Alan Conner knew he was in trouble. Knew it from the moment he looked at the fuel gauge. The arrow pointed, as it usually did, just above that big yellow E. The worst part was knowing he could have averted the situation twenty minutes ago at the gas station. But instead, he had allowed himself to completely forget about it by focusing on Jennifer. What a piece of work she ended up becoming. Nice, intelligent, and beautiful only to transform into a wild, needy narcissist before his eyes. And tonight was the last straw. What was supposed to be a fun, entertaining party evolved into a raunchy nightmare of headaches. All he wanted to do was go home and forget about Jennifer. He was furious, constantly dwelling on what he would like to do to her.
When he sped past that gas station, he briefly considered buying some beer to help with the pain, but ultimately resisted the temptation. For he wanted to stay sober and not risk any accidents. And so, upon this consideration, he forgot about getting gas, a priority he had made upon leaving the party. Judging the current situation, he had about five minutes left, if he was lucky. And the house was still ten minutes away, meaning he would have to walk home, call a toll truck, and get his car delivered. Then there was the matter of getting to work. More than likely, he would have to beg his brother Harold in the middle of the night to take him. Yes, Alan was in deep trouble. And without his cell phone, there was nothing he could do about it as he drove down the two-lane highway.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea rushed through him and he swerved the blue Buick. The car sputtered, all the power went out, and the vehicle slowed to a complete halt. Further down off the right shoulder, he saw a white, battered pickup truck with its lights on. At least he wasn't alone. Maybe things weren't that desperate. He could still call Harold, provided that the driver had a phone.
Then it occurred to him. There was no one in the truck. The headlights were on and the cab light was on. So where was the driver? Picked up and rescued? Maybe, but very unlikely. Walked off to get help? Doubtful. Restroom break? That could explain why the truck was facing toward the long line of trees. No, that couldn't be it. Foul play? Now that was an entertaining possibility. But he didn't ponder it very long, for he saw movement among the bushes near the wooded barrier.
A large, dark shape in the form of a man appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It was tall, had a bulky center, and moved with a limp. More features emerged as the figure walked across the pasture toward the truck. The person had long, flowing hair and big, muscular arms. He wore a thick beard and raggedy pants, but no discernible shirt.
Alan was terrified. He knew the man was evil. Sensed it. He couldn't place his finger on what provoked this feeling. Maybe it was the posture. Maybe it was the strong, steady pace despite having a limp. Or maybe, it was the way he slowly turned his head back and forth like he was looking for something. Perhaps he was making sure no one had seen him emerge from the forest.
It was at this moment that the large man stopped. He looked to his right and looked to his left. He then stared straight at car. He did not turn away, but instead placed his hands on his hips as if he was trying to figure something out. Holding his breath, Alan didn't move a muscle. It was deathly still. All sound ceased to exist. The figure just stood there. But then, it bent forward in an attempt to peer into the vehicle, hoping to see if anyone was inside. After what seemed like an eternity, the man turned away and headed toward his truck.
He felt a wave of relief overcome him. It was a close one. He let out a big sigh of relief and rested his head against the steering wheel. He looked up and saw his tormentor in his full half-naked glory, illuminated by the headlights of the truck. He saw everything in detail, including the face. For the man was now looking straight at him, wearing a manic smile which did not match his eyes.
Those eyes. He looked into them and saw nothing. No soul. No pity. No mercy. Nothing. Just anger and malice in those cold, black eyes. Then suddenly, amazingly, he turned around and walked to the truck. What was this guy playing at? Then it hit him. He was going to search for a weapon. A gun? Maybe. Perhaps a knife. Or what if it's a machette? Other possibilities rushed through his mind, but his concentration was broken by the slamming of a door.
He looked up and saw the man standing next to to the truck, silhouetted against the shining headlights. He could not see any features of the dark form before him, but he could feel its deadly gaze of scorn and malice. He could feel the weight of its gaze bearing down on him, a feeling which sent a chill down his spine. Alan wanted to do something. Had to do something. Yet, he found it difficult with that figure staring at him with those unseen, pitiless eyes, if they were eyes. For he had never seen anything like them in his life. Then the figure moved forward, unarmed and silent.
Alan's mind was racing. What to do? What to do? The figure walked closer and closer to the car. What could he do? Of course! How stupid could he have been? He had a gun under the passenger seat. Alan found the pistol, grabbed it, and climbed back to the steering wheel. He found himself staring straight into the monster's face, its inhuman eyes studying him as a predator sizes up his prey before making the final strike. Alan shakily lifted his gun and aimed it straight at the fiend's head. The man jolted backward in surprise but quickly regained his composure. He was fearful now, yet the anger still remained.
Minutes passed, but nothing happened. Alan's hands seemed to be frozen, unable to carry out the deed which would put an end to the nightmare. The man smiled. It appeared that he knew Alan could never pull the trigger. He moved toward the left door, the gun barrel following him. He stopped in front of the door. He lifted the handle and pulled on it. The door was locked. He looked at Alan again and his smile vanished as he saw the driver pull the trigger. Nothing happened. Alan checked the gun and turned off the safety. Gathering all his courage, he pulled the trigger. Click. Click. The gun was empty.
