Month: September 2023

A brutal wind storm had blown up out of nowhere. The weatherman on the radio stated, “Tonight a severe thunderstorm has crossed into the valley. Please take shelter immediately. My personal opinion, folks, I haven’t seen a storm like this suddenly appear and has this much power in my fifteen years of broadcasting. I urge everyone off the streets! Take your Treaters home now. Candy can be bought at the store!” His rant was cut off by abrupt static, then the station began an oldie, Little Red Riding Hood by Sam the Sham and The Pharaohs.

Sheila looked in her rearview mirror and spotted Rascal, her red Doberman among her plastic bags. They were last minute supplies for Brayden’s Halloween costume. Some glue, white cotton, red ribbon spools, and a kit of creme paints. She bent down to turn on her cell phone. It read, “4:55 PM”.

Damn, she fretted, I only have an hour or so to put this together! Gary’s coming from work so maybe he’ll be late to pick him up.

“Even bad wolves can be good…” she sang along with the radio. “Is that true boy?” She laughed as Rascal only yawned in response.

As she crossed the center lane and turned onto I-18, large bullets of rain pelted her window. The storm picked up in its intensity. Crazy rolling thunderheads billowed and blew overhead. It grew prematurely dark outside.

Her fingers strummed along with the tune subconsciously. The air inside became humid and somewhat stale as she had the Camry’s heater turned off.

A high-pitched horn pierced her thoughts. She cranked the wheel to the right on instinct as a red pickup zoomed past narrowly missing her. The driver cursed and waved his fist at her. Sheila had obviously pulled out into his lane. Rascal barked from the back seat, scratching at the window.

“Sorry. So sorry!” she squealed out loud, but of course the truck had already gone down the highway. Shaking at his reaction and at the near collision, she pulled over into the breakdown lane to settle herself.

“It’s not my fault. Right, boy? The storm is clouding everything. And I have no time to delay!”

Not too close behind her, she spied a set of headlights pull into the breakdown lane and park.

“SEE! Other people are having a hard time too.” She whined in defense. Rascal whined in sympathy.

She stretched out her arms, one hand scratching him behind the ear, and she shook her whole frame one last time. She felt ready so she drove the car back onto the road.

On the I-18 the speed limit is 65 max, but no one but the elderly drove that limit. She quickly passed 65 to nudge it closer to 75. There were few other drivers on the road and the drive is smooth again. The radio began a new tune, Sitting On The Dock of The Bay.

She hummed again and began to enjoy the ride. Exit 78 passed by, marking the border to the small burg called Carterton. She smiled to herself in relief. Only 3 more exits then I’ll be inside. Maybe a cup of French Roast?

“How about a couple strips of maple bacon, Rascal? Would that make it up to you. Dragging you out in–“

Red and Blue lights splashed all over the interior of the Camry. Her eyes darted to the rearview. A police cruiser was behind her with its lights whirling. Her eyes darted next to the dashboard. It showed 79. Not too much over, not normally worth hassling me, she thought.

But it is raining pretty hard…

With no other cars near her, she had no issues getting the vehicle pulled over to the side. She parked, turned off the car and leaned over to dig in the glove department.

“DRIVER STOP MOVING. PLACE YOUR HANDS ON THE STEERING WHEEL IMMEDIATELY!” The booming voice came through the cruiser’s speakers.

She froze, shocked by the fierce tone of the voice.

“DRIVER STOP MOVING! SIT UP AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ON THE WHEEL! I AM NOT GOING TO GIVE YOU ANOTHER WARNING!” The voice was masculine, aggressive and agitated.

“Okay, okay!” she said out loud. Rascal pounced around the Halloween packages and whined again in excitement. She sat still behind the wheel with her hands at the 10 and 2 positions of the wheel.

A long minute went by and finally a shadowy figure emerged from the cruiser. It’s a man, all alone. Tall with broad shoulders, a hat and a gray rain poncho. He slowly advanced, checked the license plate, then lit up the backseat with his flashlight. Rascal went berserk until she yelled for him to stop.

