It means the world to me. Respond to this post with the stunt you’d like to see next. See you on the other side.”

Carl kissed his first and middle finger before flashing the peace sign.

His mind completely on the task at hand. Carl slipped into his barrel, named Cannonball after his son’s nickname. He was the cannonball king in the swimming pool and the name had stuck. Same as his own nickname, “Rooster”

had stuck because he was one cocky SOB.

Drawing on all that swagger now, Carl shimmied into the barrel, which was more an elongated tube, and secured his harness. He was laying on his back and could see a slice of the cloudless blue sky through the hatch. With his heart slamming in his chest, Carl flashed the signal and Dave, the man responsible for building and maintaining the capsule, shut the hatch and tightened the fly wheel. Carl had a wheel on his side of the door as well so that he could release himself from the barrel. After the death of Maude Willard in 1901, who’d survived her trip over the falls, but suffocated because her pet terrier blocked the oxygen holes, each barrel was built with a wheel on the inside to allow for an emergency escape. He’d spent several hours practicing how to turn the wheel on his back with his arms behind him. If he needed to use the hatch to escape, which of course, he wouldn’t, he knew how to do it.

“Are you a go?”

Dave shouted, his voice barely audible through the hull of the barrel.

Carl knocked twice, their prearranged signal. His heart picked up its frantic pace when he felt the barrel move. Slowly, the capsule was pushed along the ground until he felt it dip into the water.

“God’s speed.”

Dave shouted, thumping the barrel again.

Carl knew this was it. Seconds later, he felt the capsule bob in the water before the current swept him toward the precipice. According to their earlier calculations, it would be a thirty second trip down the river to the Horseshoe Falls. He began to countdown in his head. Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight.

When Carl reached eighteen, there was a jarring crash, which felt like he’d hit a brick wall doing one hundred miles per hour. He knew he hadn’t gone over the falls because he hadn’t experienced free-fall. The capsule must have been moved off-course by the current, which could sometimes create whirlpools. The craft bounced off whatever it had struck and continued its journey.

Carl tried to bring down his heart rate by taking several deep breaths. It was then he noticed his legs were wet. With his heart tripling its cadence, Carl knew the integrity of the capsule had been compromised. It was impossible to tell how badly or in how many places. His heart surged again, when the water reached his back. All he had to do was get over the falls and spin the wheel and he’d be free. Everything was going to be all right. He was going to do this. He was going to live.

Repeating his mantra again and again, Carl heard a crack, which reminded him of the time he and his little brother had been on thin ice on a pond back home. His brother had fallen into the water. Carl had managed to save him, but he’d never forgotten the sound. A second crack appeared by the right side of his face. Water gushed inside. It was ice cold.

With the integrity of the hull all but gone, Carl knew the fall would be unsurvivable. Anger surged through his entire body. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to have been a hero, with all the booze he could drink and all the hot women he could fuck. Instead, he was going to die because of some design flaw. The assholes at NASA had a lot to account for, not that he’d be alive to see them get their comeuppance.

Experiencing the weightless feeling of free fall, Carl took a deep breath, whispered a prayer that those who’d wronged him would get what they deserved. Several final thoughts swirled through Rooster’s head. None of them had to do with his son.

Knowing his time on earth was nearly up, he closed his eyes one final time and waited for the end.