A sylvan highway, a mess with slush, snow burdened trees loomed like ancient things judging me for my carelessness. The man that I’d hit with my van was nowhere to be found.
“Where are you?!” No response came, just the whisper of the breeze through the evergreens. “We have to get you to a hospital!” moments passed again with nothing.
I leaned my shoulder against the sturdy oak that was now the gravestone for my 1992 Dodge Caravan. I looked at the wreck, as I ran my hand through my hair. Steam still rose from the crushed in hood, a sweet warm smell permeated the air. I stood there, watched the coolant trickle from the radiator. My mind had stalled, all while the severity of my situation cascaded into my stomach and settled as hot coals.
“This is really bad.” There’s an end to this. Quit wasting time and start walking. An abrupt jolt of conviction gave a resolution that invigorated my listless legs.
“The road map!” I snatched it up from the dash where it had flown from my hands after the accident. We were suddenly back to the initial dilemma. Where the hell was I?
Was it the stress, did I hit my head? Questions arose as the map seemed to always be on the wrong page. I couldn’t find where I was in West Virginia. Knowing that I was on Highway 119, my index finger tried to follow the roads that were bigger than the rest on the page, my eyes strained with the effort. The highway that I was stranded on wasn’t in here, is it this edition or? Flipping back to the inner cover, there it was, front and center “Printed in 1950” (it was 2002).
“What a cheap prick!” I tossed the map like a frisbee at the passenger door. Who runs a fucking gas station by a major state highway, and doesn’t keep their stock of road maps up-to-date? A cheap prick, that’s who! Hand balled into a fist, I leaned back to punch the side of the van; visions of a broken hand made it to my muscles before committing to the swing. That’ll fix this, I thought, go ahead break your fucking hand. My arms fell in defeat.
Let’s think this through. I paced back-and-forth, rubbing the back of my neck. Roads, new ones can be put in anywhere, anytime; but towns and cities, those, not so much. Wasn’t there a sign somewhere some miles back, something someone said at the gas station before I got on the road?
Harper’s Ferry, that was it, to the East! I sprung into action and ripped off a chunk of a cardboard moving box from the back of my van and wrote in bold black marker: Headed East. Harper’s Ferry. Need help. I then affixed it between a wiper blade and the windshield, grabbed my Coat, what was left of a bottle of water, put the sun behind me and began to walk. My shadow was growing long, the winter sun was near to setting. Orange and reds swirled in the dark blue of the sky. There wasn’t a town in sight. This was becoming dire, a stupid idea to walk, and why has no one driven by yet? And why are there no birds, don’t birds get more vocal just before the sun goes down? Especially in the middle of fucking nowhere!
In that moment, a wave of something, embarrassment or maybe fear, washed through me. I checked over my shoulder, to make certain that my frustration was just that, mine. It had been so long since I had last seen another vehicle while on the road. I needed help and didn’t want to blow any chance I had as a desperate hitchhiker by raving to myself like I was bat-shit crazy. A sip from my water bottle brought me some comfort. I trudged on, occasionally I would steal a glance of the sun set.
It wasn’t until night fell that I’d seen the twinkle of lights through the trees. The largest lights were orange and blue and higher than the rest. Without the sun’s warmth, the cold was invading my modest layers. I was relieved to see light at the end of the tunnel.
As I approached the small booth-style gas station, it began to sleet. The cold air of night produced a fog that gathered around the lights, streaks of silver fell through the glowing orbs and crashed to the mirror of pavement below. My mind started to drift to my cold hands hugging a mug of hot coffee with a heavy blanket draped over my shoulders while sitting on the trunk of a police cruiser. For better or worse, I’d breathe in the steam as I waited for the police to fix everything.
I shook my mind of its reverie and peered into the milky, streaked glass of the station. There were lights on inside, maybe not all of them, but enough to discern the dark shapes within. Under the canopy that sheltered two vintage gas-pumps, I tried a door on the right side of the square building. I pushed, it did not open. I pulled, it did not open. It responded with an indifferent thump of the bolt colliding with the striker plate. I gave the glass on the door a few harsh knocks with the underside of my fist. Nothing stirred inside.