Come on, come on. You’re killing me! I have to get Brayden’s costume done. For godsake, just right me up and let’s go already! Sheila’s thoughts cascade around and around.

He tapped at the window with the butt of the flashlight. She hit the button and rolled it down halfway. Rain splattered her immediately.

She looked up but could only see angular shadows and a faint outline of his face. Wide nose, far-spaced eyes, a bushy beard. She noted the fact his mouth was in a deep scowl.

“Sorry, Officer, to make you stand in the rain.” She muttered, trying to be charming and get on his good side. “And don’t worry about Rascal. He’s too old for a fight.”

“All part of the job. License and registration, please.” He ignored her attempt of charm.

As she leaned over, she noticed his hand slid over to his holster, resting down on the top of the gun inside.

It remained there as she handed him the paperwork.

Without glancing at the papers, he said, “All right, Mrs. Glenn, can you step out?”

“Are you serious? Is that really necessary?”

He took a large step back from her door. Rested his hand again on the leather holster on his belt. “Step out! I do not like to repeat my orders, Mrs. Glenn!”

She sighed softly, more to herself than as a protest. She didn’t like his tone and demeanor. She understood he wasn’t to be pushed.

More rain flooded the interior as she got out. Rascal whimpered then emitted a low growl. The storm itself took advantage of her appearance and increased in its fury.

He slipped a hand under her arm and led her to the back of her car in his grip.

“I am going to have to pat you down now. Any sharp items or weapons on you I need to be aware of?”

She shook her head no as his hands roughly went over her shoulders then down her sides. He removed her wallet and car keys from her jean’s pocket. She wasn’t wearing a jacket so she carried nothing else on her.

“What is this all about exactly?” She cried out over the storm’s cacophony.

He seized her left arm, yanked it painfully high between her shoulders. Her breath blasted from her lungs as he bent her over the hood. She heard the sound of the metal handcuffs as they clicked shut on her wrists. Then his heavy body laid on top of her. He was smothering her against her own car!

Leaning into her ear, he said, “Your husband, Gary says he is sick of you not being there for him or your son. Now, you will never be.”

He lifted off, threw a very heavy punch into her ribs, then kicked her hip with his boot to knock her to the ground. As she wheezed and writhed on the ground, he popped open the trunk of her car. Dimly, she heard furious dog barking.

Panic seized her but she couldn’t decide how to act. Her fight-or-flight instincts overwhelmed her, and he kept taking action before she could decide. He was calm, precise and calculated.

He scooped her into his arms and threw her in like a bag of trash into the trunk. The rain ramped up once again and even sounds were drowned out by the pounding flurry. He bent down close to her face. He had bright green eyes, one though was all bloody from a burst blood vessel. His breath smelled equal parts Scope Mint and Buffalo Trace Bourbon.

“A parting gift from me,” he said and showed her a long, black plastic zip tie. Sheila shrieked as he secured it around her neck.

Her final pleas “No, don’t do this, please!” was shut off as he tightened the zip tie. It bit into the skin and blood bubbled up around it as clawed at it frantically. Her eyes bulged and her tongue stuck out obscenely.

He muttered to himself, “I am doing it. I’m getting my first! I am doing it!”

It was over in seconds, but to Sheila it seemed endless before her vision faded, the colors blending then going gray and finally dissolving to an infinite black. The whole time the man bounced from one foot then the other. He continued his stream of words, “I am getting my first. I am getting my first. Yes! All I planned. Precise. So easy…”

Hours later, a group of teens “too old for Trick-or-Treatin'” found Shelia’s empty car. It was a minor inferno, smoke rising and bleeding into the clouds. It was abandoned along an isolated dirt road when the local fire department arrived.

Mysteriously, one backdoor was left open, facing the surrounding forest.