joyride

It was a boring evening, a Friday night that was no fun at all. No one in the whole city of Whiteridge seemed to have thought of making this night one to be remembered. None of the rich kids was having a party. There wasn’t anything on TV but stupid Barnaby Jones reruns. There was absolutely nothing in the city cool enough to gather up a crowd. Nothing special was going on. Real boring. Everyone seemed satisfied to just stay inside their houses and count sheep. Everyone except Kevin and Brody.

Kevin Dobson and Brody Reynolds. The former, a blond, blue-eyed next-door-type kind of guy with an “attitude”; the latter, a skinny, spiky-haired techno buff with a devil-may-care philosophy. A friendship comparable only to Beavis and Butt-head. These two teenagers wouldn’t settle for a night like this. They would always make sure that they’d have a damn good time on a Friday evening. Like last week they went into Old Mac’s, the convenience store up in Burrows St., and thrashed the place the way they saw it in the Smashing Pumpkins’ “1979” video. And about a month ago, they had the done the same to another store in the neighboring town, Jemelle. They got away clean and easy in both cases—with a Budweiser six-pack and some chips, thanks to their friend, Rick Green, and his dad’s Toyota. Unfortunately, Rick was grounded for the whole week. The car got scratched when they went drag racing last Sunday, and there was no way his dad wouldn’t find out about it. But this simple problem wouldn’t stop Kevin and Brody. If they needed a car, they could always get one for themselves.

It was half past nine. Brody was sitting on the curb along Tycoon Ave., leaning his back on a fire hydrant. He was thinking about Zoe Garner, the prettiest girl in school, and wondering if she already had a date for the prom on the following week. He was waiting for Kevin, who had gone into the parking area of the hotel, Goldwell Prime, in front of him to boost a car.

Kevin knew a lot about many things, disabling anti-theft systems and hotwiring an auto were just a few of his amazing skills. He had always been an expert on electrical stuff. He could fix any broken household appliance in a snap. He was also great when it came to girls. He wasn’t that good-looking—Brody had always thought he was cuter than Kevin—what with his bad teeth and his thick monobrow, but he had this power to talk to a girl into sleeping with him. He was probably the best talker in Whiteridge, though his mouth ought to be washed. But this would explain why he seemed to know everyone in all the clubs he and Brody had gone into.

Brody, on the other hand, did not have a “mojo” like Kevin. He wasn’t shy or stupid or anything like that, he was in fact one of the smartest guys around, he was simply not gifted with the ability to come up with good pick-up lines. His ideas were either about a new fun thing to do—he mostly plans their adventures—or about how one particular movie should have been done better. His interests range from Stephen Spielberg to Chemical Brothers. As for girls, he could have any girl he wanted, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who’d go for just “any” girl. She must suit his preferences—short hair, big boobs, long legs, taller than him —before he would make a move. But then again, if he was drunk, it wouldn’t matter. Nevertheless, he was no less a party animal than Kevin.

About a minute after Brody began feeling hopeless about Zoe, a short screech cried out. He immediately stood up and watched as a red Corvette rolled out from the parking lot exit. Its vanity plate read: F3ARW4Y. Fearway, Brody thought. He knew he had seen that name somewhere but couldn’t remember where.

The sleek, red car halted, its tires less than two inches away from Brody. The polarized windows slid down, revealing the wide grin on Kevin’s face.

“Whoa!” Brody said in awe. He touched the car as if it was made of gold. “You boosted a Corvette?”

“Well,” Kevin replied proudly, reaching over to open the passenger seat door. “This doesn’t look like no Volkswagen Beetle, does it? Come on!” His tone was as excited as Brody’s, not having even the slightest sign that he was afraid they would get in trouble for this.

Brody slipped into the leather-upholstered seat and mouthed out a happy “yeah!” as he slammed the door shut. “This is gonna be great!” He had never been inside a Corvette before, or any fancy sports car for that matter.

“Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen,” Kevin said upon gearshift,” ‘cause you’re about to experience the ride of your life!”

With that, the Corvette took off.

Like a crimson bullet the Corvette cut through the dark of the night at top speed. There were only a few other vehicles on the road making the car cruise smoothly and blindingly fast. The engine hummed quietly in unison with the silence that wrapped Highway 13, and the only sounds anyone within the area would hear were Kevin and Brody’s loud cheering.

“Woo-hooo!” was all they’ve been saying since they left the city. The windows were down and a cool breeze blew into the car.

“Damn!” Brody spoke up, catching his breath from all of that shouting. “This is cool, Kev. Waaaaay cool!” He hit fists with Kevin. “A Corvette! We’re actually driving a Corvette!”

“Correction,” Kevin said, gripping the steering wheel proudly. The feeling of driving such a car was overwhelming. “I am drivin’ a Corvette. You are just a passenger.”

“Then let me drive!” Brody reached for the steering wheel and yanked it. The car veered to the right with a soft screech. Kevin shoved Brody’s hands off with his arm, and eased the car on the road.

“You’ll have your turn later, man,” he said.

