🕸️ Sgt. Salty and the Haunted Hangar — Chapter 5: “The Ghost in the Cockpit” 👻✈️💀
🕸️ Sgt. Salty and the Haunted Hangar — Chapter 5: “The Ghost in the Cockpit” 👻✈️💀
The hangar was electric after the dance-off.
Fog curled along the floor like lazy ghosts, the bass thumped deep in everyone’s chest, and the misfits were high on punch, glitter, and pure Halloween chaos.
But in the shadows of the old control tower… something stirred.
Sgt. Salty leaned against the Leopard tank, catching his breath after his glorious dance victory. Sarah and Susan, Ms. Delicious and Ms. Delicious Too, were perched on the engine deck with their heels crossed, looking like trouble wrapped in silk.
“Best Halloween ever,” Sarah grinned, twirling her blonde curls.
“Damn right,” Susan added, taking a cheeky sip from her mini pumpkin flask.
But Salty wasn’t laughing. His eyes drifted to the balcony where the ghost pilot had stood. Something about the way it saluted… wasn’t just spooky. It was personal.
👻 A Whisper from Above
The music dipped for a moment — a weird lull, like the air itself was holding its breath. The fog thickened. Winky, halfway through an ill-advised attempt at the worm, suddenly froze.
“Uh… lads?” he said nervously. “Why is it so quiet?”
Then they all heard it.
Click. Click. Click.
Like boots on metal.
Slow. Deliberate. Coming from the old cockpit room upstairs.
Sarah shivered. “Okay… that’s new.”
Susan tilted her head, ever the daring brunette. “I’ll bite. Or… maybe the ghost will.”
Salty straightened his cap. “Alright crew. We’re going up.”
🛫 Into the Cockpit
The staircase creaked as the misfits climbed, flashlights cutting through the fog. The control room door stood slightly open, swaying on its rusted hinges. A faint orange glow pulsed inside, like a lantern guiding them into trouble.
Salty pushed the door with two fingers. “Hello… Casper?”
No answer.
Inside, the cockpit was just as creepy as everyone remembered — dusty radios, cracked windows, a control panel that hadn’t worked since the 1970s.
And then… they saw him.
The ghost pilot, standing at the centre, hat tilted low, his glowing eyes flickering like dying embers.
But this time, he wasn’t dancing. He was holding something — an old flight logbook.
He looked straight at Salty.
“Jars Yogan,” he rasped.
🕷️ The Ghost’s Truth
The room went cold. A real, bone-deep cold that no fog machine could fake.
Salty swallowed. “You know my name?”
The ghost nodded slowly. “Because it was mine.”
A ripple of shock ran through the crew. Sarah’s red lips parted. Susan blinked. Winky nearly fell over his skeleton ribs.
“You mean…” Large Lad whispered, “…you’re Jars Yogan too?”
The ghost cracked a grin that was somehow both terrifying and charming. “I flew out of this hangar. Halloween night. Forty years ago. One last flight… straight into a storm.”
The lantern flickered, casting the room in flashes.
“Never made it back.”
🫧 The Curse of Runway 13
The ghost opened the logbook, and the pages turned themselves. The final entry was written in fading ink:
“Flight 666. Runway 13. Never again.”
A gust of cold wind howled through the cracked window. The floorboards groaned.
Winky whispered, “Runway 13… that’s the name of the party.”
Susan raised an eyebrow. “Of course it is.”
Sarah bit her lip. “This is starting to sound like a bad horror movie.”
The ghost looked at Salty again. “Every Halloween… I return. Looking for someone bold enough to finish the flight I started. The flight to the other side.”
The orange glow grew brighter behind him, revealing a shadowy portal in the shape of a runway — stretching into darkness.
✈️ Salty’s Choice
“Finish the flight with me,” the ghost said, extending a gloved hand. “Or stay here and dance while the storm grows.”
For once, Salty didn’t crack a joke. He stepped forward, the fog swirling at his boots. His hand hovered inches from the ghost’s.
Behind him, Sarah and Susan stepped closer, their perfume mixing with the cold air.
“If you’re going,” Sarah whispered, “you’re not going alone.”
Susan smirked, even in the chill. “Ms. Delicious doesn’t let the Captain fly solo.”
Winky, Large Lad, Funji, and The Govna all nodded like the misfits they were. If Salty jumped through a haunted portal, they’d be right behind him.
🛬 The Countdown
The ghost tilted his head, impressed. “A full crew. Finally.”
The old radios crackled to life. A distorted voice whispered over the speakers:
“Flight 666… cleared for takeoff.”
Lightning flickered outside the cracked hangar window. The runway lights blinked on one by one, forming a glowing path into the storm.
Salty turned to his crew.
“Alright… looks like we’re flying into hell.”
Sarah adjusted her hat. “As long as there’s a drinks trolley.”
Susan grinned. “And turbulence.”
Salty took the ghost’s hand. The portal flared like fire.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Salty said with his signature wink, “this is your Captain speaking. Buckle up.”
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