It was a cold misty morning. The sky was a field of steel grey clouds, and a blanket of white mist had settled upon the tips of the dark, lush greenery of mountains just a few miles away. A woman was driving down a lonely road in an old, beat-down sedan with a cracked windshield. She was enclosed at both sides by large, dark forests of tall, bare trees.
The wind wistled ominously, a dark, dreary tune that caused goosebumps to run along the length of her alabaster skin. Her wide eyes, of the darkest brown, flickered briskly towards the rear-view mirror to check on the dark package that sat on the seat behind her, before they focused back on the road ahead.
With her shoulders hunched and bushy eyebrows knitted in a frown, her eyes were drawn towards the most peculiar house that sat just off the edge of the road. There, the forest seemed to make room for the quant old house, and the trees seemed to even curve out of the way.
As she continued along the foggy road she noticed that she'd driven past this very same house at least three times before. She heard a sudden pop! then her car gave a sudden jolt, followed by the silver vehicle coming to a sudden, skidding halt. The woman let a groan of frustration push past her rosy lips as she hit the wheel of her car.
She looked outside of the window and realized with dread that her car had stopped right outside of the spooky house. It was a tall, two story house with dirty, cracked windows and a black front door that stood ajar. Not the sort of place you would want to be stuck at when you are in the middle of nowhere.
What had caused her car to stop? She realized in agony that she would have to go outside to look. She took a deep breath to summon her courage. Apparently it was not too far away, for not a moment later she practically jumped out of the car. She quickly ran her eyes over it. She spotted it in no time: she had a flat tire.
She looked back at the road, hands on her bony hips, trying to see what could have been sharp enough to flatten her tire. Her forehead creased sufficiently as she looked down the road, finding nothing but a few stray leaves that were travelling with the wind.
She balled her hands and stomped her feet, rolling her deep-set eyes. It was childish, she knew, though there was no-one there to judge her, was there. Upset and frustrated, and forgetting all about the mysterious house, she opened the booth of her car. She always had a spare tire.
Boom! She jumped clutching her arms around herself subconsciously, as she often did when frightened. Her eyes flew towards the eerie house, more specifically to the front door that was now closed shut. Though there was nobody there. She took a deep breath. It must have been the wind that closed the door, right?
With that realization she turned back towards the booth of her car. But then she felt a hot breath on her skin as a deep, taut voice whispered in her ear.
"Give it to me."
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Inspired by a prompt from: Lady_of_Erudite
