Free The Ghost Runner by Blair Richmond

again. Alex would absolutely not approve of this little adventure. But that’s just it. It’s my adventure, not his, and I have a feeling that I can only see this ghost if I’m alone.
    As I enter the Lost Mine Trail and the light is dimmed by tree cover, I think about a term I used to hear back when I ran track in high school: ghost runner.
    A ghost runner is someone who is always right behind you, pushing you, always about to pass you. Or so you think. Sometimes there is no runner. Sometimes it’s just a ghost of a runner, the idea of a runner right behind you, that keeps you at your pace.
    When I trained for cross country in high school, I used to tell myself that there was someone right behind me, just about to catch me. Sometimes I imagined another runner. Sometimes, when I was really exhausted and near total collapse, I pictured a monster of some kind. A Frankenstein-type monster in running shorts. Or Freddy Krueger in a tank top. Silly, sure, but also scary. There’s nothing like your life hanging in the balance to help you set a new personal best.
    And it worked. There were girls on the team who thought it odd that I ran alone, as they always ran in packs. But for me running wasn’t social; I was competitive, even if I was only competing with myself. And every weekend I would trounce them in our heats and qualifiers and, eventually, the state championship. My ghost runner served me well back then.
    Now I’m searching for a real ghost runner.
    And maybe that’s not as insane here in Lithia as it would be anywhere else. I keep discovering, the hard way usually, that Lithia is not like any other place on earth. These hills are haunted. As Roman once said: filled with spirits . When I ran Cloudline, I’d encountered a ghost—some sort of otherworldly spirit that chased me back into the race, helping me win. So the fact that there is a ghost on this trail doesn’t feel all that unusual. After all, I’ve met her before. I just never expected to see her again.
    After about two miles I slow down to a walk, then stop. I’m near the spot where I last saw her. I still don’t know why I think of the spirit as female, but somehow I know I’m not wrong about that.
    Except for the birds calling to one another in the twilight, everything is quiet. I consider calling out to the ghost. But that’s ridiculous.
    Still, I’m all alone out here. So I say it, just like that: “Hello!”
    Only the birds answer me. So I call out again, a bit louder, hoping there isn’t a real, living, breathing person on the trail to witness this act of insanity. I wonder who this spirit is—someone who died in the mountains, killed by one of the vampires? A real runner who just likes to revisit her favorite trails?
    And then I hear the sound.
    Footsteps in the distance.
    I try to locate them—are they uphill or downhill? Human or otherwise? I’m clueless, and the footsteps are getting louder, the pace advancing. And then I see it: the ghost, heading uphill, right toward me. It is definitely a ghost, translucent and blurry around the edges.
    My heart is racing, but I stand my ground, and the ghost passes me, brushing my shoulder again, though this time I’m ready, standing firm, and she doesn’t knock me over as she did before.
    But as I spin around, I see her fading as she continues on the trail. Here I am, ready for a confrontation, and she’s disappearing. Even though it is supposed to be the ghost chasing me, I begin to run after her.
    I’m only ten yards behind but unable to gain ground. I keep my eyes on her, and I can see that I was right—even blurred, she’s clearly female: the slender shoulders, the wider hips, an arc of light around her head that I think is a ponytail.
    And she’s fast. A strong runner.
    I haven’t run against someone like this in a long time, real or imagined.
    Then it hits me, and I feel my lungs convulse at