Hiding Under Searchlight

Searchlight, NV - It's on the map, supposedly. Caught between the chaotic sprawl of Las Vegas and the vast isolation of the Nevada desert, what once was a thriving gold mining settlement has faded into a ghost town of a few hundred people. Most left long ago. A few stubborn ones stuck around. But now that the town sits mostly vacant, something else seems to be moving in— something sinister.

The few remaining locals know its presence, and quietly keep note of the signs. Here, the radio always plays the same song, no matter what station you're on, a detail you don't realize until it's much too late. The clocks don't work quite right— sometimes they run fast, sometimes they tick backwards, sometimes they freeze at the moment you entered town and never budge. Payphones will ring only to play hollow silence when you answer... and yet, something seems to be listening to your bated breath. And these are only the aspects the people of Searchlight dare to speak about.

You find yourself here, by one twist of fate or another. Maybe you're on the run, escaping a past life, never staying anywhere for long. Maybe you sought out the town on purpose, drawn by its tales of strange, paranormal happenings. Maybe you never managed to leave, and find yourself haunting your hometown. But whatever your reason, one thing is for sure: Searchlight doesn't want you to get out. As night falls and the cracks in reality widen, you and your fellow travelers must find an escape— or risk becoming part of this ghost town forever.

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The sound of the radio crackling into static earned the car an unimpressed eyebrow raise from Cal.

He didn't really have much choice but to listen to whatever the local radio was playing when he was on the road: after all, it wasn't like the Barracuda was designed with Bluetooth compatibility in mind. Most of the time, he didn't have any trouble finding something he liked. Up until a few seconds ago, he'd been enjoying a broadcast of Fortunate Son on some classic rock station, which felt like the perfect song to play with his windows down while driving through the Nevada sagebrush anyway. With a sigh, Cal reached for the dial, about to cut his losses and change frequencies.

But just before he could turn it to a different station, the static stopped, replaced with a familiar drum beat and electric guitar chord.

Last thing I remember, I was running for the door...

"A worthy replacement, I suppose," Cal muttered, flicking his gaze back to the highway ahead.

He'd only driven into Nevada a few times before, but everything led him to believe it was just a more subdued version of Arizona. The mountains and mesas weren't as tall or looming. The sunset, now painting the sky a dull orange, didn't dazzle quite the same way. Even the dirt looked plainer here, a dusty brown instead of a rich red soil. Still, Cal decided he didn't dislike it here. At least Nevada had mountains, which was better than a number of places he'd lived.

Las Vegas, though...

Cal sighed again, palming the top of the wheel, although he made no move to turn it or change lanes. Of course Monte had to pick Las Vegas for his third wedding, as if it wasn't already abundantly clear this marriage wouldn't last any longer than the first two. The only reason he was going was because Ginny had lost a bet to him that the wedding before this one would be their brother's last, and it was time for Cal to collect.

Ginny was still worth visiting. That was something.

It wasn't until Cal had blinked to clear his thoughts that he noticed his view of the horizon ahead was drifting to his left— and that the car was drifting to the right. Startled, Cal quickly tugged the wheel left again, hoping to stay in his lane before he went too far.

He couldn't quite believe it when the car's course didn't change an inch, as if he hadn't turned at all.

Now more desperate and suddenly several lanes to the right, Cal swung the wheel as far as it would go with a grunt and took his foot off the gas. But the Barracuda— the old, but reliable car he'd grown to trust in its movements as surely as that of his own body— forged ahead and to the right without any loss in speed. The car was now headed directly for an off-ramp, but this wasn't his exit. He still had miles to go before getting off the highway.

With wide eyes, Cal looked to the rearview, fearing he'd see a car he was about to intercept in its path. But the road behind him was empty. When had it thinned out? For as long as he could remember, there had been several cars on his field of view— certainly not any traffic, but he'd been sharing the highway. He knew this meant it was safer for him, but instead of relief, his heart skipped a beat with panic at the thought that he was the only one around to witness this event.

Cal blinked again, and suddenly the mirror wasn't empty anymore. Far away, directly in the middle of the road, a pair of red lights glowed against the dusky, dim backdrop of the mountains. They looked like... eyes.