Brody sank back on his seat. “Okay, okay.” He turned his attention to the stereo and fiddled with it. He found a station that was playing a Prodigy song, and began drumming his fingers on the dashboard, singing along.

“Oh, man, you still listen to this stuff?” Kevin complained. Brody irritated him even more by tapping his hands louder, and shouting the lines on Kevin’s face. “Shut up. Just find somethin’ else.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n Dickhead!” Brody joked, and lowered down the volume. Then he opened the glove compartment, and dug through its contents.

 Kevin gently lifted his foot from the gas pedal, glancing at his friend. The car slowed down a bit. “What d’you got in there?”

“CD’s...” Brody answered, pulling some of it out. “Tom Jones, Frank Sinatra, and… Marilyn Manson?” He shook his head and showed Kevin the CD. “What a weird collection this guy has.” He turned to the glove compartment again.

“So who is this fuckin' Fearway guy, anyway?” asked Kevin.

Brody shrugged. “I know I’ve heard that name somewhere. Just can’t remember.” He sighed. “Let me see...CD’s, razors, toothbrush,  and...whoa!”

“What? What the fuck is it?”

“A gun.” Brody took out a polished .45 revolver. He had his finger hooked around the trigger guard, for fear of getting his prints on it. He had held some guns before but not like this one. This gun was big and heavy. Its shiny metal surface glinted as he put it closer to Kevin.

“Is it loaded?” he asked quickly.

Broody stared at its side. “Yup. All chambers.” He placed it back inside the glove compartment. “So if you won’t let me drive, I will have to shoot you with it.”

“Yeah, right. Like you could use a gun.” Kevin pictured Brody firing a gun, and tumbling backwards. He laughed mentally.

“So where are we headed?” Brody suddenly asked.

“Where do you wanna go? I was thinking maybe, Lover’s Lane, you know, pick up some of the chicks that dumped their dates there, or Demon Cliff, or Glimmer Lake.” He paused. “Or we could go straight to Kilgore and visit that ex-girlfriend of yours, what’s her name?”

“Darla,” Brody replied. “Let’s just go to Demon Cliff. But let’s grab something to eat first.” He watched as Kevin pressed on the gas pedal, the Corvette picking up speed. He shifted his gaze outside, looking at the electric poles that whizzed by. It made him dizzy.

When Kevin and Brody entered the store, they immediately spotted the two girls hanging around near the Slurpee machine at the far corner. One was a short brunette, who had to peek over the racks to see them, and the other was a skinny redhead, twirling her finger around her pigtails. Kevin flashed them his smile, and the two girls giggled, looking at each other, keeping the straws of their drinks on their lips.

As Kevin started walking towards the girls, something caught Brody’s eyes on the magazine rack, making him stop. An old tabloid newspaper. The Whiteridge Herald. He picked it up. The headline said: MILTON FEARWAY IN WHITERIDGE. Fearway! Brody thought. Now he remembered. Two months ago, there spread reports about a serial killer butchering pregnant women. They caught him about three weeks ago, dressing one cop as a pregnant lady to act as a decoy. His name was Fearway, Trevor Fearway. Not Milton Fearway. Could they be brothers?

Brody rushed to Kevin who was standing by the junk food rack. “Kev, look here.” He showed him the paper. Kevin’s eyes stayed focused on the girls, to the redhead most probably. He grabbed a bag of chips from the rack and handed it over to Brody. “I think this is the guy who owns the car you boosted. Milton Fearway. Richest bachelor in the state.” Kev was paying no attention to him, giving two more bags of chips. But he went on. “He’s here in Whiteridge for a big business deal, and he’s staying in the Goldwell Prime. I think he’s the brother of Trevor Fearway, you know, the guy who killed pregnant…”

“You take those to the counter,” Kevin said, adding another to Brody’s load, “while I take care of the chicks.” He went towards the girls, running a hand through his hair arrogantly.

As Brody was about to walk over to the counter, three rugged-looking men came into the store. They all looked the same: bald heads, goateed chins, black custom-printed shirts, tattoos, body piercings, things Brody would never thought of having. They instantly marched up towards the counter, the fat old man behind it eyeing them suspiciously. Brody sensed something really bad was going to happen, and backed up to the rear corner of the store.

And then he saw it. The guy who had the most earrings pulled out a shotgun from inside his coat and pointed it at the man behind the counter. The old man raised his hands, and then nodded nervously, the crook must have whispered his command. His two companions remained close to him, the stout one looking around the room. Brody pretended to be deciding which soda to get when the guy looked at his direction. But he sneaked a glance. The robber stared at him as if to say “Stay out of this or else...”

Brody gulped. The storeowner began emptying the cash register.

Suddenly, a girl screamed. It was the redhead, she too must have seen it. The sight of the large gun made her shriek like hell and drop her Slurpee. Kevin abruptly froze just a few feet away from her, and the brunette almost jumped. Both didn’t know yet what was happening. The scream alarmed everyone within the store, especially the three robbers.

“Shut up!” the short guy yelled, pulling out in one swift motion an automatic that was hidden in his pants. He aimed it at the girl, his hand shaking.

She cupped her hands on her mouth like it wasn’t going to stop, forcing her lips to clamp tight. But then her friend saw the gun aimed at them. She then cried out. Even louder.

