Car Trouble
by Kent Rosenberger
A yellow left turn signal winked on as the candy apple colored Corvette
approached the newly reddened traffic signal. Other cars behind it were
quick to follow suit. Jessica muttered an inaudible curse as she braked
to appease light. Kicking herself in her mind for not screaming through
the yellow, she slumped back into the black vinyl seat for what she
knew would be a two-and-a-half minute wait for the green.
Before her, reaching into the thick the woodland beyond the busy
intersection, lay the dark and winding street named Coal Mine Road.
Though a light fog hung constantly just in the distance, Jessica could
clearly make out the thirty feet or so of dirt road, just barely wide
enough to allow two cars to pass side by side, before it dropped from
view down a steep incline. The tree line just past the point where the
road disappeared told her a sharp curve was cut through the wood, the
beginning of a three mile winding trail to nowhere.
It was an ugly sight.
Automatically she removed her plastic coffee mug from the bracket
attached to the dash board, drew a long sip, then closed her eyes,
concentrating on nothing but the absorption of caffeine.
Much better, she thought.
Her wish for the afternoon rush hour traffic to dissipate into a far
off Jamaican beach sadly remained ungranted as her eyes fluttered back
open to see only that stupid, useless dirt path across the street,
interrupted regularly with bustling cross traffic.
Stupid kids, was the only thought she had as she replaced her
cup and flipped through the pages of this morning's newspaper strewn
across the unoccupied passenger seat. Large black letters headlined the
front page, stating:
THIRD MYSTERIOUS CAR CRASH BAFFLES POLICE
Jessica had read the article twice, as well as the previous two about
the same subject. Coal Mine Road was getting a reputation for accidents
with no apparent cause. Three times in the last two weeks wrecked cars
had been found along the twisting back road headed toward the abandoned
mine. Each time no bodies were found, dead or alive, at the scene, and
as far as the police could tell there was no evidence of anyone leaving
the scene. Until further investigation, no names of the vehicle owners
would be released.
Incompetent bastards, Jessica mused to herself. It's obvious
some speed-crazy teens are joyriding, probably drunk or high or
something, then taking off after wiping out before they have to answer
a lot of questions, take a Breathalyzer, or face their parents. Why
else would names be withheld from the press? She turned away from
the accompanying photo, looked at the deep woods beyond the cars
rushing to get home in time for the evening news.
If the cops were smart, Jessica calculated, they would block off the road all together. Then these ridiculous traffic patterns wouldn't be such a pain.
As it stood now, because the highway was built only half a mile south
of the forest, the growing number of cars had to be herded toward it
while disturbing as little of the woods as possible. About seventy
years ago a six square mile section, including the coal mine, which was
in full operation at the time, was declared state land. The state, in
their infinite wisdom, decided to make a National Park out of most of
it, leaving small, untouched sections of wild land along its outskirts.
Major construction was not allowed through any portion of the land, so
a two-lane strip of road was built skimming its borders, taking
business people to and from the interstate. Unfortunately two problems
occurred at this particular light. Number one, the busy highway access
got the right of way two minutes and thirty seconds for every
twenty-five seconds of the adjoining avenue on which Jessica now
waited. And secondly, because of the quirky placement of Coal Mine
Road, the left lane was used for both left turns and straight ahead
traffic. Jessica had counted off only thirty seconds, knowing she would
be stranded at this inconvenient light for at least four times as long
while the right turn lane kept moving, occasionally someone bothering
to look before taking advantage of the turn-right-on-red-after-stop
luxury.
Deciding to make good use of her otherwise wasted time, Jessica peered
into the rear view mirror to make some minor adjustments to her
appearance before arriving at her workplace. This swing shift crap was
killing her, she knew, yet she was willing to sacrifice normal bankers
hours and settle for watching her favorite television shows on video at
her own convenience in order to gain the pay increase of fifteen
percent for her trouble, Still, it had to stop, or at least slow down,
soon. The circles under her eyes were beginning to show deeply and more
often. It was only a matter of time before cosmetic touches would not
do the trick in hiding them.
