The Godless Void (Chapter 3)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

George finds trouble on the road

His routine was far from out of the ordinary. George drove out to the town of Bancroft a couple of times a week, always early morning, but today just didn't sit right.

He told himself for the hundredth time, the boy would be fine. The nightmare of a young child shouldn't trouble a grown man so.

But it was more than that. A part of George was aware that it was a lot more, it's just he didn't want to admit it, and so he did what adults tend to do- he looked for distractions to shake him free of such feelings.

No matter how hard he looked, and in every direction, he couldn't see anywhere the black fellah and his bicycle could have been headed.

Thin strands of cloud looked to stretch out from the sun, making him think of giant squids beneath a distant ocean.

Something just didn't feel right with what he was seeing before him. George had seen this sight so many times over so many years, so why did it bother him now?

He gasped on finally seeing what was right in front of him, momentarily losing control of the old Ford- regaining control to skid to a stop in the dirt at the side of the road.

The hands on the wheel weren't his own!

Struggling to breathe, he looked at his hands, front and back, turning them continuously. They were his hands he was looking at, no doubt about it. But why had he thought otherwise?

He knew why, he told himself. It was the stress of it all; not just that morning, but the weeks that had led to it. Harsh soil and an unforgiving sun. Brittle stems and a well that had almost run as dry as the water tank.

George dabbed at his forehead using the back of his wrist, removing beads of perspiration from his brow. It was hot, he was way out here and given the recent excitement, the Ford had gone and stopped on him.

He wound the window down to summon a breeze but found no reply. He didn't know why he had expected one. His smokes had rushed from the dashboard and landed at his feet. He bent over, retrieved them and pulled one from the pack. Lighting up, he remembered how his old man had smoked the same brand. Funny how he could remember something like that but not his dear Dad's features unless he really set his mind to it.

George blew smoke from his lungs and rubbed at his eyelids before deciding now was as good a time as any to get the Ford working again. He turned the ignition, the vehicle shuddered. He tried again, the vehicle coughed and wheezed, begged for release from this cruel world and shuddered but once before falling silent.

“Come on,” George begged, “you pitiful son of a bitch.”

His pleading worked. One more turn of the ignition and the vehicle seemed to be bouncing on the spot, ready to go if for only one last time. He checked the rear view, saw the long running road and exhaust smoke raising triumphant. George pictured a molehill of dust blown clean from the exhaust pipe and grinned with his own sense of pride.

“Now that's what I'm talking about,” he muttered, turning the wheel sharply to get back onto the baking asphalt.

Submitted: January 19, 2022

© Copyright 2022 A.C. Aerie. All rights reserved.

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