Tidbits And Such

Webstone

       The road was slick from a long past storm. I had been driving for hours and hundreds of miles, but the land looked the same. It was as if the night was too dreary for the earth to dry. No matter how many miles I covered the clouds never broke. I rounded a gentle bend to find the flat grass lands gave way to steep and rocky wilderness. I didn't expect the sudden transition from swaying grasses to towering trees, and in the night I almost swerved into the brush. I pulled over, and let my head rest on the steering wheel. I let out a soft groan. I had always hated driving, and after almost 6 hours it was getting to me. I took a moment to look at the towering road sign ahead of me, ignoring the reckless cars wizzing past me every few seconds. It said "Daybreak, 5 miles; Charleston, 1 mile; Webstone, 1/2 mile". I couldn't help at chuckle to myself. Who'd name a town Webstone? I pulled back onto the road, now fully prepared for the winding path ahead.
       It was 15 minutes later when the first incident occurred. I was driving behind a black Honda and was surprised that it was obeying the speed limit. It was pitch black other than the red tail lights ahead of me and the lights of cars going the other direction. I tapped my manicured nails on the steering wheel, humming along to the scratchy song on the radio. My mood had gotten better from when I had almost swerved into the undergrowth. But then a chill ran up my spine. I stopped humming and tapping my glittery nails. I frantically tuned the radio, suddenly disturbed by the static interweaving with the music. I flipped through one channel after another, but gave up after a minute or two. I turned off the radio, and when I looked up the tail lights ahead of me were gone. I was calm for a minute or two until a car came barreling down the other side of the street, and in the blinding high beams I realized the black Honda was gone. I didn't seem like there was enough time for it to turn off the road, but I tried not to think about it. I kept driving.
      I could hear the trees groaning outside the car. Ever since I turned off the radio and the black Honda disappeared The road felt smaller, narrower, more and more like I was about to fall off it. I had slowed down to almost a crawling pace and was constantly pulling over to let the impatient drivers behind me through. I didn't know how long I'd been driving on the road, but I wanted to be off of it. I wanted to be at home and comfortable, but instead I was here. That same mysterious chill crawled it's way up my back. My muscles tensed. I gripped the wheel for dear life; my knuckles began to go white. I passed a sign with just barely enough time to read it "Everest, 7 miles; Erickson, 2 miles; Webstone, 1/2 mile" I kept driving.
       I was still on the road. The scenery didn't bother me until now. The soaked blackness painted over with layers of brush and trees was beautiful a moment ago. Now it was bleak. A car hadn't passed me in a while. I didn't know how long. Nor did I know when my clock flickered out. The small greenish panel on my car was blank, leaving me without the time. I just wanted to find a gas station, or a car, or a different road. I couldn't find any joy in looking out the bulky car windows. I tried to turn on the radio, but it didn't respond. It was what I expected but I hoped that maybe just maybe I could find something to distract me from the darkness and the dampness.
      Then, as if answering my unspoken prayer, a pair of headlights barreled down the street. I was going to wave them down, to talk, to get the time. But before I could do anything that shiver was in my spine it was like the vibrations of a horrible whistle that I couldn't hear. Time slowed to a crawl as the car passed me. I was clutching me steering wheel, unable to look away from the scene I was about to witness. The rust red truck flipped. It wasn't like any flip I've ever heard of. It was like a giant invisible fist punched a dent in the car. For a moment I could see the driver's panicked face as he struggled to get control of his vehicle. I heard the aching moan of strained metal as the battered car balanced on the edge of the narrow road. It fell. I slammed on my breaks, skidding to the side of the wet road. I heard the man screaming. I rushed out of my car. The wet night air stung my cheeks.
"DON'T MOVE!" I yelled. I didn't know much about first aid but I did know that if he wasn't dead he might bleed out. I didn't know where the hospital was. I didn't know what I'd do when I found him, but I knew on this dreary night I was this man's last hope. I ran to the edge of the road where the truck went over, ignoring the lack of skid marks on the road. I stepped onto the slippery dirt on the narrow shoulder of the road. And there was nothing. There was no car, or smoke, or damage to the trees. The gentle wind rattled the untouched leaves. It was quite, so quite. I backed away from the cliff, my shoes making a defining scratching on the assault. I ran to my car, and threw myself inside. That's when I saw the sign. "Webstone, 1/2 mile."
       Had it been minutes? Hours? Days? I wasn't sure. I wasn't hungry or tired, but when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I looked like hell. I wanted off this road, I wanted out. I didn't care if I was crazy. Adrenaline rocketed through me. My hands were sweating, but I hadn't moved them in what felt like hours. I passed a sign, but somehow I knew what it said. To my horror I was right. "Webstone, 1/2 mile". I stepped on the gas. Eventually I'll get out of here.