A sense of dread overcame Alan. It was over. He was doomed. Hope was gone. Then it returned. There might be some ammunition somewhere in the car. As he climbed into the back, the man slowly walked toward the other side of the car, all the while casting glances at his prey. But Alan didn't notice this time because he was too busy. Despite his preoccupation, something in the back of his mind told him that he was wasting his time. Alan gave up and returned to the front. The man was approaching the right door. Alan sat on the passenger side and opened the glove department. The last possible location was empty.
Alan looked up and saw the man staring down at him. He leapt back in surprise, landing in the area between the two seats. The man grabbed the handle and lifted it up, then pulled it as hard as he could. The door opened.
Alan scrambled backward into the left door. He pulled at the handle, but it wouldn't do anything. Then he remembered it was locked. His tormentor lunged forward and grabbed his legs. Alan tried to resist, but it did no good. The man crawled forward, trapping the legs with his knees. He quickly pinned down the wrists. He gazed into his victim's eyes and gave him a wide smile. Alan knew it was the end. Knew it the moment he looked into those eyes. Then the man placed a hand on his throat.
A distant rumble entered the car. The man released his grip and looked up. Alan was able to sit up slightly. A car was driving toward them. Surely, the sight of two vehicles in the same area would attract the driver's attention. But what would happen next? Save the day? Become a victim? Alan didn't know, but at least there might be a chance to survive. It all became a hopeless dream. For the the car passed them without stopping or slowing down.
Immediately, the man grabbed Alan by the neck, lifted him slightly, and rammed him against the door. As the grip tightened, a bright light flooded the car. The assailant released his hold then moved backward while shielding his eyes. Alan couldn't see who the driver was, nor did he care. He looked away and unlocked the door. He pulled the handle. The man turned his head and saw what was happening. The door opened. As Alan tried to pull himself from the car, the man reached to grab his leg. Alan escaped his grasp but lost his balance. He fell and landed hard on the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of him, but he had no time to dwell on it. He still wasn't free.
Alan got onto his feet and ran toward the truck. He opened the door, closed it, and prayed that the key was still in the ignition. It was. He looked to his left. The man was getting near, his face full of fury. Yet he never quickened his pace. He just kept on walking slowly, his eyes fixated on the driver. Alan turned the ignition and the engine roared to life. He shifted the truck into reverse. The man stopped and pulled out a gun. His gun. Why? It had no bullets. Alan decided not to stick around to find out the answer. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal then drove the truck backwards, not even thinking about turning it around until he was a safe distance away. When he was sure all was well, Alan stopped the truck and wept.
When he sped past that gas station, he briefly considered buying some beer to help with the pain, but ultimately resisted the temptation. For he wanted to stay sober and not risk any accidents. And so, upon this consideration, he forgot about getting gas, a priority he had made upon leaving the party. Judging the current situation, he had about five minutes left, if he was lucky. And the house was still ten minutes away, meaning he would have to walk home, call a toll truck, and get his car delivered. Then there was the matter of getting to work. More than likely, he would have to beg his brother Harold in the middle of the night to take him. Yes, Alan was in deep trouble. And without his cell phone, there was nothing he could do about it as he drove down the two-lane highway.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea rushed through him and he swerved the blue Buick. The car sputtered, all the power went out, and the vehicle slowed to a complete halt. Further down off the right shoulder, he saw a white, battered pickup truck with its lights on. At least he wasn't alone. Maybe things weren't that desperate. He could still call Harold, provided that the driver had a phone.
Then it occurred to him. There was no one in the truck. The headlights were on and the cab light was on. So where was the driver? Picked up and rescued? Maybe, but very unlikely. Walked off to get help? Doubtful. Restroom break? That could explain why the truck was facing toward the long line of trees. No, that couldn't be it. Foul play? Now that was an entertaining possibility. But he didn't ponder it very long, for he saw movement among the bushes near the wooded barrier.
A large, dark shape in the form of a man appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It was tall, had a bulky center, and moved with a limp. More features emerged as the figure walked across the pasture toward the truck. The person had long, flowing hair and big, muscular arms. He wore a thick beard and raggedy pants, but no discernible shirt.
Alan was terrified. He knew the man was evil. Sensed it. He couldn't place his finger on what provoked this feeling. Maybe it was the posture. Maybe it was the strong, steady pace despite having a limp. Or maybe, it was the way he slowly turned his head back and forth like he was looking for something. Perhaps he was making sure no one had seen him emerge from the forest.
It was at this moment that the large man stopped. He looked to his right and looked to his left. He then stared straight at car. He did not turn away, but instead placed his hands on his hips as if he was trying to figure something out. Holding his breath, Alan didn't move a muscle. It was deathly still. All sound ceased to exist. The figure just stood there. But then, it bent forward in an attempt to peer into the vehicle, hoping to see if anyone was inside. After what seemed like an eternity, the man turned away and headed toward his truck.