“Shut the fuck...!”

BHWAM! The gun went off. The redhead screamed again. The brunette didn’t. The girl’s head disappeared in a burst of blood as Kevin and Brody ducked. The girl fell limply backwards, hitting the Slurpee machine, and dropped just in front of Kevin. With a dreadful thud, the girl’s face smacked the floor, blood spraying onto his cheeks. He wiped it with the sleeve of his shirt and crawled on all fours behind a rack of sardines.

One of the robbers began shouting, cursing at the guy who shot the girl. The other one was telling them both to just shut up. Brody was creeping closer to the exit when he heard another gunshot. Then the chips rack beside him toppled over him as one of the crooks fell above him, crashing into the beverages. Brody covered his head with his arms, a single thought registering in his mind: the storeowner must have snatched the shotgun when he had the chance as the robbers argued.

The redhead cried out. Lots of gunfire followed. Stuff were flying out all over, glasses were shattering into pieces.

Brody shoved the dead body on top of him and planned his course of action quickly. Get up and run to the door. He took a deep breath and sprang to his feet, dashing for the door, a bullet whizzing over his head. He caught a glimpse of the fat old man and the crook with a dozen earrings fighting over the shotgun. The short guy was badly wounded on the shoulder and was trying to get up near the counter. The redhead had squeezed herself in the narrow space between the Slurpee machine and the refrigerator, doing what she was best at: screaming.

Brody pushed the door open and leaped to the Corvette. He hopped in at once and started the engine. The image of Kevin dead in a pool of blood haunted his brain. He flinched at every gunshot that came from inside the store.

Just then, a guy jumped out of the shattered window with a six-pack of Budweiser in his hand. It was Kevin. And his body wasn’t riddled with bullets, yet. He staggered and hopped into the car, and Brody kicked the gas when he was only half in. The last thing they heard was the redhead’s screams being cut off.

“Holy shit!” Kevin was saying, hyperventilating. “Holy fuckin’ shit! I thought we were gonna get iced!”

Brody was also panting like a dog. He realized he wasn’t hungry anymore. And that the road was now completely empty. “Yeah,” he said. “Thought you were a goner.” Then he thought of the two dead girls. “Poor girls. They just shot them like that.”

“Yeah, what a waste.” Kevin took one of the beer cans and opened the tab. “They were dolls. Especially the redhead. I was gonna go and get her, but the fuckin’ shorty guy, who killed the fuckin’ brunette, was up on his fuckin’ feet, and pointin’ his fuckin’ gun at her. So I just ran. He fired at me but all he hit were some bottles.” He guzzled up the Bud. “Sons of bitches had to pick that time to rob the store. I could’ve gotten those chicks to come with us.”

“And you had time to filch some booze,” added Brody, laughing.

Kevin looked at the can. “Course, I did.” He drank up a mouthful. And then chuckled.

“You should have seen your face when you jumped out of that window. You were like...” Brody widened his eyes, and shaped his mouth into a tiny “O”, imitating Kevin’s expression of panic.

“Whoa-whoa-whoa!” Kevin tried to say as he was drinking. Beer dripped and spurted out from his lips. “Stop the car!”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you see the chick back there?” He exclaimed, glancing back on the dark road. Brody was about to say “no”, but Kevin noticed he hadn’t even slowed down and so he suddenly hollered. “STOP THE FUCKIN’ CAR!” Tires squealed as Brody slammed his foot on the brakes. “Now turn around.”

Brody spun the car around and drove back down Highway 13 at moderate speed. “If this girl’s no babe, Kev, I am gonna kick your ass for shouting at me.”

“Just drive,” Kevin said, scanning the whole area. They had already gone back half a mile, but there wasn’t any girl.

“You were saying?”

“She was right here. Had a large bag with her.”

Then, as they moved further, they saw a sign that read: “Kilgore 69 miles”. And right beside that sign stood a woman in a yellow dress with flowery designs. She had long, curly blond hair that was being blown softly by the wind. There was large brown bag at her feet, the kind one would take on an out of town trip. As they got closer to her, her beautiful face came into view.

“You can stop drooling now and get the car over there,” Kevin told Brody.

Brody made another U-turn and stopped directly in front of the woman, who picked her bag up. She had green, mesmerizing eyes that had long lashes, and a wide mouth that had dimples at its ends. She was probably in her mid-twenties.

Kevin went out of the car, and leaned on the door. “Hi.”

The woman smiled. “Hi.” The wind blew her hair to her face, and she brushed it with her hand and tucked it behind her ear.

“Need a ride, huh?”

“Yup,” the woman nodded, smiling again. The wind became stronger and blew her hair in all places.

Kevin opened the door to the backseat. “Well, hop on.”

The smile on the woman’s face grew wider. “Thanks!” She fixed her hair and lugged her bag into the backseat. Then she held her skirt against her thigh and sat inside. Kevin sat down next to her and shut the door. “Where are you boys headed?” she asked as the car advanced.

“Demon...” Brody began to say, but Kevin suddenly cut in.

