Evil in the Number Two Lane

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A freeway revelation that changes one for life.

Submitted: May 03, 2017

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Submitted: May 03, 2017

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It was seven thirty-five a.m. when the sun decided to make an appearance on this cold Sunday. Brad had just taken the I-80 on ramp heading east into the now glaring morning. It was a little annoying but not enough to take much thought away from his special day. He had been practicing his sermon for two weeks now. It was his first Sunday School as a teacher. He was imagining his performance behind a black music stand pulpit. Brad was expounding on the love of Jesus Christ, warning his students about their future and using exaggerated gestures with his arms to drive his message home as he entered the freeway.
He punched the accelerator on his gold colored Nissan Cube and clicked his left hand turn indicator. He checked his mirror at the same time and merged. Brad's little Cube was cute but it wasn’t fast and he was running out of on-ramp fast.


“But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. 2 People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive,disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, 3 without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, 4 treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God" 5 having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with such people.” Brad said to his large windshield with the confidence of Billy Graham speaking to a football stadium.
Through his glary bug smeared glass he could see he was getting uncomfortably close to the flat bed semi in front of him and decided to slide over one more lane. He checked his mirrors again. All clear. He quickly slid over just as a black Infiniti sedan nearly clipped his front end. His heart skipped a beat as he hit the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision. Brad stared at the tinted back window of the Infiniti, watching the car lurch forward suddenly and then slowing down again. ‘What’s this guy’s problem!’ he thought. The black sedan then merged right without a signal about 3 car lengths in front of the flatbed semi and then maintained his speed. Brad slowly came up beside the black car. “Let’s see what Stupid looks like.” he said to the roomy inside of his little gold import. But as he got a good look at his freeway adversary the comedy of the moment left him. Brad mashed the accelerator like a rotten fruit and pulled away agonizingly slow. 
The sun hid itself behind an ugly gray cloud just as splats of rain started hitting Brad and his fellow Sunday travelers. All thoughts of his spectacular sermon / performance, the weather, strength of his new cologne, the hot new choir director and his one hundred dollar tie disappeared with his good mood. He replayed the sight of the sedan’s driver over and over in his head. What was it that scared him so bad. ‘Scared? Am I scared?’ he thought. His mind hid the details from him. He searched his thoughts tentatively and found it in a dark recess of his mind cowering like a scared whipped puppy in a shelter. Boldly he exposed it to the light of his reason and immediately regretted it. The fantastically old man stared through his windshield as he came along side, not glancing over at him but looking forward only. The old man was the wrong shade of people, had no teeth that were detectable, longish steel gray hair and a hook nose. Worst of all was the feeling that he needed to take a bath as soon as he saw the driver. Brad felt unclean, filthy, corrupt and ashamed. But mostly terrified.
He was now in mental auto pilot. His body knew where it wanted (needed) to go and was doing it as fast as possible. Meanwhile his brain was trying to cope with the visage of the old driver. ‘Was this a sign?’ he thought, and ‘Was that “Evil” in the number two lane?’ Just then the black Infiniti eased beside the little gold Cube. Brad’s head turned right, seemingly by an unseen hand. He was staring at the side of the old man’s head again and watched as the creature turned it's head to meet his gaze. The old man's hallow black eyes looked right into Brad's soul and nodded his sick gray head up and down while it mouthed “YESSS” but he heard the creature's voice loud and clear in his head. It was the voice of a nightmare. Brad screamed like the Damned.
The rain moved off toward the Sierras as Brad snapped out of autopilot and found himself in the parking lot of his church. Walking to his Sunday school classroom, he noticed a searing pain surging through his right hand. The would-be preacher realized he had been clutching his bible so hard that he had left a permanent hand print in the cover. He was blowing on his hand as he walked into his new classroom. “Good morning, Class.” he croaked out surprisingly. His voice was gone. The classroom was full of shocked ten year olds. Two little girls started crying. One of them pointed at him and screamed. Brad was shocked as his class room ran scared from the room. Some of the boys were yelling for their mothers. He too ran for the exit but the door slammed in his face. He stood back as he saw a stranger in his reflection off the window in the door. 
The impossibly white haired self serving deacon would not be preaching today.


© Copyright 2017 R.Guy Barringer. All rights reserved.

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