Going Home
“Fucking finally!” you exclaim.
The weekend was finally here. It had been a long week, and you really need this reprieve to maintain sanity. You’re off the highway, and just ten miles of back roads separates you from a long nap on the couch with your wife.
The speed limit is 35 here, but you pull up behind a red truck going well under. Frustrated, to say the least, you give him two quick honks to let him know you’re there. Suddenly his left turn indicator turns on and he’s onto a new road. You feel a little bad, having honked at someone probably just looking for the right road, but you let it go quickly. Don’t need anything stressing you out right now.
You make it a couple more miles down the road until you need to turn on your headlights. It was getting darker earlier now, and the canopy of trees didn’t help the illumination. You haven’t seen a single car pass you on the road, so you start to admire the turning foliage. You almost don’t see the car in front of you as you approach.
Again, you have to slow down to below the limit. And it’s another red truck! No, wait… It’s the same red truck.
“How the… shit, he must’ve taken a shortcut.”
He’s still going slowly. You assume he’s looking for another turn, but after a mile, you get fed up. You honk again. This time his right blinker turns on, and he pulls off to the side. You go around and speed up. You watch him in the rearview mirror. He doesn’t get back on the road.
“Fuckin’ weirdo…”
It might as well be midnight in these woods. The closer you get to home, the faster you go. Cops never watched these roads. Just two miles away, you come across a sharp corner at speed. Something’s in the road.
“SHIT!” you yell as you slam on the brakes and nearly skid of the road. You come to a stop and look behind you. “That fucking red truck again!”
Parked in the middle of the road. How did it beat you here? You saw it stop.
With a flash, its highbeams turn on and you hear it peeling out. It’s coming for you peel out as well.
The twists and turns of the road are terrifying going sixty, but he’s almost touching your bumper now. You’re almost to your street. It’s coming up on the right. You whip your car right and watch the red truck fly by. Still you race to your driveway, watching your rearview the entire time you’re pulling in. This hasn’t been a great start to your weekend.
Then you bump into something. Your wife never parks on this side. You look ahead.
“H-how…”
There it is again. The same red truck. Always ahead of you, yet following you. Its driver side door hangs wide open. And so does the front door of your house.