“Anywhere you want, baby,” he answered naughtily, and slipped his arm around the woman.

She fought down a giggle. Then said: “To the cemetery.”

“What?” Kevin and Brody asked in unison.

“The cemetery,” The woman repeated. “St. Aloysius Cemetery. About five miles ahead.” She had a slight Southern accent. Kevin was a sucker for that.

“Sure, miss...?”

“Ramona,” she responded sweetly.

Kevin slid closer to her. “Well, Ramona. My name’s Sly.” Brody looked at him, surprised. “That’s Brad.”

Brody knew what he was getting at. “Yeah, Ramona. I’m Brad. Brad Pitt, uh, Peterson.”

“So why are you goin’ to the cemetery at this time of the night?” Kevin queried, putting his face nearer to hers.

Ramona didn’t answer. She simply sighed. She remained silent for about a minute or so. It felt weird why none of them uttered a word within that moment. The wind whistled. Finally, she spoke. “To rest.”

To rest? Brody wondered.

“Oh, you mean, you live there?” Kevin asked.

Ramona bit her lip, and stared at him in a way that was enough to be considered “seductive”. “You can say that.” Kevin seemed hypnotized by those green eyes of hers. Their faces moved closer to each other as if both were magnets of opposite poles.

Brody watched as their lips touched, feeling uneasy and a bit envious. His head shifted from the road up ahead to the kissers behind him. Kevin unbuttoned the front of her dress and fondled her right breast. She moaned.

The breeze suddenly became colder. Brody felt the chill under his clothes. His hands on the steering wheel began to tremble. His body shivered. He turned to the rear view mirror to get a glimpse of the action in the backseat, and gasped.

He didn’t see the sweet, beautiful Ramona with the green eyes and the dimples. What he saw instead was a corpse. A corpse with ash-white hair. A corpse that had gray, wrinkled skin and bony limbs. A corpse that had a decaying face, the lower part of the skull exposed. A corpse with purple tongue sticking out from its cracked chin. A corpse that had one eyeball dangling from its socket by an optic nerve. A corpse of a dead, rotting woman. And Kevin was suckling at her neck.

Brody stepped on the brakes. The Corvette lurched as it screeched into a stop.

“The hell?” Kevin shouted. If it weren’t for the front seats, he and Ramona would have been thrown out of the car through the windshield. “What’s the fuck’s matter? Why did you stop?”

“I...uh,” Brody stuttered, trying to keep his eyes away from the rear view and the backseat. From the corner of his eye he could see Kevin still embracing Ramona. The gorgeous Ramona they had picked-up a while ago. She had her pretty face, again. “I just...I can’t concentrate when you’re doing that.”

“Why, Brad?” Ramona said. “You want to join us?” She leaned forward and touched Brody’s shoulder. It sent a tingling chill down his spine. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He made a mistake to look at the rear view mirror as Ramona whispered in his ear. “There’s room for more.”

Brody closed his eyes when he saw the ghastly reflection in the mirror. “No!” he said, shoving her hand away. “You...I’m...not in the mood.”

“But I am.” Kevin yanked her back and tickled her. Ramona giggled and groaned. “So just keep driving and let us...”

“I’m telling you, Kev,” Brody insisted. “Stop it. Please.” He sighed as the car moved again. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

On their way, Brody drove as fast as he could. He pressed his foot on the gas pedal until it sank all the way. He wanted to get to the cemetery as soon as possible. He kept his eyes on the road, and totally ignored Kevin and Ramona, who couldn’t fool around with the car going at a speed like that.

When they arrived at the cemetery, Brody abruptly stopped, tires skidding. He turned off the ignition and waited. He was still shaking all over.

“What’s wrong with you, man?” Kevin asked.

“J-just get her out,” Brody replied, nervously. “This is where she wanted to go so, take her out of the car and let’s leave.”

Kevin, confused and a bit mad, obeyed. He opened the door and stepped out. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ this way, man, but you better have a good explanation why I shouldn’t kick your ass for this!”

When Ramona was out of the car, Brody started the car at once. He revved up the engine as a signal to Kevin, who was about to escort her to the cemetery. He then honked on the car horn. Kevin said a few things to Ramona and kissed her before returning to the Corvette.

Brody uttered a sound of disgust.

“Now start explainin’, man,” Kevin was saying as he got into the car. “And if....” He noticed Brody wasn’t looking at him, but past him. His face was pale and had a blank expression. He wasn’t even blinking “What?” He turned to the direction where Brody was staring off.

Ramona was standing there, just below the arc that had "ST. ALLOYSIUS CEMETERY" in bold, black letters. Behind was the creepy graveyard with hundreds tiny crosses stuck to the ground and lifeless trees that cast gruesome shadows. The wind was getting stronger, and colder, blowing through her curly blond hair and her billowy yellow skirt. She smiled. She raised her hand and waved. And as she did so, she began to fade, turning into a misty, white image that floated off the ground. Then a gust of wind came blowing her away as if she was made of smoke, vanishing into thin air.

Brody steered the car back onto the road. Kevin swallowed the lump in his throat, smelling the scent the wind was carrying. The scent of Ramona’s ghost.

