The way Fillmore tells it, there is a ghost in the machine. And these ghosts, they can make All Hallow's Eve a treacherous thing. Because sometimes, they come back.
It's Daniels first, who'd never properly been in the war. He'd stalled out during a cold water training maneuver back in McClellan and that was that. There was a war on, after all, and not nearly enough materiel to go around. The first thing he says about Radiator Springs is that it's a place he'd always imagine ending up, and he likes what Sarge has done with the place.
As ghosts go, Daniels himself is harmless, almost charming. But ghosts need not be vengeful to haunt.
Carhartt and Grey are next. They don't say anything at all, their hoods puckered by artillery fire and their engines blown to nothing.
Sarge drinks his oil in the morning and tries not to look at them. He stares at the soft film of red sand that blew over the town last night. Ramone asks if he's okay.
Ramone knows, though–even if he's the least willing to admit it. Sarge's ghosts come every year.
The town worries about him, he knows. Especially now that they don't have Doc to look to. Their worry is worse than the memories. He's never really talked about it, and no one's ever brought it up, but every Halloween the town tries its best to get busy and Sarge gets scarce. And if this is not entirely a winning strategy, it's the best applicable option.
That's what you said about those landmines, says Nichols. (Nichols doesn't look like anything at all. His ghost is sound alone. No one knows what happened to his body.)
–
Halloween in Radiator Springs, like any holiday, is an aggressively cheerful affair. This year Lizzie, Sally, and Flo are cooking up some true thrills at Wheel Well, but that sort of thing gets banished to the outskirts of town. For Red's sake, they'd never make the town into something that felt unsafe. At least, that's what they say. For Red's sake.
They don't even put ghosts up in town–just scare tractors and pumpkins, cobwebs and candy corn.
Sarge had never believed in ghosts, though now of course he must.
Ghosts in the machine, he thinks, his head filled with Fillmore's voice. A ghost for every car, dead or alive.
On Halloween, old ghosts come to visit him. They come to visit the ghost inside him. They take him by the headlights, and they pull.
–
Lightning asks if Sarge needs anything from the pharmacy, since he's headed out there anyway. He tries to sound casual, but he's never been inside Sarge's private quarters before, and he seems nervous to be there now. He's been living in Radiator Springs five, maybe even six years at this point, but this is his first Halloween here; usually he's away. He's unfamiliar with Sarge's annual visitors.
When Daniels throws a ghostly canteen at Lightning's face, Lightning flinches, but doesn't seem to register the motion. He can't see Daniels, after all.
Nothing from the pharmacy, no, says Sarge. He says, Nothing's ever worked.
Lightning frowns. It's a frown of concentration more than disagreement; he's banking on the pharmacy working always. Always, eventually. That's why he's home right now, if only until Friday: It hasn't been working for him. It hasn't been working all month.
"And what about you?" Sarge asks.
"Yeah," says Lightning, after a pause. It's not much of an answer, but Lightning's moods are rarely mysterious. He's not doing well.
Sarge would tell him about the ghosts, the ghosts in machines and the ghosts that rise up out of the crack in time–the heaviness of this time of year and the hunger of the ghosts. For what's in him, and probably for what's in Lightning. Ghosts, everywhere–unbridled and pulling wherever they see the opportunity.
But Sarge is not sure that would be helpful. In fact, he's almost positive it won't be. Lightning doesn't believe in ghosts, and it doesn't seem like the time of year to be straining Lightning's sense of eschatology. The only reason Sarge had taken all the ghost talk as well as he had was because he'd had no other choice. He'd been at the end of his rope, and Fillmore had had to save him somehow. Lightning's not anywhere near there yet.
Frankly, it's been so long now Sarge isn't even sure if he'd seen the ghosts before he'd been told them or not. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe Daniels wasn't Daniels until Fillmore had explained the ghost in the machine. Nor Carhartt, nor Grey, nor Nichols. Maybe the explanation created the ghosts. But maybe it doesn't matter: Sighted or not, they've always been felt.
"Keep marching, soldier," says Sarge.
"Aye aye, captain," Lightning replies, because he's never been a soldier in his life. Something must sit wrong, though, because he doubles back and says instead, "Yes, sir."
–
Keep marching, barks Nichols. The sun has long since set, and Sarge is alone with his ghosts. Organ music emanates from Luigi's down the street. Mater is acting as Carburetor County's loudest residential vampire. Sarge can hear Fillmore humming next door, as he mixes what Sarge knows to be large vats of punch, dry ice plumes turning the air even hazier than usual. Sally's checking in on Lightning, as she's been all day, but she's overdue at the ladies' horror hotel. Lightning assures her he's fine.
Do you want to join the festivities? Sarge hears Sally ask, outside. Her voice is muffled, but the music and Mater are such that every conversation needs to be yelled.
Lightning doesn't respond, but his answer is no.
That's okay, Sally assures him. There will be other Halloweens!
Definitely, says Lightning.
Only if you keep marching! shouts Nichols. Keep marching, soldier!
Keep marching.
"There are like, exorcisms and stuff we could look into maybe," Ramone had pointed out, earlier today. He'd said it like even the breath of the word could attract bad mojo. But his desire to help outweighed his desire to keep his soul snug and sound.
Sarge told him an exorcism would not be necessary. Even if he believed in that kind of thing. (Ghosts? Plausible. A means of dealing with them? Less so.)
His ghosts don't deserve to be banished, in any case. They're not trying to take him anywhere. They don't want him to join them in death. They just want to live.
They want to grab hold and let him pull them back–back here, back home.
Sarge would if he could.
–
When Sarge wakes the next morning, Daniels and the others are gone, the same way they vanish every year. His suspension eases with relief. He takes a deep breath. And he yearns.
Sarge hates his ghosts; he loves them; he will always miss them. A true ghost story never ends.
At dawn's early light, Sarge exits his tent and raises his flag.