My Old Kentucky Derby

By Hannah Carter

Leave the dead to their derby, and they’ll leave the living to theirs. The ghosts don’t hurt anyone; they come, celebrate, and leave at midnight once a year. Horse races mean a lot to folks around here.

That’s what the old hillbilly had said as he pumped Reynolds’s gas. But leaving ghosts alone was hard to do as a paranormal investigator, exorcism division.

Reynolds shuffled through the crowd as ragtime music drifted on the wind, carried from a bandstand. Smoke lingered in the air, thick as fog.

From the announcer box, a man in a waistcoat jacket leaned over a microphone until his handlebar mustache almost touched it. “At the gates, ladies and gentlemen, we have Man o’ War—a familiar favorite.” The fast-talking radio announcer continued his string of names: Kincsem, Sir Barton, Seabiscuit, Citation, and Secretariat, among others. They numbered twenty in all, the pride and joy of bygone racing eras.

Reynolds lifted a cigarette to his lips as a girl with a feather in her hat sashayed past. The fringes on her flapper dress shook as she batted her eyelashes at him.

He flicked the ashes onto the ground. The red embers, as vibrant as the atmosphere, burned in bright contrast to the ghostly surroundings.

He couldn’t let a dead girl distract him… again.

“This your first time at the Kentucky Derby?” A woman sporting a sensible suit and a wide-brimmed hat settled next to him on the railing. She toyed with the short ends of her hair framing her round cheeks.

Reynolds admired her out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t look like a poltergeist that wanted to eat his soul after their date. A man would only make that mistake once. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled. “Welcome. It’s always the event of the season.”

Reynolds nodded. “‘The greatest two minutes in sports,’ I hear.”

“Are you betting tonight? My money’s on Seabiscuit.” She pointed to the once-bay thoroughbred. “It’s surreal, getting to see him race in person. I just wish my brother was here, but he’s working under FDR’s New Deal.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Reynolds took a puff of his cigarette. “Maybe you’ll be reunited soon.” He flicked more ashes onto the ground. Wherever they hit, the ghostly gray faded, revealing the bluegrass underneath. If he circled the racetrack, this whole Kentucky Ghost Derby ordeal would be over.

So why did he hesitate? Why did he let this nostalgia tug at his heartstrings?

Behind him, souls crowded in, singing along to “My Old Kentucky Home” at the top of their lungs.

Leave the dead to their derby, and they’ll leave the living to theirs.

“What’s your name?” his pretty guest continued.

He shouldn’t fraternize, but… “Reynolds.”

“I’m Eliza.” She held out her hand. “Look! The race is about to begin.”

The horses pawed the ground, kicking up clumps of dirt. The jockeys shifted on their mounts, expressions inscrutable behind their goggles. The band reached a climax, and a gunshot pierced the air. The horses burst out of the gates, and the crowd’s cheers swelled over the music.

It means a lot to folks around here. 

Beside him, Eliza cheered on her steed. Tears glimmered in her eyes, like her hope for her brother living on even though she didn’t.

Reynolds cleared his throat and tucked his cigarette into his mouth. He just wished he could blame the sting of his eyes on that instead of any show of emotion.

“Oh—oh!” Eliza clasped her hands together as Seabiscuit rounded the curve first, just a neck ahead of Man o’ War. “He’s doing it!”

The hoofbeats increased their frenzied pace. Reynolds imagined none of these Lexington legends wanted to lose, but there could be only one winner of the Derby. Seabiscuit’s lead shortened. Eliza gasped. The horse’s lead lengthened—she cheered.

They don’t hurt anyone.

The Derby was too big, his boss had said. If the ghosts tried to escape, Lexington would be doomed. Reynolds ought to finish the job and go. He shouldn’t be so enamored by the atmosphere, by Eliza—

Seabiscuit crossed the finish line a nose ahead of Man o’ War.

“He did it!” Eliza cried. “He did it!”

She grasped Reynolds’ face and planted a kiss right on his lips, like a gentle brush of wind against his skin.

Breathless, she pulled back, her hat askew. Her eyes widened, like she realized her impropriety. “I am so sorry!”

“Don’t be.” Reynolds cleared his throat and rubbed his flushing face. “I hear this race means a lot to people. Emotions are bound to run high.” He could hardly hear their conversation over the wild music and cheers as people rushed the gates to get a glimpse of their champion.

“I just—my brother. He will be so excited! He might get to come home with these winnings!” She chattered about what her family might do with the money, what they must be thinking. Her love and excitement almost made Reynolds choke up once more… though it could have been smoke inhalation.

“I’m very happy for you, ma’am.” He dipped his head and shuffled his feet.

They disappear at midnight.

He only had a few more minutes to exorcise this bandstand of people forever—Eliza included—or risk them going rogue one day and escaping into the real world.

She hugged her winning ticket to her body. Tears sparkled on her cheeks. “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

Drat.

With a sigh, Reynolds flicked his cigarette onto the ground and extinguished it with his leather shoe. Perhaps the old hillbilly had been right, or maybe Reynolds had succumbed to his weakness for pretty girls once again.

“I think I do.” Reynolds tipped his fedora. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

She beamed. “You too.”

“Go find your brother.” Reynolds nodded his head as the clock struck midnight, and Eliza and the ghostly derby began to fade. “I’ll see you next year.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hannah Carter is just a girl who wakes up every day hoping it will be the day she discovers she’s secretly a mermaid. Her debut novel, Depths of Atlantis, is out through SnowRidge Press now. Her stories have been included in several anthologies: Whispers From Before, The Never Tales, and Havok’s Casting Call and Prismatic. Her flash fiction piece, “A Home for Nova,” won the 2022 Flash Fiction Realm Award.

You can hear an audio narration of “My Old Kentucky Derby” and three other of Hannah’s stories on the Finding Fantasy Reads podcast.

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