“Did you see that?” Kevin yelled when they had gone far away from the cemetery. “Jesus Christ! Did you fuckin’ see that!?”

“See, I told you ...”

“I almost fucked a ghost!” Kevin went on. “A goddamn ghost!” He was making awkward gestures with his hands. He gazed at his right hand and sniffed at it. “I touched her boobs. They felt real.” Then he wiped his lips. And the sweat all over his face. “I kissed her. Brody, I kissed her! Her lips were cold. Goddamn, I kissed a ghost!”

Brody had double thoughts but decided not to tell Kevin about what he saw in the rear view.

Kevin was laughing. “Could you believe it, man? I mean, so that was why you...”

“Just forget about it, okay?” Brody said. “We’ve had enough scare for one day.”

“Goddamn hitchhikin’ bitch,” Kevin muttered, looking out the window. He picked up the Bud he was drinking a while ago. It was almost empty. Most of it had been spilled on the floorboard.

On the each side of the road were vast cornfields, the tall stalks swaying lightly. The sky was more gray than black, as if the guy who painted it ran out of that dark color and used gray instead. In the distance, Brody spotted a figure standing in the middle of the cornfield. It was a crudely built scarecrow: rotten pumpkin head with holes, twiggy arms with one broken, rag shirt torn in several places. He thought it was looking away, but when he blinked he saw it staring at his direction, its eyes now ablaze.

“Look out!” he heard Kevin suddenly scream.

Something crossed the road and it was too late for Brody to see what it was. He had enough time to swerve the car to the left, but he still bumped the thing. The thing that was in their way. It yelped when the car hit it, followed by a bloodcurdling sound that was gruesomely indescribable. A loud thump and the crackle of bone combined.

The car went over it, Kevin bounced on his seat as the right side tires rolled on top of it. Brody closed his eyes as he listened to the sound breaking bones from under the car. He slammed on the brakes.

“Wh-what was it?” asked Brody, gulping.

“I think it was dog,” Kevin answered, looking back. “We better go check.” He opened his door.

“What are you doing? No!” Brody watched him shut the door wan walk over to the rear of the car. “Kev!” He had no choice but to go down and join him.

“Fuckin’ Christ!” Kevin said, covering his mouth. “Uggh!”

Brody took as step back when he saw it. “Oh, God.” He knew he was going to puke any minute now.

It was a dog. A sheepdog. White with a few black spots. It was lying just below the Corvettes rear right tire, sprawled on its side, one leg twisted under its body. Its eyes were open, bulging out, one of which planted a dead stare on Brody. Its tongue, which it had bitten with its sharp fangs, was sticking out and flapping softly as a gentle breeze blew. Its neck was flattened, and bore tire marks. Blood slowly trickled from its mouth. The collar around it had the name “Buster” sewn on it.

“Buster,” Brody whispered under his breath.

Kevin looked away from the dead dog, grossed out. “Hey, let’s get outa here.”

“Yer ain’t going nowheres, ye bastards,” a scruffy voice said from behind Brody. He turned around, and from behind the tall corn stalks emerged an old bearded man in dirty coveralls, wearing a straw hat and carrying a big pitchfork. “Ye killed my poor Buster, ‘n’ yer gonna pay for it!” He walked towards them, brandishing the three-pronged pitchfork

“Holy shit,” Kevin said and ran to the car door. “Let’s go!”

Brody took a final glance at Buster and rushed to the door, immediately closing the window. The old farmer appeared and knocked angrily on it.

“Ye li’l bastards killed my dog! Come out ‘ere!

Brody shifted gears and drove the car away. Kevin looked back at the man standing over his dead sheepdog in the middle of the road, shaking his fist in the air, hitting the ground with his pitchfork.

“Yer gonna pay for this, ye bastards! I’m a-telling ye! Yer gonna pay!”

That’s the second time we almost got killed tonight, Brody thought. They had already covered a great distance away from the old man, though just a minute ago, they could still hear him screaming about his dead sheepdog.

“Man, that’s the second time we almost got iced tonight!” Kevin said, as if he had read Brody’s mind. “Hey, we’re here.”

They saw the road sign that said Kilgore was only 10 miles away. It meant that the turn to Demon Cliff was near.

“At long last,” Kevin remarked and switched the stereo on again. Several moments later, Brody saw the wooden sign pointing to the right. “DEMON CLIFF This Way” was scrawled on it. He slowed down and turned right onto a crooked dirt path that went through some high hills, the thick forest behind them, and ended at the infamous cliff that overlooked Kilgore.

As Brody parked the car beside a large slab of stone, Kevin immediately got off and ran to the edge. “I’m the king of the world!” he shouted, arms wide open. “Fuck you, Leonardo!”

Brody could not help but laugh as he stepped out of the Corvette. He walked beside his friend. They were about a hundred feet above sea level, the city of Kilgore right below them. There were lights all over. They had visited this place lots of times, but the sight still awed them.

“Whoo!” Brody yelled ecstatically, as the wind blew upward to them.

Kevin went back to the car, took out the booze, and turned the stereo louder, the bass blasting out the car’s speakers. He passed one can to Brody.

