MicroHorror

“The creature emerged from the brackish water, sniffing the air with flared nostrils. In its claws were strands of rotting swamp weed. Remnants of its last meal hung from the spaces between its fangs, fluttering in the breeze like last Monday’s washing.”

The girls looked at each other and laughed.

Jake frowned, silencing them, and continued.

“They say you could smell its breath before your eyes ever fell upon its bulk, but even so, how was anyone to know what nightmares the swamp held? With one bite it devoured the first camper, swallowing the poor man whole. The others barely had time to make sense of what had happened before another of their number was snapped up. Gone. Just like that. Out of five of them only one survived; three of them eaten alive and the fourth dying later in hospital.”

He paused. His eyes were wide, firelight dancing in them.

“The creature was never seen again, despite the swamp being dredged.”

Sarah shuddered. Had it just got colder? She shuffled closer to the flames.

“Nice one, Jake,” she said. “You have quite an active imagination there.”

“I have a true story of creatures that are much more frightening,” said May. “These creatures are deceptively pleasant looking, no scales or horns on these babies. Nevertheless, they poison air and water alike, indiscriminately, and turn on their own at the drop of a hat. They are vicious, to be sure. And all they while they plot new ways to destroy, new ways to kill. Some even have pretensions of being civilized but they are the most dangerous of all, for they are the ones at the helm.”

“Oh, that’s very good,” laughed Jake. “Real live creatures. Well done. You’d better sleep with one eye open, then.”

The scream brought Jonathon flying in through the front door and down the hallway. Another scream. It had come from the lounge room. He burst into the sparsely furnished room and noticed it immediately. Blood. Everywhere blood. His heart pounded its way into his mouth. His stomach turned. This was not going to be the heroic rescue he had imagined.

“You gotta help me!” Sean had screamed on the other end of the mobile phone. “They’re here! They’re in the house!”

Jonathon hadn’t believed him. Creatures. Monsters. A product of his depression, or at least the drugs he was taking for it. The man was going mad. There were no such things as monsters and he had said as much, though the terror in his best friend’s voice had been real enough.

Then he saw Sean, sitting on a wooden chair near the back of the room.

“Are you all right?” he asked, almost slipping in the pools of red liquid that were growing on the floorboards.

“Keep away!” bellowed Sean. “Keep the fuck away or they’ll get you too.”

Jonathon felt a flutter of panic. He scanned the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner, and up at the ceiling.

“But there’s no one here,” he replied. “There’s nothing to be fright….”

And then right before his eyes something invisible bit into Sean’s arm, tearing the flesh off the bone and provoking in him such a scream that Jonathon felt his body flood with adrenalin.

“What can I do?!” Jonathon cried. “Tell me what to do!”

His friend twisted in the chair as though he were bound to it, but Jonathon could see no bonds, nothing tethering him to his seat of torture.

And then another bite, smaller but followed rapidly by a second bite of the same size. A jet of crimson shot into the air, arcing before falling in tiny dots to the floorboards below. Sean was fading fast. His bottom jaw had fallen open allowing a low, continuous moan to escape his cracked and bloody lips. His eyes were shut.

Jonathon stepped closer. He was only a meter away from Sean. If he reached out he could almost touch him on the shoulder. He felt something brush past him, the hint of a breeze caressing his face before it contorted into a mask of terror as he witnessed a large chunk of Sean’s shoulder disappear.

He was trembling now. He could see his hand shaking like a leaf in a storm. Tears filled his eyes and spilled down over his cheeks, though he barely noticed them.

“I’m coming, mate,” he sobbed. “Hang in there.”

He placed a comforting hand on Sean’s other shoulder, the one still intact, and suddenly his world was alive with creatures from another place, creatures with red eyes and gnashing teeth, black scales and multitudes of horns. One had bat-like wings growing from the back of its neck. Another slithered on a double tail, rearing up to rip one of Sean’s cheeks off. A great feathered beast with four legs and curled tusks bit into Sean’s leg and severed it completely at the knee.

With the last of his energy Sean reached up and placed his hand on Jonathon’s.

Jonathon jumped but when he looked down at what remained of his friend’s face he could see that he was trying to say something. He leaned down to better hear.