But the special attention she paid to her looks and whatever prime
waking circumstances handed to her by Mother Nature, not to mention
this third cup of coffee being injected into her system, could keep her
from noticing the strange apparition reflected to her from behind.
The silver compact car, a Volkswagen of some kind she guessed, appeared
normal enough, as did the young driver, a man of no more than twenty,
dressed in a three piece business suit, bobbing his head to whatever
musical selection was playing on his stereo system. His left turn
signal mimicked hers. Probably a brown-noser who hasn't made it to the BMW stage,
she estimated. She was about to pull her ever-accessible mascara brush
out of her purse for a one minute and ten second touch-up, when a
lightning-fast movement caught her attention in the mirror. Before she
could make any definite observations, the four by four pick-up
approaching her on the right rumbled to halt in the narrow shoulder,
grinding with a sound resembling her stomach before breakfast.
She didn't have to see the truck to know what the problem was. All flat
tires sound the same. Strange, she thought. I didn't see anything on
the road for miles that could have caused such a deep gash. It was as
if someone had skewered the tire with something the size of Excalibur.
Curious, she searched the mirror for an answer.
She found it.
Blinking and shaking her head would not make it go away. All the
caffeine in six cups of coffee would not be enough to dislodge the
image from her eyes.
As far back as the Volkswagen was from her rear bumper she could make
out the area just beneath its front two wheels. At first she had
mistaken the awkward protrusion hanging just inside the black shadow
under the hood as a loose fan belt or tree branch, harmlessly wedged
under the car, dragging along. That was until twin yellow eyes, glowing
like flowing lava, peered out from underneath.
She caught her breath as two murky black pupils met hers in the mirror.
A moment later a third incandescence between the eyes, slightly lower,
gurgled and bobbed soundlessly. A mouth perhaps?
Jessica shut her eyes tight, wishing the impossible illusion away,
replacing it with her Jamaican fantasy. It remained, locked into her
gaze, when she reopened them. As if to further challenge her quickly
diminishing sanity, it waved what looked like a tiny, inky tentacle
from behind the front passenger wheel of the Volkswagen. Others
followed, popping in and out of view from either side of the car,
sneaking from shadow to sight and back again, caressing doors and
tires, flowing slickly like oil.
Her head whirling about her, she noticed she alone was observing this
nightmare. Everyone else was either locked into their own driving mode,
or awaiting the change of the light with varying degrees of patience.
All cross traffic passing in front of her was blocked from the hideous
view by her car, not that anyone with no intention of turning would
look in this direction anyway. To her right the unfortunate pick-up
driver inspected his mysteriously punctured tire, scratching his head,
and looking around on any unoccupied portion of asphalt for an answer.
Somehow she knew he would not find one.
She glanced back in her mirror. The thing was still there, firmly affixed in place, holding aloft a sharp-looking tentacle tip. A victory stance? she wondered.
Inside her, an intersection light timer reminded her there were
forty-five seconds in which she could act. She had to do something, if
not for the guy in the car behind her, for the sake of her own state of
mind. This was all happening far too fast. She had to be cautious. Her
breathing quickened voluntarily.
With the speed of molasses her hand gripped against the plastic door
release and pulled inward. Keeping her attention on the mirror, she
pushed out at the sound of the click. Maybe if she could get the
driver's attention by feigning car trouble...
It was no good. At the slightest sound the ghoulish eyes slanted in on
each other, suddenly aware and displeased. The tentacle once held in
triumph was now being waved in threatening circles, pointing toward her
cracked door. A moment of hesitation lingered forever as she debated. How
in the world could it see her in the mirror? Did it know what she was
trying to do? More importantly, if she continued her intended plan,
would it be able to strike her at this distance? Without being seen?
Without giving itself away?
