There's something in my passenger seat.
It's a long drive from my brother's place in Austin. He insisted I visit.
He said that no one should be alone for the holidays.
I left their place sometime after midnight. I don't remember much about the party. Food, presents, family. Yadda Yadda.
It was after I left the city lights behind that I noticed it in my peripheral vision.
I felt it before I saw it. That feeling, that tension that I was being watched.
No.
Judged.
I dare not turn my head to look. All I could muster was a strained sideways glance.
It was the shadow at the edge of vision. It was the creeping darkness at the edge of dusk.
I took my eyes off the road for the briefest second. There was nothing in my passenger's seat.
My muscles tensed. My jaw set firm and I started grinding my teeth.
Something gnawed at my stomach. It made its way up and stopped somewhere in my throat.
I kept on driving.
Even though there was something in my passenger seat.
I still had a few hours left to go.
What would happen if I stopped?
What would happen when I got home?
Should I even go home?
As these thoughts raced through my mind, My eyes darted back and forth from ther road and the sideways glances.
I couldn't shake the feeling that the absolute last thing I should have done is actually look at the passenger's seat. So, I looked again.
My brain kept warning me, alarm bells ringing, hairs on my neck standing at attention. But, there was nothing in my passenger's seat.
Whatever was there, I was definitely not supposed to look at it. This was something ingrained, evolutionary, survival instinct at the purest.
So, I drove. With something in my passenger's seat.
I glanced down at my fuel gauge. I would need to stop soon. I knew there was a gas station up ahead.
Something told me I shouldn't stop.
I felt my hands grip the wheel as tightly as possible. MY knuckles cracked under the pressure, turning white. I felt my foot edge onto the gas, watched the speedometer climb.
I tried to swallow the thing in my throat, but it wouldn't budge.
I glanced at my passenger seat again. It was empty.
My neck felt hot. I could feel beads of sweat starting to form on my brow.
I tried to focus on the road. It felt like ink was bleeding into my vision, like tendrils reaching from the depths.
But every time I looked, the passenger's seat was empty.
I wanted there to be something there. I wanted to just one time turn and look and let there be some horrifying monster. Instead, there was nothing but the shadow on the edge of my vision.
There was something in my passenger's seat.
There was nothing in my passenger's seat.
The gas station was fast approaching. I could see the lights on the horizon, the only other light I had seen other than my own headlights.
I needed to stop.
I couldn't stop.
My muscles strained.
It felt like every muscle in my body was focusing on driving.
My brain, however, could do nothing but focus on the thing in my passenger seat.
The thing that wasn't in my passenger's seat.
The lights were getting closer.
Just another mile. I could stop. I could stretch my legs. I could get a snack. I wanted nothing more than to get out of this car.
MY heart sank as the entrance disappeared in my rearview mirror.
I flew by. I couldn't stop.
Because there was something in my passenger's seat.
The light became a pinprick on the horizon.
The ink tugged at my pupils.
There was nothing in my passenger's seat.
My gas light turned on.
A few more miles.
My car slowed.
My car stopped.
There is something in my passenger's seat.
