My Car Broke Down In The Middle Of Nowhere, And Now I’m Pretty Sure I’ll Never Get Home

“Leave’im alone. He’s had a rough day. He’s sad.” Morgan’s heart started beating harder. He could feel it beating in his ears. If Tommy’s over there…then who is standing over me? Morgan tried to steady his body. He could feel it starting to shake. His breathing was audible now. He was almost hyperventilating. He wanted to open his eyes and see who was keeping him here — see who had caused all of this. But something stopped him. He couldn’t bring himself to confront this guy — this thing. He didn’t want to know who — or what — it was. He just wanted to leave this place. Forget it from his memory.

The shadow moved from over Morgan and not soon after, he heard the door squeak shut. He opened his eyes to the darkness of the early morning, the only light coming from the bright moon outside. He squinted at the analog clock next to his bed — 3:55 a.m. He got up slowly, careful not to make much noise, and unzipped his duffle bag. He grabbed his Northwestern sweatshirt, the sweatshirt that had gotten him through everything, and threw it on. He put his wallet, useless cell phone, and Swiss army knife in his pockets and slipped on his running shoes from under the bed.

He was getting out of here.

Morgan crept toward the door and slowly turned the doorknob. Click. Tommy had fallen asleep in the living room. A book on the history of Word War II was sitting on his lap. Tommy couldn’t read above a 3rd grade level but he liked looking at the pictures. Morgan inched the door open, praying it would keep his secret and slid his body into the hallway. His toes barely touched the floor as he made his way passed the living room when his right peripheral caught a shadow in the corner. Morgan froze. His body clenched. He began to turn his head when Tommy stirred again. The Dark History of WWII fell to the floor and landed face up on a chapter about Nazi torture techniques. Morgan’s brain went through all the possible options and quickly decided on “fuck it and sprint.” He took off. Bounding through the living room passed the sleeping Tommy, and out the spring-hinged door, which slammed shut as he jumped off the porch. Morgan ran like Hell itself was behind him. And it very well might have been. He ran passed the black hole, passed his broken, fixed, and re-broken Nissan.

“Mo’gan!” Tommy’s voice cut through the thin Wyoming air. “Come back! Please!”

Morgan stumbled down the gravel driveway. He could feel Tommy sprinting behind him. His footsteps sounded like thunder bouncing off the mountains. They began to sync up to his heartbeat and started getting faster and faster. The end of the driveway through the final valley seemed to get farther and farther away and he could feel his head getting light and his mind drifting. Tommy’s steps were rabid now. Pounding right behind him. Morgan didn’t need to look to know who what was gaining on him. Tommy’s eyes were black holes — sucking in the light around them. His teeth were gnarly and yellow. As he got closer to Morgan’s shadow his jaw drooped. It began to swing with his run. Morgan halfway expected to run into an invisible wall.

“Am I dreaming again?” he hoped. As Morgan was finishing that thought, a 1975 Camaro flew around the final corner and skidded into a 180 stop in front of Morgan.

“Bobby!” Morgan yelped.

“Get in.”

Morgan slammed the door shut and the Camaro roared back into gear. Dust and gravel spewed out behind the spinning tires. Morgan’s head was spinning now. The heartbeat in his ears was drowning out whatever Bobby was saying to him and his vision began to blur. The car had just skidded onto the main street when Morgan passed out.