Sarah Monk is an aspiring author who enjoys to read, write, and draw. She is currently at a university to help improve her skills. While some of her short fiction is in the works of being published, she hopes to move up in the ranks from flash fiction writer to novelist. She also has an odd fascination of owning a pet hedgehog.
Nicole hated this road; the infamous Clinton Road. Known for its phantom headlights and the infamous Old Boy Bridge. She did not like the idea of coming down here, especially at night. However, certain circumstances made it so.
Her tired legs were telling her to go and sit on a bench, but sadly there was nothing nearby. The only relief would be a tree, but getting too close to the woods was something she did not enjoy. Nicole looked up and down the road, seeing nothing but an abysmal black hole. A chill ran through the black road and up to Nicole’s nostrils. A sweet scent of bark and evergreen over took her brain. Sadly, it did not neutralize the fear and anxiety that was flowing through her.
However, despite all the negativity about this road, she loved it during the day, especially during the autumn months. That love for colorful trees looming overhead, creating a makeshift ceiling. The trees made the road seem like it was part of a fantasy world. She always expected to see a fairy or a gnome pop out of the forest. But, once around dusk, she leaves never to return until day broke, fearing that the monstrous creatures of the night would replace the fairies and gnomes. However, that promise she made long ago was broken because of a miss scheduling.
Nicole looked desperately for any oncoming headlights, but her heart raced faster at the thought of a stranger picking her up. This road was known for phantom drivers. Even with alive drivers, thoughts crossed her mind like; What if they kidnap you and torture you? or Will anyone miss you if you are gone? Probably not!
After an hour of horrible thoughts and nervous twitching, a pair of headlights emerged from the unfathomable depth. As if she lived in New York City, she shook her vigorously, hoping the driver (if there was one) would come to a halt.
Time stopped for Nicole; she could feel every thump of her. Every droplet of sweat popping out of pores and running down her off cream skin.
Or am I crying? The thought came to her as fast as the headlights appeared. Social situations were her Achilles heel, and the upcoming vehicle with the dead or alive driver did not make anything better. Nor did the thoughts running through her head.
Backing out from the edge of the street, she saw an old pickup truck stop in front of her. It was something that did not come out during the turn of the century. The truck looked like an old Ford. However, her expertise did not even commit to the idea. The truck could have been any model, and she would still think it to be a Ford.
You’re rather stupid, aren’t ya?
Shaking the negative thought out, she walked up to the old Ford or Chrysler to find that the truck was riddled with dents, scratches, and peeling paint. The windshield was cracked down the middle. A faint aroma of gasoline and earth enveloped the truck. Along with the dents and scratch marks, earth covered the vehicle.
“Are coming in or not, miss?” croaked a baritone voice.
Nicole bent down to see an older gentleman in the driver’s seat. The creases on his face and hands show that he been through a lot. His hair was fading, but it still had remnants of its former color. The clothing he wore was just as worn as his face and hands, but it still holds its color just like the bearer’s hair.
Go on get in! I bet he will rape ya and kill ya!
She stood there for a moment, trying desperately to calm herself, but the old man asked again. This time she slowly shook her head.
Nicole nestled herself next to the passenger door. It has been awhile since she saw a bench seat. They were very common in these older vehicles. Seatbelts, on the other hand, was not. The anxiety started to grow, but that same baritone voice interrupted the inability to breathe.
“Where to, miss?” the older gentleman asked with the same vacant expression.
She hesitated, wondering whether or not the thought was going to be right. There was no one to greet her when she got home, but that did mean she was not going to be missed. Right?
“2330, Union Valley Road. Please,” Nicole finally said in a near whisper.
The older gentleman gave a simple nod, without moving his eyes from her face. They drove along in silence. Nothing was spoken for nearly half an hour. Nicole stared out the dirty window, wondering if she would see a specter. Her mind started to change from one subject to another. She wanted to break the silence but did not know how.
Ask him how much fuuuun he is going to have with you?
She jumped up at the sound of his voice.
“Where’re here, miss,” he stated, with his vacant expression
Nicole nearly jumped out of the vehicle, but something nagged at her as she approached the steps to her door.
If you ask, he may take you home with him. That will be fun, riiiiight?
“Shut it!” she whispered.
“Excuse me,” she said to the older gentleman. “What type of vehicle is this?”
She was expecting the older gentleman to give her an eyeing look, but he just simply said, “F-100” and drove off.
Awwwww, toooooo baaaaaad.
Why do you have to laugh like that? she thought.
When she went inside, she saw a newspaper on her coffee table. On the front was that same olive green F-100. It did not connect to her, but an older gentleman had died earlier that day. He died on Clinton Road.