Stories to Keep You Awake at Night

The tale of Shuffling Joe; Part 2

I felt somewhat defeated, in spite of the fact that we were heading home. I looked over at Sandy. Her face was turned toward the window opposite me, but I could still make out the square set of her jaw. I’d sat by Sandy all semester, but she’d always seemed so easy-going. That night, her quick wit and sharp retorts had surprised me somewhat… and pleased me a little as well. I hated to admit it, but I liked Sandy’s ability to handle Lena. I’d always been somewhat passive and, as a result, Lena had a tendency to push me around. If Sandy had not come along, I felt sure that we’d have been on our way out to the creek whether I had voiced any misgivings or not.

We started moving backward, out into the road again. I could hear the branches gently scraping the sides of the car as we moved. I rested my head against the window, my eyes staring into the foliage outside.

As we straightened out in the road, I looked up the laneway we’d just left. Fog filled the space where our car had been. Was it my imagination, or was the fog getting thicker? I made slits of my eyes as I stared down the gravel path. Was that a house in the distance? I wondered momentarily if it might be the Old Carver Place. How close had we gotten to Jefferson Creek? We’d never know now.

We moved forward, the windshield an increasingly whiter shade. I could hear Lena swearing a bit under her breath. I began to feel a little afraid. What if we got lost? What would we do?

“Lena, do you have your cell?” I asked, hesitantly.

“Yeah,” she replied, “it’s got a full charge, why?”

“Just curious,” I murmured.

“Let me guess, you’re totally freaked out by this fog, right?” she almost chuckled, “Don’t worry.”

“Well, I don’t know how you can even see in this.”

“It’s not like I have to navigate or anything,” she said with an ounce of condescension, “I mean, it’s a straight shot once you’re off the frontage road.”

“Okay,” I answered, almost ashamed. Sandy didn’t comment. I looked over at her again. Her eyes were closed. She was listening to music through her headphones, tapping her foot and humming some song. She didn’t care either way.

Our steady progress seemed increasingly slow. It felt as if we were moving at a snail’s pace, even though we probably weren’t. I only sensed our movement during the long stretches of widely spaced trees. The fog seemed to thin out in those areas and I could make out the ebony trunks of trees and, occasionally, a lonely farmhouse.

Once, as we were passing through one of these open sections, I could have sworn I saw the outline of a man in the distance. He wore an old hat with a wide brim. He stood very still, watching us as we went by. I couldn’t take my eyes from his silhouette. There was something dark and sinister about his being there alone, with no farmhouse near.

I was shaken deep down, but I said nothing to Lena. God forbid I share another fear with her. I almost said something to Sandy, but she wouldn’t have heard me over her headphones anyway. She was still humming softly, peering out of the window nearest her. What was she looking at, I wondered? Just then, Sandy slowly sat up in her seat and peered out the window meaningfully.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, trying to sound calm.

“We’re turning,” she said, very matter-a-factly, “We’re on a curve. Can you feel it?”

I sat perfectly still for several moments. She kept looking at me, waiting.

“Can you feel it?” she asked again.

“A little,” I replied, unsure.

“I think we’re moving in toward the fog,” she whispered.