Tales of the Night

Road Block

You're driving on an empty road late at night. The only sights are the cracked gravel road and fields stretching into the shadows, deprived of the moonlight by the thick clouds above. The only sounds are the low rumble of your engine and a soft buzz of static from the radio.

Suddenly, your car jolts, and so do you, blinking wildly out the front window, then at the rearview mirror. A deep pothole fades into the shadows, setting a trap for the next driver that dares to drift off from the monotony. With that, you straighten your posture and squint at the road ahead, determined to resist your exhaustion.

You continue to drive. The road remains a coarse gray. The fields around you sit still in the shadows.

But you don't dare close your eyes.

At the edge of your peripherals, the darkness shifts—or so you thought. Your rearview mirror shows the shadow of a tree on the side of the road, just before it blends in with the night. Belatedly, you recall seeing it in front of you, but you hadn't registered its presence at the time. As you turn back to the road, you shift in your seat again, determined to keep your focus honed...

A figure is standing in the middle of the road, just at the edge of your headlights' reach.

You slam on your brakes, and the screech of your tires accompanies the grunt you release when you lurch into the steering wheel. Stars flicker in your vision as you blink at your dashboard; you feel like you're still moving, but the speedometer rests at zero. The radio's buzz is distant, nearly drowned out by your pulse hammering in your ears.

Outside, the world seems still and quiet, but you don't raise your gaze to confirm it.

What was that? Did you hit it? No, you would've heard something, or at least felt it...right?

What if you just didn't realize it? You had almost fallen asleep more than once, and the most prominent details in your surroundings had nearly slipped your notice. How much could you really trust your awareness?

So you pull your eyes away from the lights on your dashboard and towards the road before you.

A person towers over the hood of your car, their bare skin covered with streaks of dried mud. Their short hair is sparse, and what remains are clumps sticking in various directions. They are too close for the headlights to expose their face, but that doesn't matter as they slowly near you, leaning closer to the windshield to allow you a better look.

Their eyes are wide and dark—unblinking.

Their mouth is caked with dirt, as are the whites of their teeth when their lips stretch into a smile.

Metal creaks; you glance down to see their grimy grip digging into the hood.

The road brightens ever so slightly; the moon manages to peek through the clouds, and its light creeps over the figure before you.

The dried dirt takes on a reddish hue.

Your breath stops as their smile grows.

But you don't dare close your eyes.