They sat on the very edge, unafraid of falling off. They were already used to it.

“This was one hell of a night,” Kevin stated, crumpled the empty can in his hand and threw it in the air. “We were shot at, saw a ghost, ran over a dog...”

“But it was fun, wasn’t it?” Brody asked. “Scary, but fun.” He too drank the rest of his beer and flung the can like a quarterback’s pass. He heard a light CLINK from below then thought of how many cans they had thrown there.

Kevin was opening another Bud. “Hey, you’re not thinkin’ of fallin’ off again, are you?” He gave it to Brody.

“Nah,” he replied. He really wasn’t, but now that Kevin brought it up, he began wondering about it, again. He thought of getting so drunk that he would lose his balance, and fall off the cliff head first. He imagined himself bouncing off some rocky edges before dropping to a large pile of beer cans. Then Kevin would just throw another can and it would hit him on the forehead. “It’s just this night. Some story this’ll gonna be.” He took a big gulp of the beer, which had started to get warm. “What’s the date today?”

“It’s September 13,” his friend said.

“Whoa,” Brody muttered. “Today’s the 13th, and we were on Highway 13. That’s why we’ve been having bad luck!”

Kevin shrugged, and drank. “Maybe.”

“And,” Brody continued, emphasizing the “and” seriously, “the name Milton Fearway has 13 letters.”

The two of them looked at each other. Kevin had to recount mentally. He was going to say something but then a cold gust of wind blew once more. And with it, came a beer can. It arched up in the air and dropped to the ground between them.

“What the...?” Kevin remarked. Instinctively, they both looked at the bottom of the cliff. A noise filled the air.

 CLAKACLAKACLAKACLAKACLAKA…

“Oh, shit...” Brody said. Thousands of Budweiser cans were flying towards them like a swarm of bees.

They immediately got up on their feet and rushed to the Corvette, shielding their heads with their arms from the cans that fell on them like rain. But the way the cans hit them felt like they were being thrown at them intentionally. Or like the cans had come to life and were diving towards them like kamikaze planes. Whatever it was, both of them were sure it wasn’t just the wind.

CLAKACLAKACLAKACLAKACLAKACLAKACLAKACLAKA…!

They got into the car, cans clattering on the hood. Kevin backed the car up and maneuvered it so that they were facing the dirt path. Then shifted back to first gear and sped away.

“I think we better go home,” Brody suggested, heaving and shaking. “I’ve… I’ve had enough for one night.”

Kevin, too, was quite nervous, and was trying to hide it. “The fuck is goin’ on here?” He was saying. “Why is all of this happening?”

Brody had a good guess. “It’s the car, man. It’s this car.” His own words made him quiver all over. He was curled up on his seat, hugging himself, pushing himself against the door as much as he could. “It’s Milton Fearway and his… goddamned car!” He glanced at the backseat, expecting to find a ghost there. “I think we should just dump the car, and hitch a ride home.”

“Look, Brody,” Kevin said. “Look outside.” He gestured with his hand. “Do you see any vehicle, huh? Do you see any other car besides this Corvette?”

Brody remained silent. Foolish idea.

“No, you don’t. Now I don’t know why suddenly all the cars in this fuckin’ highway have disappeared, maybe because you’re right, maybe it’s because of this evil car, owned by evil Mr. Fearway, I don’t know, but I think your idea of leavin’ the car and hitchhikin’ in the middle of the night is pretty damn out of the question.” He paused to take a deep breath. “So what we’ll gonna do is just head back to Whiteridge in this car. We’ll take it back to the hotel and then walk home. And then you can have a good night’s sleep.”

“I don’t know, Kev,” Brody spoke in a cracking voice. “I’m just… I haven’t been this scared all my life. I feel it, you know. Like he’s watching us, laughing at us. Doing all these things to scare the shit out of us.”

Kevin reached for the stereo and turned up the volume a bit. Then he switched to another station. “There,” he said. “Listen to your techno crap. Maybe you’ll feel better.”

In a way, Brody did. But not completely. He then noticed that they were already on the road with the thick cornfield around it, where they killed the sheepdog and met its pissed-off pitchfork-wielding owner. Kevin must have been driving too fast.

It was a stupid thought, but still they both checked the road if the dog’s body was still there. Of course, it wasn’t. The farmer surely had taken it and buried it.

Brody’s attention switched from the road to the cornfield. Again, he saw to the evil-looking scarecrow. It was staring back at him. And as the car moved past it, its eyes seemed to follow them. Brody closed his eyes and turned his head away. He looked back at the road. He listened to the radio. He swallowed.

A road sign said: Whiteridge 9 miles. Brody sighed. They were almost home. It was all going to be over soon.

“The hell…?” Kevin suddenly said and slowed down.

Several figures had appeared out of nowhere on the road ahead of them, blocking their way. Figures of people walking towards them. Dead people. Zombies.

Rotten gray skin, gaunt faces, bones sticking out, insects crawling out from their mouths.

“Oh, my God.” Brody gasped and closed the car window. Kevin did the same. “What are we gonna do?” They were near the cemetery where they dropped Ramona off.