"GOD DAMN IT!" I pounded my hands on the wheel. There's no way this is happening. I desperately tried the gas pedal again but all I got was the rough sound of the engine turning over. I slammed the horn, but it didn't work. I didn't know anything about cars so I just got out, and threw the door closed behind me. I kicked the wheels. I screamed. I waited, but nothing helped. I slumped down in the darkness. The damp air seemed to collect on my clothes. As my eyes adjusted to the inky light, a sign came into view. "Webstone, 1/2 mile" was written in looming white letters. I stood there, knowing what I had to do. But what I was dreading all the same. It took me too long to get up, but I wanted to delay my walk along the precarious road. I rummaged through my car. I took the little water I had even though I hadn't been thirst since... I didn't know. My manicured nails made carrying the metal water bottle uncomfortable. My entire body was uncomfortable. My shoes dragged in the road. It was a glaring nose compared to the quiet whistling of the wind through the trees. I felt watched. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was staring at me through the trees. Goosebumps pricked up on my skin, synchronized with the terrifying chill in my back. I looked around frantically for the danger I could feel on the horizon. In the dark the sound of creaking metal made me cringe. I watched as the big green sign baring the name of that haunting town fell on my car, crushing it. I didn't go back. I was only grateful that I wasn't in it. I continued my solum walk along the road.
       I was finally off the road and had been off it for maybe an hour now. The gravely wet soil made a worse sound than the road. The damp in the air had condensed into a thick fog. It looked like the ground was burning with invisible fire, and only the plumes of smoke were visible. Out of the mist emerged an all too welcome sight. A bright yellow and green gas station  became clearer and clearer as I made my way through the fog. It had it's lights on. Stumbled through the door, and simply slid to the floor. I was face to face with a box of cereal with a colorful cartoon clown on it. I was never so happy to see something so normal.
       That's when I realized no one was here. It was deserted. I was alone again. I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, the thin plastic crackled under my grip. I left the old on the ground. At this point it didn't seem like that much of a problem. The gas station was stuffy and warm. It was suffocating. I searched for a phone, walking into rooms and shoving aside papers. I was behind the counter and close to giving up when I spotted a small black rectangle on the floor wedged between bottles. I flipped open the small phone and dialed 911 into the keypad. The ringing was unbearable. It was like a cartoon cowbell being thrown down a rocky hill. But the flat sounding voice that picked up on the other end was worse.
"Welcome to Webstone, the country's foremost producer of-"
"My car broke down on the road and I need some help." The words came out quicker and with more panicked than I wanted, but it worked. It hadn't sunk in that the person on the other end had never even said it was 911, or asked what I needed.
"I'm sorry mam this is a recording," said the flat voice. I stood there, dumbfounded.
"What do you mean this is a recording?"
"It was recorded earlier mam," the flat voice said.
"But I'm talking to you! You're answering my questions!" I snapped at the phone.
"I think you're confused mam, this is a recording." My hands started to shake. With nerves or anger, I had no idea.
"But it's not," I wanted to scream.
"I think you need a few moments to calm down," said the voice, and then they hung up. I dropped the phone, completely confused. It cracked on the dirty tiles. I stormed out of the gas station, slamming the door behind me.
      The night smelled like gasoline. It was only weird because I didn't notice it when I was first walking through the parking lot. I took a drink of water from the crinkly bottle in my hand. Everything was still slick with rain. The world still didn't dry. A small puddle splashed my shoes.  I looked at the ground, and stopped. There was a thin clear film floating on the surface of the puddle. I realized it was gasoline just as the crack of a match igniting filled my ears. I sprinted with a crazed sense of self preservation. The cracking of the match was my starting gun and I was racing. I didn't look back, but I saw the stark shadow of my body on the tar as I sprinted away. At some point I tripped. My hands ground into the uneven road, leaving bloody streaks on them. I didn't push myself up. Exhaustion weighed down my limbs. I sat there, letting the rain soak into my jeans, and watched the gas satiation burn. The gashes in my hands stung. I could almost feel the heat rising off of the bright orange mass. It looked almost liquid. I don't know why I didn't get up. And that was the last thing I remembered. They found me outside of a town called Glavindale, muttering about a dark thing in the wind, and asking over and over why the world wasn't dry. They took me to the hospital. I later found out that there's no such town as Webstone, and I made the entire thing up out of shock. But that doesn't explain the deep gashes in my hands. That I could swear, on a dark and fitful night look all too much like spiderwebs.