The Final Furlong - Part Two

By Sandra Whipple

The wind whistled eerily through the empty grandstand and swept dust and debris around the corner of the buildings as Emily approached the long forgotten area where many a horse had won or lost for their owners. Placing her hands on the weather-beaten railing, a sudden sadness filled her as she stared at the abandoned racetrack.

What was once a beautiful lawn in the infield, was now weed choked and dotted with clumps of wounded grass, brown and withered. An abandoned lake, once pristine and beautifully landscaped, had gone wild, with marsh grass filling it slowly, the muddy waters dark and foreboding.

Emily turned to look at the grandstand. She wondered how many people had come here to watch the horses run. How many women in their Sunday best sat next to their escort in their summer white suits, binoculars to their eyes, watching everything they staked their life on - win or lose - in a matter of minutes.

The roof of the grandstand was falling prey to the weather and the sun. Parts of it were missing or hung loose, swinging back and forth in the wind, making an odd and disquieting noise, almost like a soft sob.

Emily shivered and climbed up the rickety steps to the seats that had been reserved for the owners and the very rich. The windows were shattered, by teenagers no doubt she thought in disgust, and she peered into the first box. Old liquor bottles, cigarettes and soda cans were strewn about. The seats that were once fine velvet had rotted away after being exposed to the elements. Emily climbed over the low wall and kicked at the debris. She frowned as something caught her eye. She reached down and pulled at the corner of the paper sticking out from under the seat. It gave way with only a slight tearing.

Emily's eyes opened wide with astonishment. It was an old racing paper from the 1940's.

"The Arlington Grand," it read. "First race will be promptly at 11:00 a.m. The featured favorite is Goldenrod. Jockey: Jose Esquireo."

Emily remembered hearing her Uncle Henry mention that the 1946 Arlington Grand was the last race ever run. Afterward, they had shut down the course. When Emily tried to ask why, her uncle shrugged his shoulders, his eyes evading her face.

"Ain't nothin' to tell," he mumbled. "Just not enough people to keep it going."

When she pressed him for further information, he got angry and brushed her off.

"I have work to do," he stated irritably. "Don't have time to be telling stories." Before he'd moved out of earshot, Emily could hear him mutter, "Don't have time to be believing them."

She turned to the racing news and read on. "Goldenrod is the undefeated champion of the thoroughbred world. Out of 10 starts, he has had 10 wins. This two-year old will certainly go far. There has been talk of a match race between him and Sun Raiser, the fabulous undefeated champion of New York. could this be the most famous 'East meets West" race everyone is talking about? Will it happen here at the Arlington?

The breeze stirred Emily's hair and she shivered again. As she looked at the paper, she felt a sense of time standing still. It was so quiet, almost as if everything was holding its breath, waiting until she finished reading. Emily looked up and she could feel the morning dying as faint puffs of vapor hung in ghostly shrouds over the sodden fields.

Suddenly, Emily heard a faint whisper of music. She looked around her.

There was no one around but her and that creepy swinging panel from the roof. Perhaps reading the paper from a bygone era was playing tricks on her ears. She laughed and the sound echoed strangely around her.

She turned and tucked the paper in the back pocket of her jeans and walked down the narrow aisle looking in the other boxes. All were in about the same condition as the first one. As she walked slowly and carefully, she kept her eye open for any other memorabilia.

There! Emily stopped and listened. This time she was not mistaken. It was definitely music coming from somewhere below her. It sounded like Big Band music, from the thirties or forties. Hopping over the wall, she scurried down the concrete steps and then swung over the railing, bypassing the last steps.

Extending out from one side of the grandstand was a low building. It must have been quite the site in its glory days, Emily thought, but now, it was a sad shadow of its former self. Dead palm trees dotted the front of the building, their dry and crippled fronds hanging limp and motionless, even in the slight wind. The paint was peeling terribly off the facade, but Emily could just make out the letters - "The Boots and Saddles Club." This must have been where the rich came to dine on champagne and caviar while they waited for the races.

