Driftwood: Tales

...that Long Stretch of Road

Down came the rain, hard as it did last time... and the time before that. Dorothy walked with a timid gait alongside the road, once elegant but now ruined high heeled shoes in hand, her white satin gown dragging in the stony mud around her feet.

She found herself on the get out side of put out or get out. Any self respecting person would do the same. Comfort and convenience were not the determining factors in how far she was willing to go - or how far she'd allow someone else to go - when she didn't want to.

As she walked down that long stretch of road, she paused at the cold iron gates of the Silver Hills Cemetery. Dorothy was by no means superstitious, but these cold and stormy nights somehow made the graveyard so foreboding and being cold and wet was even more treacherous, still. She hurried her pace, and hoped she could make good time. 

On the horizon, she saw headlights. They were just small pinpricks of bright light at first, but they grew closer, and closer, trailing a heavy cloud of exhaust behind them. Fog rolled at the base of her muddied dress as she pointedly stepped away from the graveyard toward the road, and raised a hand with the hope the driver would see she wanted help.

The truck drew closer, and the driver pulled to a stop beside her.

"It's very cold." Dorothy's teeth chattered together, clicking audibly. "It's very wet. Could you take me into town?"

"Whereabouts?" The man's voice was pleasant, and familiar to her.

"As far as The Golden Room on Fifth, and Baker.... I can get home from there." Her voice trailed off, toneless, as though she sought a memory just out of reach.

"Fifth, and Baker... Do you mean Blue Cabana?"

Dorothy shook her head. "It's always been The Golden Room as long as I can remember."

The man reached over and opened the door of his truck. It squealed on its hinges, and springs. He patted the seat quickly, and she climbed into the truck.

"Thank you." Dorothy stared out the window I to the graveyard, and imagined faces - just out of sight - staring back from somewhere beyond and let a brief moment of strange sadness nest in her heart as the man started driving.

"I'm Pete." He said through a friendly smile, his eyes on the muddy road ahead. "Pete Gordon."

"Dorothy Harbor." She nodded in his direction. "I'm a pretty lucky girl that you happened along."

Pete shrugged. "I don't much come out this way often, that's for sure. Glad I happened by you, though."

"Oh?"

"Oh, sure. That whole long stretch of road is supposed to be a pretty dangerous walk. Some fool done wrecked on this road a while back. Died, and the passenger too."

"How macabre!"

"Boy, I'll say." Pete's concentration on the road never faltered. "Thing is - and I don't know if I'd believe it - but they say this long stretch of road is haunted."

"Haunted." Dorothy stared out the passenger window, her hand pressed against the cold glass.

Pete laughed, and it was a nice sound in Dorothy's ears. "Haunted. Can you imagine? Still, with it being all dark like, with the rain, and the mud, and what not... it can be a little unsettling a drive, no less a walk"

"Or a lot." Dorothy turned her head, her eyes fixed on Pete's smile. "How often do you head out this way?"

"Oh, about once a year. Twice, sometimes if the weather's right. Not much to see, but that graveyard is pretty in its own way."

Dorothy shuddered. "It made my skin crawl."

"Like someone walking over your grave?" Pete held a stern expression for a moment, and Dorothy felt uneasy. Suddenly, he began laughing, and it broke the tension. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. Had to crack wise, I'm afraid."

Dorothy's face flushed, but she found herself smiling, anyway. Pete's good humor, and good nature was infectious. She spared him a genuine smile.

There a loud noise, and suddenly the truck jolted, and they fishtailed. Dorothy screamed, shrilly, but she heard Pete's voice above her own.

"Now, now!" His voice carried above her shriek. "It's just a flat, 'lemme pull over, and we'll be fine."

Dorothy held her hand over her chest, breathing hard.

Pete slowed the vehicle, steadying it on the road. When he drew to a stop, he turned toward Dorothy, and put a hand on her shoulder. "You OK?"

She nodded, saying nothing, clearly shaken. Then, "Pete, people can die like that."

"Oh, don't you worry. I'd never let anything like that happen to you."

Pete turned toward his door, pulling the handle and pushing it open. "Come on out and give me a hand? The rain's let up a bit, and I could use the company while I change the tire."

Dorothy nodded, opening her door, and pushing it with a little force. Her bare feet hit the mud and she slid away from the truck, landing flat on her back. She felt the air leave out of her in a hard rush, and clenched her eyes shut a moment, willing the stars our of her field of vision, and then blinked away the black spots threatening to take her consciousness. She rolled onto her side with a groan, propping herself up. "Pete, can you help me up?"

No answer.

"Pete?" Dorothy begrudgingly rolled to her hands and knees and climbed to her feet to find Pete's truck was nowhere to be seen. She was alone again on that long stretch of road, nearly to the end of it.

Not too far from where she stood was an old dead oak, and crumpled against it the rusting stripped remains of a wreck, an old truck, just like Pete's.