Kevin hit the brakes. The zombies were about three yards away. “What are we gonna do?” He shifted to reverse and backed the car up. “We’re gonna get them outa our way!” He threw the gear to drive and kicked on the gas.

Brody held on to his seat as the Corvette crashed into the wall of the living dead like a bowling ball hitting pins. Bodies flew in all directions. Some went under the car. Others jumped on the hood and the trunk, banging on the windows, trying to break them open.

“Fuckin’ zombies!” Kevin muttered, swerving the car from left to right, to shake them off.

Brody couldn’t look at the zombie holding on to the windshield wipers. It was a woman wearing a blue dress. Her skin was peeled off in several parts. Her eyes were rolled upwards and she didn’t have a jaw. Her dried tongue was moving like a slug from a hole on her neck.

“Get her off!” said Brody with revulsion.

Kevin slammed on the brakes. Tires squealing, the Corvette abruptly stopped, and the dead lady was hurled off the hood. Then Kevin floored the gas and ran over the body.

Brody was gulping and trembling, and looking back on the road nervously, while Kevin was screaming with delight.

“Hoo-hoo, that’ll teach those zombies to mess with me,” he cheerfully said. He glanced at his friend who was breathing deeply. “You alright?” Then he laughed. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Brody replied.

“Come on, don’t be such a wuss. I mean, okay, I’m scared too but, like you said, it’s sort of fun. Can’t you see? We’re actually experiencin’ horror we only see in movies. We’re really seeing these things…”

“Please, Kev,” grunted Brody. “You’re not helping. Don’t you get it? Fearway’s playing with us. He could kill us any moment. Let’s see you laugh when…”

CRASH! Something hit the car hard from behind, almost throwing both of them off their seats. Before they could turn to the rear to see what it was, a loud deafening honk sounded.

It was a big truck driving real close behind them, its headlights blaring.

“Where did that come from?” Kevin asked, trying to see the driver. “Can’t see the driver…”

But Brody was concerned about something else. “What about the car? The rear’s probably wrecked!”

CRASH! Again, the truck intently bumped them.

“The hell’s he tryin’ to do?” Kevin said and sped up a bit.

The truck began to overtake them. As it passed beside the Corvette, the driver honked once again. Kevin looked at his left and stretched out his arm to give him the dirty finger. But when he saw the face, he pulled his arm back in.

A flaming skull with red eyes stared back at him, laughing, smoke billowing out from its fanged mouth. “See you soon!” it told them. It was Death. Kevin and Brody held their breaths in fear as they saw what the truck was carrying: souls. Howling, screaming, human souls.

The truck went ahead of them and then disappeared.

Highway 13 was once again wrapped in silence.

Kevin wiped the sweat off his forehead and exhaled. With a cracking voice, he spoke slowly.

“This is all just a dream. A fuckin’ nightmare.”

Gulping, Brody cut in. “It is not.”

But Kevin paid no attention to him. “I am home, I’m sleeping on my bed, and I’m having a really bad nightmare.”

“I hope so too. Let’s just get home and… Holy shit…”

Brody’s attention was diverted to the side of the road where the convenience store was. Kevin had slowed the car down for he too had seen what caused his friend to say “Holy shit.”

There was no convenience store where there was supposed to be. Only remnants from a collapsed building. Crumbling walls and piles of rocks.

“But…” Kevin began to say. He had completely stopped the car and was gazing at the ruins. “How...?”

“L-let’s just keep m-moving, Kev,” Brody suggested.

“But the beer… th-the girl… the crooks…?”

Brody was about to speak when a loud honk went off. He and Kevin looked at the road in front of them. It was the truck. Death’s truck. And it was headed right towards them. At top speed.

The two of them frantically reached for the door lock. But they couldn’t pull it. Kevin tried bumping the door. It wouldn’t budge. Brody tried the windows. No use.

The sound of the speeding truck was getting louder. Nearer. Hopeless, all they could do was close their eyes and brace themselves as Death stared down at them. The last thing they saw were the bright lights right in front of them…

Brody yelled: “I don’t wanna die! I DON’T WANNA DIE!!!!”

Kevin hollered: “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, OH SHHIIIIIT!!!”

A strong wind blew past them. The Corvette shook. The sound of impending doom ceased, fading into a silent evil laugh.

It took awhile before any of the two boys moved. Kevin opened his eyes, swallowing, touching his chest. He couldn’t breathe well. He could feel his heart pounding rapidly. He sighed. He was alive.

Beside him, Brody sat still, eyes shut. His hands that were gripping the edges of his seat were trembling so much. His teeth chattered. His skin had turned pale.

“B…Bro..dy..,” Kevin’s voice faltered. “B-brody…”

Slowly, Brody’s eyes opened.

“We’re alive…”

Brody looked at his shaking hands. He smiled. “We’re alive!” he repeated Kevin’s words.

Kevin was chuckling. “Oh, Jesus. I though we were gon…!”

Suddenly, the Corvette took off by itself. Kevin and Brody were pushed back on their seats as the car picked up speed.

“Stop it!” Brody said.