She stopped. A second look at the puzzled truck driver now undertaking
the laborious process of removing five oversized lug nuts with
inadequate equipment for the job answered her question. A single flash,
if that, is all anyone would see, or admit to seeing. Any harm to her
most likely would be dismissed as her own clumsiness in removing
herself from the car in traffic on a highway just slightly slick with
dampness and impeded by light fog.
Overcome by fear and the unknown, she pushed the door open wide, only
to slam it shut in defeat. Others around her would regard it as nothing
more than a case of an improperly closed door. Nothing unusual.
How much time was left? Suddenly she was unsure.
What could she do? Sitting at the green light, blocking the steady flow
of traffic, was not an option. The only accomplishment there would be
irate drivers and, with her luck, a citation. Calling for help, she
knew, would do no good. People didn't stop to help anymore. Especially
not when they're tired and heading home from a hard day's work. How
many times had she breezed by cars pulled to the side of the road,
emergency lights on hood up, smoke gushing into the sky? She could not
say. All she knew was the set of circumstances that could not exist
staring at her through a six inch wide piece of reflective glass had
plans and purpose. She found herself sucking her coffee cup dry, her
heart pounding a mile a minute, with precious few seconds left to think.
Panicked, Jessica tossed her empty plastic cup aside, a sudden caffeine
rush getting the best of her. The spent mug careened gracelessly to the
floor on the passenger side. Her eyes followed it, but stopped in
mid-arc as the cup kept going.
Her eyes met the newspaper headline, still facing her from the
passenger seat. The pieces of a horrible puzzle locked together. The
accidents, that thing, all the missing people...
"Oh my God!" she breathed. It was a helpless, feeble cry.
Reality returned to Jessica in the form of an abrupt car horn beeping
impatiently behind her. All cross traffic had stopped, she realized,
and the green light had begun another brief existence. Her eyes flashed
to the mirror. Behind her the yuppie had pulled closer to her rear, his
head still bopping, his mouth moving, no doubt lip syncing a song. The
creature, and the entire underside of his car, was out of her sight.
Out of choices and time, she applied pressure to her gas pedal,
creeping into her turn, dividing nervous attention between the road
before and behind her.
For a moment she noticed the face of the ill-fated young man. It was
confused, instantly frustrated, then in pained strain as he forced at
his somehow frozen steering wheel, inexplicably unable to turn it to
follow the red Corvette. Without warning, it took off like a shot,
straight ahead, barreling across the highway and down the foggy,
twisting dirt path of Coal Mine Road.
Jessica witnessed the final flash of emotion cross the shocked young
man’s face just before he disappeared from view. It was sheer horror,
his eyes wide, both hands off the wheel, pounding at the window.
And then he was gone.
Other cars fell in behind Jessica, forcing her to proceed forward. She
knew the police would never believe her if she went to them with such a
story. They would also question her on how she knew so much about this
particular accident, maybe even somehow involve her in whatever fate
lay in store for the Volkswagen and its occupant. She wondered how many
other people stifled away the same secret?
Jessica floored the gas pedal and hurried off, racing the clock,
mentally plotting out an alternate route to work for the next day. At
least she would have some extra time to test one tomorrow, she mused.
It would not be necessary to stop for coffee and a newspaper.
She had a pretty good idea of what the headline was going to be.
THE END
© 2017 Kent Rosenberger
Bio: Kent Rosenberger is the author of over thirty e-books
available for review at Amazon.com/kindle and Barnesandnoble.com under
his name, including novels, poetry and short story collections. His
work has previously been published in such magazines as 365 Tomorrows,
Big Pulp, Weird Year, The Absent Willow Review, Orion’s Child, Title
Goes Here, Flash Shot, Resident Aliens, Death Throes, Schlock!, The
Digital Dragon, Danse Macabre, Aphelion and Bumples. He is also the
winner of the 2011 Title Goes Here short story contest.
E-mail: Kent Rosenberger
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