He felt a wave of relief overcome him. It was a close one. He let out a big sigh of relief and rested his head against the steering wheel. He looked up and saw his tormentor in his full half-naked glory, illuminated by the headlights of the truck. He saw everything in detail, including the face. For the man was now looking straight at him, wearing a manic smile which did not match his eyes.
Those eyes. He looked into them and saw nothing. No soul. No pity. No mercy. Nothing. Just anger and malice in those cold, black eyes. Then suddenly, amazingly, he turned around and walked to the truck. What was this guy playing at? Then it hit him. He was going to search for a weapon. A gun? Maybe. Perhaps a knife. Or what if it's a machette? Other possibilities rushed through his mind, but his concentration was broken by the slamming of a door.
He looked up and saw the man standing next to to the truck, silhouetted against the shining headlights. He could not see any features of the dark form before him, but he could feel its deadly gaze of scorn and malice. He could feel the weight of its gaze bearing down on him, a feeling which sent a chill down his spine. Alan wanted to do something. Had to do something. Yet, he found it difficult with that figure staring at him with those unseen, pitiless eyes, if they were eyes. For he had never seen anything like them in his life. Then the figure moved forward, unarmed and silent.
Alan's mind was racing. What to do? What to do? The figure walked closer and closer to the car. What could he do? Of course! How stupid could he have been? He had a gun under the passenger seat. Alan found the pistol, grabbed it, and climbed back to the steering wheel. He found himself staring straight into the monster's face, its inhuman eyes studying him as a predator sizes up his prey before making the final strike. Alan shakily lifted his gun and aimed it straight at the fiend's head. The man jolted backward in surprise but quickly regained his composure. He was fearful now, yet the anger still remained.
Minutes passed, but nothing happened. Alan's hands seemed to be frozen, unable to carry out the deed which would put an end to the nightmare. The man smiled. It appeared that he knew Alan could never pull the trigger. He moved toward the left door, the gun barrel following him. He stopped in front of the door. He lifted the handle and pulled on it. The door was locked. He looked at Alan again and his smile vanished as he saw the driver pull the trigger. Nothing happened. Alan checked the gun and turned off the safety. Gathering all his courage, he pulled the trigger. Click. Click. The gun was empty.
A sense of dread overcame Alan. It was over. He was doomed. Hope was gone. Then it returned. There might be some ammunition somewhere in the car. As he climbed into the back, the man slowly walked toward the other side of the car, all the while casting glances at his prey. But Alan didn't notice this time because he was too busy. Despite his preoccupation, something in the back of his mind told him that he was wasting his time. Alan gave up and returned to the front. The man was approaching the right door. Alan sat on the passenger side and opened the glove department. The last possible location was empty.
Alan looked up and saw the man staring down at him. He leapt back in surprise, landing in the area between the two seats. The man grabbed the handle and lifted it up, then pulled it as hard as he could. The door opened.
Alan scrambled backward into the left door. He pulled at the handle, but it wouldn't do anything. Then he remembered it was locked. His tormentor lunged forward and grabbed his legs. Alan tried to resist, but it did no good. The man crawled forward, trapping the legs with his knees. He quickly pinned down the wrists. He gazed into his victim's eyes and gave him a wide smile. Alan knew it was the end. Knew it the moment he looked into those eyes. Then the man placed a hand on his throat.
A distant rumble entered the car. The man released his grip and looked up. Alan was able to sit up slightly. A car was driving toward them. Surely, the sight of two vehicles in the same area would attract the driver's attention. But what would happen next? Save the day? Become a victim? Alan didn't know, but at least there might be a chance to survive. It all became a hopeless dream. For the the car passed them without stopping or slowing down.
Immediately, the man grabbed Alan by the neck, lifted him slightly, and rammed him against the door. As the grip tightened, a bright light flooded the car. The assailant released his hold then moved backward while shielding his eyes. Alan couldn't see who the driver was, nor did he care. He looked away and unlocked the door. He pulled the handle. The man turned his head and saw what was happening. The door opened. As Alan tried to pull himself from the car, the man reached to grab his leg. Alan escaped his grasp but lost his balance. He fell and landed hard on the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of him, but he had no time to dwell on it. He still wasn't free.
Alan got onto his feet and ran toward the truck. He opened the door, closed it, and prayed that the key was still in the ignition. It was. He looked to his left. The man was getting near, his face full of fury. Yet he never quickened his pace. He just kept on walking slowly, his eyes fixated on the driver. Alan turned the ignition and the engine roared to life. He shifted the truck into reverse. The man stopped and pulled out a gun. His gun. Why? It had no bullets. Alan decided not to stick around to find out the answer. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal then drove the truck backwards, not even thinking about turning it around until he was a safe distance away. When he was sure all was well, Alan stopped the truck and wept.