Kevin was trying to control the steering wheel, but it had a mind of its own. “I can’t!” He kicked the brakes several times but the car kept going. “I can’t control it!” He released the steering wheel and was forced back to his seat when the car increased its speed. It was now running on the empty road like a racecar.

It made left turns and right turns without slowing down, its tires screeching. It was taking them back to the city.

“Mr. Fearway!” Brody was hollering as the car whizzed through the streets of Whiteridge. “Let us go! Please!”

The Corvette made a hard left turn on Tycoon Avenue and zipped towards the Goldwell Prime hotel. It entered the parking lot and spun around in a circle on a small vacant area.

“Aaaaaaaaaggggghhhhh!!” Kevin and Brody shouted in unison.

Then, the car momentarily lowered its speed and veered towards an empty parking space. It gained speed again and was headed towards the wall. It was going to crash into the wall to kill them!

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”

But suddenly, it hit the brakes and halted, inches away from the wall. Dizzy, confused, and scared to death, the two friends looked at each other. They couldn’t say a word. They could only breathe heavily.

They watched as the headlights turned off and the engine died down.

Kevin looked all over the place. There was no one else around. They could make a clean getaway. He sighed. Finally, it was over. The nightmarish joyride had ended. “Let’s go,” he whispered and opened the door on his side.

Brody remembered the truck that kept crashing into the rear of the car. The moment he was out of the car, he checked it. It wasn’t damage. There wasn’t a single dent in it.

Kevin approached him. They heard a faint scratching sound. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Kevin asked, quietly shutting the door.

“Listen.”

They strained their ears, and they heard the weak scratching noise. Though barely audible, they traced its source. It was coming from the trunk.

“Get the gun,” Kevin commanded, and Brody rushed to take the big revolver from the glove compartment. He handed it to Kevin when he returned behind the car. “Open it.”

Brody reeled back. “No, you open it.”

Kevin cocked the gun and aimed it at the trunk. “Open it I said.”

Nervously, Brody reached for it and unlocked it. He took a step backward and with an outstretched hand, opened the lid.

“How did that get in there?” Kevin said and lowered the gun.

“What?” Brody peeked inside the trunk. It was the body of the dead dog, Buster. Flies swarmed around it. “Oh, God.”

Then a familiar sound came from behind them. THUD! They whirled around and saw a familiar face. It was the crazed farmer with his pitchfork.

“Ye sneaky li’l bastards killed my poor dog!” He raised the pitchfork and swung it across the air.

The revolver clattered on the floor…

The old farmer licked the blood on his lips…

And then, dead silence…

The next day.

Two figures step out from the elevator and head for the lobby. The first one is a suave-looking gentleman in a striped gray suit. Black-haired, almond-eyed, and six-feet tall. His shoes are shinier than the hotel’s tiled floor. His name is Milton Fearway. The richest man in Haven. The twin brother of the notorious serial killer, Trevor Fearway. Closely walking behind him is a voluptuous Asian girl wearing a purple top and a bright red skirt. She has large breasts and a huge butt that jiggle at every stride. Her name, according to her, is Yvonne.

“So where’s ya goin now?” Yvonne asks in her whiny voice.

“I am going to buy you a dress,” answers Milton, fixing his tie as they approach the automatic doors, “which you will wear on our date tonight.”

The doors open and Yvonne is a bit startled. “Oh, really? Thanks very much, Mr. Fearway.” She giggles and clasps her arm around his. They walk towards the parking lot under a scorching hot sun. “So whatcha think of me? I was good, right? You liked me, right?”

Milton simply nods. He pulls out his car keys from his pocket and presses a button. Two beeps sound off from his Corvette. Again, Yvonne jerks a bit, surprised. Milton grins.

“Did I ever tell you about how I always find dead bodies in my car’s trunk?”

“What? Dead bodies?” She shakes her head. “Not yet. You have dead bodies in your car?”

Miton shrugs as he walks over to the rear of his Corvette. “Sometimes. Do you want to take a look?” He gestures as he unlocks the trunk.

“Ok, I take a look.” Yvonne gulps and stares as Milton opens the lid. Inside is a spare tire. “No body.” She moves her head closer. “Hey, what is that?” She puts her face near the tire pointing to a red stain on it. “That looks like blood…”

Milton Fearway slams the trunk shut.

The idea for this story popped into my head when I was riding a bus on my way home. I kept thinking about hitchhikers. Then we passed a cemetery and I thought of doing a date there. The only problem would be finding a girl who’d be willing to spend time surrounded by graves. Eventually, my daydreaming led me to the plot. It took me a while to finish this because I was having school problems. Then I met a great friend whom I had many misadventures with and that helped me a lot in building this tale. Although both the characters of Kevin and Brody reflect parts of my personality, the former was significantly cloned from my friend. Anyways, my favorite feature of this story is Death’s truck. Something we’ll all be riding someday…

+I just realized this story was pretty much just a bunch of vignettes put together. I think this was heavily inspired by Stephen King's work, specifically Creepshow, Maximum Overdrive and Christine. I'm sure I had plans to write a story or two focusing on the Fearway twins but never got around to start one.