A chill went down his spine, and for some inexplicable reason, Cal knew he had to look away from whatever it was. He snapped his gaze back just in time to see the car involuntarily taking the exit it had steered itself toward.

When he had the bravery to look back to the rearview, the red lights were gone.

Cal cursed under his breath, tightening his grip on the wheel. Up ahead, the faint lights of a small, sleepy town shone off the side of the road. He'd missed that before, somehow, but he was glad to see it. He needed somewhere to stop. Not for long. Just long enough to pop the hood and do a full sweep of the car before speeding off and leaving behind... whatever that had been.

The shape of neon lettering in the distance was becoming clearer in his vision, and yet Cal didn't know if he could trust anything he was seeing now. He put all his faith in the one that read Vacancy and hit the gas; this time, the car listened, its engine rumbling louder as it obeyed.

Tires screeched as Cal pulled in to the motel's parking lot, and that was how he knew he was truly freaked out. He'd never heard that sound from his own car before— he'd always been too careful for that. His panic was betraying him, too, now.

With a deep breath, Cal turned off the engine, opened the car's door, and stepped out into the dry warmth of the Nevada air.

Don’t you realize?

Come here…

Amala’s boots were coated in a newly acquired layer of mud and dirt. Her poncho drifted in the cool wind. A pleasant feeling after a day of walking in the heat. She trudged forward, a cool chill running down her spine. She carried a remarkably thin backpack with little equipment. Perhaps it was all used up, or she simply packed light for the long journey ahead of her.

This place is scary!

You really know how to choose!

She heard the rumbling of an antique car in the distance, causing her to scoff. A car would be nice, but she worried that she wouldn’t be able to handle herself. The spirits might run her off the road. Maybe one would take over just for one moment, causing a crash with some innocent bystander.

Over here!

You’re insane.

The spirits began to get maddening this kind of night. They were even worse now that she entered Searchlight. This town felt similar to the one where the incident happened. She couldn’t explain it. It was like something she’d never seen before. A kindred spirit of hers died, a drifter just like her. At this point, she couldn’t remember his name. She could barley remember any names. He was killed at a dead-end town just like this one. That was when the hauntings began to happen.

Restless spirits who clung onto her at her every move. Maybe they liked to cling to her. Or perhaps she was awakened to a secret sense that no human should ever have activated. Days and nights began to blend into each other. Memories stretched thin. She could only hold onto scraps, now.

You need to go to sleep, young lady!

Tag, you’re it!

Many referred to Amala as a drifter. Now, she took on a more official title. A courier. In her travels, she’d often take jobs that involved transporting things that shouldn’t be transportable. Illicit substances, secret messages, and more. Morals weren’t something that interested her.

While she did travel for the fun of it, this affect had worn off significantly. Now, it was a means of self-preservation. A way to ward off borderline insanity. She didn’t keep much company for this reason. Someone standing in front of her oftentimes became just another voice to add to the collection.

Her job was to transport a coded message to a man who lived in Searchlight. Sand drifted in various directions as the wind remained illogical in its movements. As she walked through the barren center of town, she felt the locals looking on, silent but observing. Roaming deeper into town, she began to follow house numbers. They were not in order, with seemingly no consistency.

“Number fifty-eight, Salsola road…”

After what felt like an infinity of searching, Amala stumbled upon a rickety house with a matching number. As she reached for the door, the voices began to overlap. To Amala, it sounded like there were an absurd amount of people jammed into this one house that was about the size of a shed. She turned, holding her hand to her aching temple. She closed her eyes and let out a frustrated yelp.

“This one delivery…and we can sleep at a hotel.”

She could feel her muscles ache and prepare for the soft surface of a bed as she reached for the door handle. Only to find there was nothing there upon taking a new look at the house. Fifty-eight Salsola road had disappeared in a flash.

Amala immediately began to panic. Has the day finally come? The day when she’d go insane and truly lose it? The stars above gave the appearance of a thousand scattered memories. Within the vivid sky was a lost, fleeting memory. Flying further and further away as the universe expanded. A streetlight lingered over a payphone like a spotlight. Seeing no other option, she tried the phone. She slid a coin in and dialed her client’s number. Silence.

HAHA

Six out of ten would say they were ready!