I made a loop around the building and searched for an alternative entrance. “Hello?!” my voice broke through the tranquility, not so much as an echo returned to my ears. Naturally, my savior being a sleepy little town that rolls up the sidewalks at… what time was it even? It couldn’t be much past 7:00 pm.
I left the cover of the canopy to find that the road split. The short streets that ended in sharp angles didn’t help visibility, nor did the old trees that filtered the moonlight. Straight ahead, old brick buildings lined one side of the street and a dense forest occluded the other. Through the forest was a large winding lake down a precipitous incline.
There were three buildings with glass fronts: a hardware store, a florist’s studio, and a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. All of which were closed, their interiors dark. Gray dunes spanned one third of the way up the glass facades, vague shapes protruding. My eyes strained to focus, the gray and black tones washed out details. I was about to get a closer look, when out of the corner of my eye there was a spasm of light.. There, under a street light, stood a man in simple clothing. Shadows concealed his face, yet I could feel his eyes on me.
“H-hey! I-I need help!” I stammered. No sooner, he turned and disappeared around the corner of a street.
“Stop!” I shouted as I ran after him. “I need help!” The buildings and trees to my sides seemed to narrow as I advanced down the street. An electronics store burst into life as I turned the corner. The window display of televisions and radios all broadcasted static and a wet, rushing white noise.
I crossed a street into a small parking lot, crowned in a thicket of trees. The man was closer this time, poised below a manic street light and beside a sign that read beach. “My van is wrecked! I hit someone on my way here. I need to use a phone.” The street light went dark for a moment, then re-illuminated; the man was gone. The blood drained from my face as every hair on my body stood with the current of unease.
“What is happening? People don’t just disappear, they can’t.” The thoughts in my head began to race. Everything that happened up to this point came in as raw white vibrance.
“Come on!” I steeled myself, “Don’t panic, you’re tired, blood sugar’s low, you need water!” I fumbled through my coat for the bottle of water. I drank, to wash the acrid sting of bile that rose from my throat.
My mind calmed enough to piece together thoughts. Maybe this is a tourist town, if it’s off season that would explain why there aren’t people around. This revelation calmed my anxiety. You’re stressed, and hallucinating, calm down. The warmth of breath in my hands over my face was a comfort, like hiding from monsters under a blanket. I hadn’t noticed that I covered my face and let my hands fall.
The world came back into focus. My tired legs wobbled with each stride towards the stairs leading to the beach. I glared down into the long throat of darkness and my leg hesitated, as though rusted, to take the first step into the crooked mouth.
Landings were placed after dozens of stairs, where thick wooden poles aimed cones of sodium light that began to pulsate on-and-off, on-and-off. Each step took with apprehension, breaths became deep, slow, and staccato. The man appeared again, on a landing ahead as the light above him throbbed with sickly yellow haze. The next moment he was gone. I did not call out to him.
My vision vignetted with the pulsating lights. When my nerve allowed a glance up from the stairs, I could see a structure in the water silhouetted by the full moon behind it. The moon light twinkled on its ninety degree edges. I looked back to my feet. Another step down, then another, and another still.
The toe of my shoe was the first to touch the sand. I stepped onto the beach, sinking passed my ankles; with each step plumes of dust belched out from the wet top layer. Under the thick skin was light and airy sand. I shuffled forward and, below my feet, ridged things clacked and rattled.
A colossal square gate stood in the water near the beach. What is this place? A horizontal rod of staticky white light erupted from the center of the structure. Other shapes rose from the water beside it. The light illuminated a gray beach with black gnarled trees that bent in, branches reached. The haze closed in, the world was so small. I shook my head frantically to clear it of disorientation, the light pushed away the dark, I raised a hand to shield my eyes. Flashes of my life exploded in jarring rhythmic beats.
I was right in front of the gate now. I gasped for air and thrashed my body, my movements were in wet cement, shocks of energy jerked through my limbs. As my body turned, there was the man, his mouth screamed but there was no sound. His eyes, wild and scared. There were others with him, leaned in.
White.