The Trashman - Chapter 1

A nightmare begins.

Though the headlights carved through the morning fog far ahead of the big, white Dodge Ram pickup, Stan Markham didn't see the three deer until the first two bolted out in front of him. He hit the brakes in time to avoid slamming into the lead deer, but he hadn't accounted for the last one. That deer, apparently frightened and disoriented by the headlights and the horn, ran directly into the side of his truck, somewhere behind the passenger window. The truck wasn't brand new, but it was new to Stan, so the thud of deer on metal was sickening to him. He wanted to pull over and inspect the damage, but if the fog was thick enough to hide the deer from him, it could hide his truck from the next vehicle to come along. He decided to drive up to the next rest stop and pull off to check the damage there.

He pulled off the highway, turned on his flashers and followed the long curve. As he followed that curve, his headlights swept from left to right ahead of him and they began to illuminate the fog shrouded rest area. He momentarily noticed the tail lights of a vehicle that had left the rest area, and was now far ahead of him at the end of the ramp. That vehicle was merging back onto the highway. But his attention was quickly diverted from that. It was at that moment that the CD in his truck switched over to Bring Me To Life, by Evanescence and he saw what would be the most horrific sight he would ever see. There, on the sidewalk next to the curb, was a large trash can with what initially looked like a mannequin to Stan. But almost immediately, he realized that something wasn't right. Why would there be condensation rising from a mannequin? He stopped with the gruesome scene positioned dead center of his headlights, some forty feet in front of him and got out of the truck. He grabbed his big, police style flashlight, more for it's potential as a weapon than for light. The headlights did that job.

As he approached the horror, he could hear the rush of blood surging through the vessels behind his ears with each beat of his heart. The scene was surreal there in the glow of headlights in the fog shrouded darkness. The flashers of his truck seemed to be blinking in perfect time with each step he took closer to the abomination. The nearer he got, the more his stomach clenched. He slowed his strides and lowered his eyes from the trash can to the pavement. There were wet tire tracks in front of him. The car that left the rest area just as he arrived had pulled through a puddle near the curb right by the trash can. In the area that would have been the trunk, there was a trail of blood on the pavement that led directly to the trash can. He could also see footprints in the grass leading to the restroom building and wet footprints on the sidewalk where the person had walked back to his car. There were clear prints. They looked like Nike sneakers, man sized. He was close enough to the can to see that this was unquestionably not a mannequin. This was a girl, not much older than sixteen or seventeen. The dirt, grass and leaves stuck to her head around the large, gaping crimson and white exit wound on the back left side of her head. Rigor mortis had frozen her hands up on either side of her head, as if she'd begun to block her face with her hands, but never got them in front of her. Her eyes were wide open and her jaw was agape, frozen into a horrific death mask.

He knew he had to call 911, but he also knew there was no hurry. This poor child was beyond help. He thought it was more important to photograph that wet tire tread and those sneaker prints before they dried and vanished. It was still too dark to take photos with the camera on his cell phone, but he realized that he had a camera in his tackle box for photographing any fish that he might catch. That camera had a flash. His hands trembled as he opened the tackle box to get the camera. He grabbed the camera and a fishing lure to include in the photograph for size perspective. He had photos of the tread and the sneaker prints in a matter of minutes and called 911 after returning the camera and the fishing lure to the tackle box. Then he got back in his car and waited for the police to arrive. His homemade CD was now playing Dead Bodies Everywhere, by Korn. He turned the CD player off and backed his truck up while cutting the wheels, to get that ghastly interpretation of Munch's 'The Scream' out of the glow of his headlights.

Author's Note

I had this story 60% finished when the great crash came. Wondering if it tweaks your interest.

Reviews

[icelandicblue]

You've created a creepy backdrop to your story. I love the line about the condensation rising. I look forward to reading more chapters so I can find out what happened. Note to self, no rest stops at night.