The Driver & The Mist

     “Faster” Thought the man behind the wheel. The car whining at the strain placed upon it by the dogged man, the engine pleading for reprieve, wailing for mercy. Still, the driver pushed on “they’re gaining!” thought the man looking in the rearview mirror. Panic pulled at the mans wits’, threatening to tear the driver apart by his very seams, like a hull with rivets too small to bear the strain on a tossing north sea. Hours he had been driving, all white knuckled and sweat.



     Down open roads the car screamed, cradled by fields of gold, ready and ripe for harvests blade. The engine’s plea the only sound, save the wiping of sweat and rubbing of hand. The radio had sparked out a short time ago, the lingering smell of burning circuits hung heavy in the moist air. Summer’s heat refused to release its grip when the moon came out to claim what is his. Still the car drove on nervously past barns and windmills rusted tight pointing south, the direction the man was driving so fervently away from.



     Through the mirror the driver sees them, shadows, Mists, forms drifting in and out of the fields, tangible and terrible. He wipes his brow again and deposits the moist hand to his blue jean covered thigh once more. The driver knows what he had done, knows the price to be paid, knows this would end soon. Yet he drives on, faster still. The tires evolve, from traction to memory. Once proud of their purpose, now retire to their black topped cemetery of Northern Carolina, the tires slowly find they are being pulled apart as much as the man. Harder still, the man drives on.



     Fields give way to forest, gold for gray. They are closer, the driver knows this now. The mirror now reveals swirling darkness, the moon has abandoned him for fear of the shadows darker than night. “Faster!” the driver yells, demanding more than the car can give its cruel master. His leg flexes and presses harder on the peddle, the engine feels doom and knows it too will soon find an end.



     The Mists lick at the car, ghostly limbs reaching, caressing, and comforting the car. The Mists hear the pain, the pleas, the last gasp of life. Just out of reach of the shadows, the driver struggles defiantly, twisting the wheel and forcing loose the Mists’ grip. Agony and sadness dampen the air as the car yields its’ masters call, swerving away hard from the gripping Mists. 





     “I had to do it, no choice.” The driver said aloud, in feeble attempt to justify the events witnessed by waning light and waking moon. “Deals a deal!” The driver yelled through the tightly shut window. “Pipers gap, that’s where they’ll be and they can have it.” Mumbled the driver, wishing now that the smell of burnt circuits would subside. Pulling his hand back from the knob, the window he knows must remain shut tight if he is to survive. The heat and smell linger oppressive, inviting folly of sweet relief from cooling night air. 



     The moon could see only glimpses, the forest refusing to give audience to one who sees so much evil as he. This, the forest would keep unto itself, a secret to burry deep, like the roots that slithered beneath, trembling with anticipation it waited. The forest knew her part to play, the sacrifices that were to come. She relished the violence promised by the Mists, like a woman might savor the smell of a handsome man, close, intimate and pure.



     The shadows living in the forest served the Mists well this night, embraced the Mists while they clawed their way through the forest. Her branches leaning low, giving grips to the Mists for it to close in on the driver. Vapor and form, transparency and umbra, the Mists moved like water escaping the prison atop hidden mountains. The driver was closer now, the Mist gained on the car and trembled in rage at what was taken. 



     The forest hung low over the road, claw like branches swaying in the wind grasping and nipping at the car. Fear propelled the car, the driver screamed, yelled “Move you pile of s**t!” The car was old, felt its many years in every thrust of its pistons and bend in the road. The car had seen many wondrous things; it had carried two generations across the country, resting before the majesty of the Grand Canyon. It had burdened the cries of two soon to be mothers twenty years apart on their way to the local hospital. The car also recalled in these last few moments the sounds of the babies cries during their first trip home. It was sadness that started the end of things tonight. But these memories were long ago, in a time with its blue paint was not faded, before its glass had yellowed. Sadness the car knew, while the others did not. 



     The Mists had closed in on the car carrying the driver. Its tendrils of the once again licked at the car like a lover caressing a neck. The forest hung her branches low, knowing the time for violence was at hand. The moon watched with curiosity, wondering if he would glimpse the coming violence, the taste of it hung in the air and he lavished in it. For that is what the moon does, observe and lavish in the deeds of night. The Mists wailed, the trees quivered and shook, the air became dense and it started to rain. First a single drop, then another and another, until the rain was steady, heavy and murky. The rain fell red as blood and dark as the sin committed by the driver further south. The road became slick, the car felt the dying tires start to give way and knew the end was here. The driver fumbling for the toggle to turn on the wipers did not notice the splattering noises now steadily hitting the glass. 



     The Mists lashed at the window and gained the drivers attention, shapes and faces pressed soundless screams of terror into the glass. First one side, then another, then a third until the Mist surrounded the car. It was only then, surrounded by the faces of agony, faces of the guilty, faces of shame that he saw it, the trees were bleeding. The forest a living thing of flesh and bone, blood and soil. Leaves turned to shreds of flesh now slapping into the car, coating the road in the macabre leaving no traction to be had for the poor wounded tires. The moon gasped as he glimpsed the scene below through a small break in the canopy of flesh trees, the forest wailed in agony and triumph as her last great power revealed. The Mists laughed their moist dead laughter as the car began to slide. The end had finally come. 



     First came the terror filled cries of the tires, knowing they had given all they could give and released their waning grip. The horror then became the car’s, its’ end only feet away as the tires died. The shrieking scream of metal and glass were the death rattle for the old car. The drive was last, ensured to experience all of the terror and horror, to hear the cries and shrieking and for him the sound of flesh and bone breaking with a sickening wet snap. All is still now, the tires turn no more, the car breathed nary a wisp. Wet sounds of rain began to subside, leaving streams of red through the forest which drank her fill. Still the driver remained, trapped and aware of the faces surrounding him in the Mist. “It’s me, it has always been me. I had no choice you see? You do see, please?” Regret, the driver felt it more purely than any pain as he faded to ash. This, the only satisfaction the Mist would have. Yet regret was enough, enough for the sins, enough for the sacrifices, enough to appease the moon and forest. The Mists cradled the man and he knew no more. With a fathers care the Mists laid to rest this wayward son, under the trees of Pipers Gap. Slowly the Mist returned to the shadows and together they faded away hand in hand, leaving the night to deliver payment for morning light. 

Reviews

[Turquoise Unicorn]

This is really good. There are many grammatical errors, but it's really well written.

[Robbie~xoxo~]

This is eerie! I felt as if I was in the Twilight Zone... the mist, the forest, the trees.... all dark and haunting... but the thing that frightened me most of all was the mystery of what the driver did...
You truly took my mind for a spin.. and the ending was GORY!! WOW!

Well done, Adam!~xoxo~:)

[Jonathan]

Personification of the forest, car, moon and mists was good. There are places where it is very strong: "The mists lick the car--ghostly limbs, caressing"; "She [the forest] relished the violence promised by the mists."

[Jonathan]

Kinda grim, don't you know. It's a distinct touch that we are not told who is pursing the man behind the wheel. I get the impression that he is fleeing from the memories of things he did wrong, and that their horror propels him onwards to his death.

[Jonathan]

Good. I like the descriptiveness of your language