Emily picked her way through the weed choked grass and came to what was once the front doors. Surprisingly, they were not boarded up and she managed to pull open the one door that was slightly off its hinges. She stepped inside in what must have been the lobby. The once beautiful walls were stained and wallpaper hung in great strips. What wasn't covered by the flocked paper was spray painted with all sorts of symbols and sayings. Emily snorted in disgust.

"They can't even let a building die in peace," she muttered out loud.

A desk where the maitre' d took guests to their tables stood crookedly to one side and then Emily entered what must have been the main dining room. There were a few tables, most strewn about and broken with a few rotting chairs, but the view from the windows was almost breathtaking. It overlooked a vast garden, now wild and overgrown, almost a jungle. An old fountain stood in the middle, cracked and empty, except for a few dead vines.

Emily was mesmerized. She closed her eyes and could almost see the people, in their elegant dress, sipping their highballs and martinis, the haze of cigarette smoke hanging like an ethereal cloud over them all. And music, she thought, smiling, lost in her daydream. There would be a big band at one end playing all the latest dance tunes. She felt herself swaying and humming a tune, feeling herself drawn back into another time.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Emily was brought back to earth with a start and saw Danny standing a few feet in front of her, hands on his hips.

Emily colored furiously. "I-I was just exploring," she stammered. "I thought I heard music coming from here." The last came out childishly and Emily felt her embarrassment grow.

"Music?" Danny smirked. "You are letting your imagination get away with you." He carefully picked his way through the debris over to her. "Come on, your uncle wants you back at the ranch. He sent me to find you."

Emily didn't stir. The presence of the room was almost living, seeming to call to her. She put a hand on Danny's arm.

 "Danny, don't you feel it?"

She looked around her and tried to absorb every detail; the tattered curtains still hanging on the rods at the windows. Some broken plates and cups on the floor. A mildewed tablecloth, china dishes still set in a mocking display upon it. Who were the last people to eat here? What did they talk about? Who were they?

"Emily, you are losing it and you are giving me the creeps," Danny grumbled. Pulling her arm, he tried to drag her behind him. "Come on."

Emily allowed herself to be led from the room and out into the open. Then she stopped and Danny turned to look at her. "Now what?"

"Danny," she said, her face a mix of puzzlement and fear. "I know what I heard. I heard music coming from that dining room. It was something out of the forties... it... it sounded something like this." She hummed a few bars and then stopped when she saw Danny's face whiten.

"Where did you ever hear that tune?" he asked, his voice flat.

Emily stared at him. "I told you, I heard it in that dining room.

Danny grabbed Emily's arm and continued to drag her after him. They reached his truck and he helped her in.

"Danny, what is it?" Emily asked, alarmed at the way he was acting. It was as if he couldn't stand to be near the old building.

Danny got in and slammed the door. Putting the key in the ignition, he paused and looked at Emily. "There is no way you could know that song." He turned the car on and gunned the engine. Before shifting the car into gear, Emily placed a hand on his arm. "Why?"

Danny signed and looked at her. "Because that tune was the old Arlington fanfare. It was never heard again after they closed the track." Throwing the truck into gear, he raced along the dirt track.

Emily stayed quiet for a few minutes and then decided to broach the subject she had long been wanting to ask.

"Danny, why did they close the Arlington?"

Danny stared ahead at the road and didn't answer for a long time. He glanced sideways at her and then turned his attention to the road.

"Guess you might as well hear it. You're bound to eventually." He turned the truck onto the highway. "There was an accident at the last Arlington Grand. A horse and jockey were killed. There was talk of horse doping and mobs trying to fix the race, but nothing ever came of that. No one could prove anything."

Emily stared at Danny's profile. "Why close the track? Accidents happen."

Danny sighed. "There," he hesitated before going on. "There has been talk that the track is haunted, that no horse will complete the final turn. When they closed the track after the accident, people still used it to train their horses. Each and every one of them pulled up and stopped dead at the final turn. They could never complete that final furlong."

Emily shuddered. "What was the name of the horse that died?"

Danny struggled to answer. Her question brought up old fears and memories that he would rather have remained buried.

"Danny? What was the horse's name?

Danny's vexation was evident as he answered. "Goldenrod. The horse's name was Goldenrod."

Emily turned to look out the side window. What had happened to Goldenrod that he was killed? Was it an accident? Or something more sinister?