Lost Highway

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
She comes to me in nightmares. She's waiting for me in the emerald storm.

Submitted: February 02, 2017

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Submitted: February 02, 2017

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The huge blood-red orb has just gone down and I'm driving out of the parking lot of another cheap motel.  Out here in the remote treeless expanse where the Plains rise slowly in elevation to meet the high desert there's always another dive motel.  Just when you think you've seen the last one and start to worry that you may be in for a long haul before the next opportunity for lodging, there's another 13-room rat-hole with gullies in a gravely parking lot that usually has only one other vehicle in it besides your own - a dented pickup truck with a rusty body and broken side mirrors.  Yeah, the twilight is coming on now.  I put the Springsteen CD in and set I'm On Fire to loop continuously.  I've been sleeping in the musty rooms of these roach joints so long that my clothes smell like a combination of dirty ash trays and stale booze.  I don't smoke or drink, but you couldn't tell it by smelling my soft cotton pullover.  These desert nights are apt to be chilly.  That's why I wear long sleeves.  The cobalt blue backlighting of the instrument panel glowing from behind the steering wheel combines with the haunting rockabilly ballad to smooth out my nerves.  Yeah, I've been sleeping in dive motels during the day and driving at night.  I like driving at night.The traffic is not as heavy.  What am I talking about traffic?  On the old Route 66?  That's a damn lie.  There's no traffic out here in these endless wastes of ghost towns and abandoned places.  Traffic has nothing to do with why I drive at night.  It's because of her.  She hit the road before I did - left without even saying goodbye.  She was gone when I woke up, then my car wouldn't start.  Looked under the hood.  She had stolen my distributor cap.  It took some doing to get another one for my old Bullet Mustang.  She's got two days head start on me, but that's all right, I think I know where she's headed.  She did something to me that night.  It's only been a week, but ever since that moonless night with her in that fleabag motor lodge on the outskirts of Amarillo I've been mysteriously sensitive to sunlight.  It blinds my eyes and burns my skin.  So I sleep during the day and drive at night.  I can see streaks of green lightning flashing far off in the distance.  A misting rain is blurring my windshield.  It must be a rare thing for it to rain in this arid vastness.  A desert thunderstorm at night - it's a beautiful sight to see, the inky abyss lit up with emerald luminescence.  It's eerie and it makes me nervous.  Chasing her into a stormy night is dangerous.  No, not dangerous - deadly.  The recurring nightmare that torments me in my sleep has green lightning in it.  The dream always opens in silver like a memory hiding from recall, but then the emerald lightning starts and there she is.  Her sultry form materializing out of the sharp flashes grows bigger as she reaches out to me from a distant horizon that undulates like the waves of a surreal desert sea.  She's radiating phantom green.  Her complexion is sallow like a corpse.  There are dark rings around her eyes, but somehow she's so beautiful.  Exotically beautiful.  Hypnotically beautiful.  Wickedly beautiful.  Her lips are ruby red.  I know she's calling my name, but I never hear any sound in my nightmare except at the end.  That's when I hear the thumping.  It starts low when her foggy form takes shape from afar, but as she approaches the thumping gets louder and louder.  Her red mouth is moving - calling my name in silence.  The thumping turns into beating and the beating into pounding.  She's hovering over me in a flowing spectral green silky translucent gown.  The pounding is deafening, like bombs going off in my head.  It's a rhythmic pounding like a heart beating, but it's loud.It's so godawful loud!  When her red mouth moves in toward my throat I jerk bolt upright in the sweat-soaked sheets of a squeaky bed.  The curtains in the cheap motel room are always closed.  Shadows crawl in the corners, but I can see in those shadows.  When I look into darkness, I see with silver vision.  I can tell the sun is setting and that means I've survived another day of horror-infested sleep.  Then that feeling hits me.  The uncanny impulse to find her - a compulsion, an obsession.  The blood red orb dips below the empty lifeless horizon and the nightshades draw down from the purple afterglow.  So here I am behind the wheel again, driving westbound into the night in pursuit of a ghost that summons me from the darkest regions of my subliminal consciousness.  It's like this song perpetually streaming from my car stereo speakers.  I'm on fire.  I'm on fire for her.  She's out there somewhere ahead in the silvery darkness.  She knows I'm coming.  She's waiting for me in the storm.


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