Once I got my driver’s license, instead of telling me the usual “Keep your eyes on the road” and “Drive the speed limit”, Father drove that tenet into my head with his usual fervor. It was a miracle I even got to drive his old baby-blue Chevy, but I had needed a way to drive to the church after school since Father got tired of doing it himself. At least I didn’t have to keep asking John for rides home after football games.
After a particularly gruesome victory against our rivals, Central Christian, John had invited me to grab some food afterwards. I was hesitant to accept at first, but everyone was just begging me to come with, and besides, I had said no every other time too. I begrudgingly accepted, grabbing a bite to eat at The Feed Mill, the old diner that had become the high school hangout after dances and games. John and I sat at a booth with Kenny and Colton, two other players I hadn’t got to know well. While they regaled each other with stories of who was dating who and so and so from Central had a fight with so and so from Freighton, I sat with my eyes darting from person to person, happy to finally have a night out. That moment dissipated once I read my watch: 10:37. My face fell as John’s eyes met mine, obviously concerned.
“Sorry guys, I have to get going. Father’s gonna kill me.” I uttered, scrambling to my feet. As I turned to leave, John grabbed my wrist gently, prompting me to turn back around.
“Come on Rod, you don’t have to go. So what if your dad gets mad? You’re already late, might as well stick it out! Besides, we never get to see you.”
“Yeah Rod, you never hang with us after games.” Kenny piped up.
The fear began to well up in my eyes, an ice-cold mist that passed through my whole body leaving goosebumps in its wake. I wanted to stay so bad, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
“I’m really sorry guys, but I have to go. It’s too late,” I managed to squeak out before turning and walking out of the diner, unable to look at them any longer. My fear was already bad enough, I didn’t need to feel their obvious disappointment gutting me any longer. As I walked outside and climbed into the truck, the cool autumn air met me, chilling my already freezing body. I began to shiver as I put the key in the ignition and put the truck into gear, driving out of the parking lot and into the cold expanse of night.
Before long, the metal roofs and street lamps were replaced with crumbling asphalt and sagging oaks, only illuminated by my dim halogen headlights. Every so often, turns would bring me into winding corn fields that seemed to stretch on for eternity until I was brought back into the familiar midwestern groves. While my gas light hadn’t come on yet, I figured it was only a matter of time until that familiar orange indicator flashed on my dashboard. Knowing that I was already late, I had failed to stop for gas, and I still had a long way to go.
What if I ran out of gas here? What if my brakes failed? What if my engine cut out? These anxious thoughts were hot on my breath as I breathed faster and faster, fearing both going home and the consequences of not returning.
These fears only seemed to grow as I spotted the first sign of architecture on this untraveled county road. The building was still small in my windshield, a gothic midwestern type with chipped white shingles and rotted wood framing. Only as I got closer did I spot a faded burgundy cross, hanging off ever so slightly from what must have been decades of neglect and disrepair. Maybe the building used to be a site of worship, but it had obviously been abandoned long ago. Just above the cracking door frame was a broken circular window, most likely looking into an entry way of some sort. I strained to look inside, alarmed when I realized two glassy eyes were staring back at me.
I was only brought back to reality when a loud bang made me jump in my seat as all light in the cab cut and the engine began to sputter.
“No, no, no. Not now. Please, God, not now.” I started uttering to myself as the truck began slowing and slowing until coming to a stop just after the former church. My fears were immeasurable now, dominating my every thought as Father’s words kept coming back to me: “Don’t ever run out of gas on the backroads, boy.” It wasn’t like I could call for help either; Father never let me own a phone, after all. Any attempt to get the truck started back up was useless.
I was stuck.
Turning away from the dash, my eyes slowly found their way back to that window, but the eyes were nowhere to be found. Where had they gone? Was I just going crazy imagining them?
Then, I heard a knock on my passenger window.
Swiveling around, I saw a tall, black figure. His features were completely obscured by a black cloak and hood, but I could see his eyes clear as day. Inhuman, they stared through me, full of hunger and malice. Even without seeing his face, I knew I was in danger. I yanked on the driver door handle, kicking it open with startling force as I clambered out and bolted for the church. I ran every step of the way, my feet kicking up dry dirt and dead grass as I ran to the rotting doorframe.
In that doorframe, the only thing I could register was a pair of glassy eyes.
--
Have you seen this child?
Rodney Wilkins, aged 16, went missing on Tuesday, October 13th. He was last seen driving a baby-blue 1975 Chevrolet Silverado heading west on County Road 12.
Central County Police obtained a copy of the above journal near a foreclosed church. Rodney has a family history of mental illness and should be approached with caution.
Any information should be reported to Central County Police. His father, Pastor Jeremy Wilkins, is offering a $1000 reward for any information.