Amala slammed her open palm into the side of the payphone machine. She began to make a move towards the closest hotel. The next day, she’d see if she could call her client, or talk to the locals to find the recipient of her package. When she entered the parking lot, there was a man next to a pale blue Barracuda. From a distance, she noticed the dark circles below his eyes.

She thought, finally, a kindred spirit…

Jumper cables in hand, Cal stared into the now-open hood of his car.

It didn't need a jumpstart. He didn't know what the problem was instead, but he was an electrician, and he was sure of that much. But holding the wires gave him the illusion that he was in his element, still in control of the situation.

Still... Cal did know a good deal about automotives and mechanics, which was good, because he'd been approached by strangers for car problems on the basis that he "looked like he knew how to help" many times before. And this didn't feel like a problem he was missing that only a professional, more trained eye could find. In every way, the Barracuda was fine. There was nothing about it that could explain why it would suddenly resist all steering to calmly drive him off the road.

He sighed, looking up at the neon orange sign for the motel, where the No next to Vacancy was flickering on and off like it couldn't make up its mind on whether or not he belonged here.

Well, he wouldn't be staying overnight. Not if he could help it.

He heard the creak of an old door, and when he turned, a blue-haired woman in a poncho was stepping out of a payphone cubicle on the edge of the parking lot. People still used payphones? Cal appreciated older technology and machinery— obviously, since the car at his side was twice his age— but the idea that other people were still using that in the age of smartphones was a surprise, to say the least.

Her gaze landed on him, and Cal felt a mixture of relief and panic. On one hand, he wasn't alone in this strange town. On the other, he didn't know if he could explain things without sounding completely insane, and people were complicated. He didn't want to bring anyone else into his problem, but maybe he didn't have the choice.

Clearing his throat, Cal raised his arm in a peaceful wave.

"Hey," he called out. "Do you, uh... do you know the name of this place?"

From the moment she woke up to the moment she drifted into her half-sleeps on the cot behind the jazz section, the same track echoed off the walls of Asylum Records like the logo on a DVD screensaver. Sometimes it was faint, like it was coming from a neighbor’s house three blocks away. Sometimes it was loud and crackly, a vaguely comforting scratch at the nape of her neck.

Henley didn’t remember pressing play today. Didn’t really matter. The song had a mind of its own.

She felt the arrival of the newcomers first, long before she saw anything on the black-and-white grid of surveillance screens covering her back wall. She pushed it off at first, sleepy. But the nagging feeling came back, stronger this time, an electric buzz up and down her spine, and the moral half of Henley couldn't ignore it any longer.

Rolling out of her cot, she slipped her bare feet into her slippers. Kicking up dust bunnies on the tile floor, she shuffled to the back room.

The monitors crackled as they adjusted to the low light outside. One showed the motel; another, the payphone. Henley squinted at the screen and saw the tall man first, circling his car like it had betrayed him. Then came the poncho girl, stepping out of the glow of the phone booth like she'd just materialized there.

Strangers didn’t come to Searchlight by accident. Not really. Something brought them in. That same something would decide if they left.

Henley leaned closer to the screens, watching the two of them cross paths. It was hard to make out the details with her surveillance footage, but she was pretty certain she didn’t recognize these faces.

Out-of-towners never lasted long. Was there anything she could do this time?

She reached for the mic, letting her finger hover just above the broadcast button.

A warning? A welcome? She wasn’t sure. Instead, she let her hand fall, leaned back in her chair, and waited.

WC: 330

It was an odd day when newcomers stopped by. It didn't mean poor business, only that business was unreliable.

The Last Light was as comfortable as Deborah could shape it to be, given the circumstances. The spiritual darkness that shrouded her little town limited her resources, so shipments were unreliable and often pointless. Inviting passerby became less and less desirable the more she saw people come, but never go. She didn't have the heart for it anymore, so she stole a page from her father's book.

Day after day, we get by as the Lord provides our needs.

Deborah turned on the well-used coffee pot on the welcome desk when she heard tires screech in the lot. At this hour, no one was coming in well-rested, and she knew sleep was hard to find on the first night in. It always was.

Father, thank you for your peace, she whispered in her heart. Bring these travelers peace, and use me as a light. I love you, Lord.

The coffee began to trickle as she waited. Deborah pulled out the keys and set them on the front desk so they would be ready. Knowing it might be a while, she grabbed the broom leaning against the side wall and swept the floors again.

The motion was one she knew well. These days, she did it slower, but still ritually.

Little by little, the dust was pushed over the wooden floorboards, away from the walkways, and into a pile. And with each step, she hummed the song that God brought to her heart.

The man in front of her was waving. No chance of avoiding him now. The thought of an extra voice annoyed her. But the idea of an extra body who was willing to actually help was more appealing. The hood of his car was wide open, signaling troubles. Amala wished she knew more about cars, but they were the one contraption she had never invested herself in.

From inside her head, a voice shouted, Nice car! I hate it!

The motel was rickety, drab, and dirty. There was a thin layer of dust that seemingly covered it. Seems she’d have to check-in if possible. Like the man in front of her, she wanted to be scared and confused. However, all she felt was a feeling of annoyance. Just another issue she’d have to push aside so she could go back to her life of passive survival.

She attempted to look as normal as possible when she answered the man’s question.

“This place…oh.” She paused, thinking on it. “Searchlight I think was the name. I think I’ll stay here for the night. Much safer than traveling on-foot in the dark. This town’s weird. I haven’t seen many like it. You got somewhere to be? It might be smart to hunker down.”

“Searchlight,” Cal murmured.

It wasn’t a name that rang any bells, although maybe it should have. But he hadn’t lived in the area that long, and it sounded like exactly the kind of name every one horse town in the Southwest should have.

Or a one car town. Or… whatever. If the motel’s lights weren’t on, he would have said that the two of them were the only ones in attendance here.

“I was due north,” Cal said. “Family thing in Vegas. But the ride’s not working, and not in one of the usual ways.”

Wherever he was, he’d crossed the state line— he could remember the sign welcoming him to Nevada. Which meant he couldn’t be far from Las Vegas. The wedding wasn’t until the next afternoon, and it wasn’t like he was in a hurry to be there…

Come to think of it, he hadn’t made a reservation anywhere for tonight. Maybe he had more flexibility than he’d thought.

“I think you’re right about hunkering down though,” he added. “Might be worth seeing if, uh…”

He looked back up to read the neon signage again, about to read out the business name, when he trailed off abruptly.

The lettering was unreadable. It didn’t look like English, or even any other language. The alphabet didn’t even appear human. The orange of the unknown words glared down at him, and Cal was struck with that same urge he’d had in the last moments of his drive here— the instinct to look away.

He blinked. The sign shone innocently, lighting up one familiar letter at a time to display The Last Light. There was nothing strange in the slightest about it now.

Trying to hide his panic, Cal glanced back at the blue-haired woman. He couldn’t read her face. Had she seen it transform, too? Or had he lost his mind completely on the way here?

“…if The Last Light is taking guests at this time,” he finished weakly.

Just as he said it, the payphone the woman had emerged from began to ring.

This man is funny! Funny man!

“Shut up…” Amala murmured under her breath, towards her consciousnesses.

She watched him look up at the sign, dealing with her own issues in her head. As his eyes froze in a moment of confusion, Amala wondered if it was her going insane or if it was the feeling that their surroundings brought. A communal madness that amplified everybody’s paranoia. She brought her eyes to her boots in ignorance. In her peripheral vision, she felt him look at her.

She felt a similar stunned feeling to her new comrade (or what might be closest to one in this situation), leading to a distant detachment as a new hopelessness and confusion seeped in. Just as she was about to answer his statement about The Last Light, the payphone she’d just come from rang.

“Maybe my client’s calling back. Gimme a sec.”

She eagerly rushed to the payphone, expecting to be greeted by some manner of normalcy as a strange (but hopefully isolated) feeling of uncertainty washed over her.

“Hello? This is Amala.”

Her voice echoed in the cubicle. The only thing that answered her was a stinging silence combined with a static hum. Even though nobody said anything on the other side, she felt some sort of presence. Something was on the other side of the line toying with her. She just knew it.

He’s judging you. You’re insane.

With this taunt in mind, Amala stepped out of the cubicle, shaken and with voices beginning to whir in her head. “Guess it was nobody. What now?”