“Now do you believe me?” Sean whispered before exhaling the last breath he would ever take.

A dark shadow loomed over them both. Instinctively, Jonathon stepped back, removing his hand from the shoulder just as the creatures were swallowed up by the daylight trickling in through the front window and just as something bit Sean’s head completely off.

Jonathon turned and slipped in the slick of blood. Scrambling to his feet and making for the door, he looked over his shoulder, sobbing.

“I do believe you, mate. I do believe you now.”

The café wasn’t crowded but it was busy. People chatted in low voices while two waitresses delivered coffees and cake with flushed cheeks and forced smiles. Someone in the kitchen dropped a plate; the sound of smashing china ricocheted around the room. It was only then that Jacob set eyes on a pale-faced man dressed in black.

The man smiled, a grin that straddled the border of friendly and sinister.

Jacob shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced down at his lap.

“Afternoon,” said a deep voice.

Jacob’s eyes were wide.

“How did you….?” He pointed dumbly at the table where the man had been sitting.

“Never mind. May I have a seat? I’m a traveler and have need of conversation.”

“I was just leaving,” Jacob said.

“No, you weren’t,” contradicted the man. “You were just about to order another cappuccino and I think I’ll join you.”

Jacob’s lips tightened. He gritted his teeth. A burst of adrenalin made his heart flutter.

“My name is Lucas,” he said, summoning one of the waitresses.

“Jacob.” The reply was deliberately curt.

“Pleased to meet you, Jacob,” Lucas said, extending a hand.

As they pressed the flesh Jacob shuddered. Icy fingers gripped his heart. He placed a hand on his chest, noticing as he did that Lucas’s skin had taken on a waxy, gray appearance. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he was speaking through black lips, though his words were lost in the void that seemed to have enveloped them.

Indeed it was only seconds that their hands were joined but Jacob watched as a dark and shadowy creature swooped down out of thin air to upset one of the waitresses as she left the kitchen. Coffee and china were sent flying. The waitress cursed and squatted down to pick up some of the larger fragments, completely unaware of the cause of her little accident.

In the corner an elderly woman sat sipping her tea while a winged being of light stood behind her, its wings shielding her. When it noticed Jacob looking it smiled and for a moment the icy fingers around his heart loosened their grip.

It also happened in those few seconds Jacob’s hand was in Lucas’s that he heard a screeching of tires behind him, outside on the road. Every face turned to investigate but Jacob’s attention was captured instead by a grotesque, bat-like face screeching towards him from the ether. Its gray form turned black as it neared him and when it opened its mouth to screech, Jacob could see the bright pink tissue lining the inside of its mouth and the rows of tiny needle-like teeth jutting out of it.

Lucas broke the handshake. “It’s been lovely but I have to go,” he announced, bowing his head slightly before dissolving into the air.

In that same instant Jacob felt a great force smash into the back of him, sending him flying across the room towards the old lady. In the seconds before his head hit the wall, snapping his neck, he saw the old lady scream, clutch her breast and slump forward onto the table. He saw the winged being of light lift her spirit out of her body and ascend through the ceiling.

And in the couple of seconds before the stars in front of his eyes faded he saw the bat-faced creature swoop down and wrench something from the top of his head.

For a second everything went black. When light returned, pale and dim, he looked down and saw himself lying limply in the narrow space between the dented front fender of the vehicle and the brick wall of the café toilets. He saw Lucas looking into the café from the pavement outside. Then he turned and saw the eternal void he was being carried into. His spirit shivered and he screamed as the creature, having dragged its quarry safely home, bit down into his shoulder.

Then the darkness swallowed them up like tar.

“And don’t forget to put Jeremy to bed at half past eight on the dot! He’s had a big day and I don’t…”

Leanne rolled her eyes. At sixteen she considered herself more than capable of babysitting.

“Mum, just go. I can take care of the little brat.” She pulled a face at her seven-year-old brother. “You and Dad have a great night. We’ll be fine. Don’t worry about us.”

Ann Johnson looked at her children standing in the doorway and smiled. Of course they would be okay but it was her job as a mother to worry. If she didn’t do it who would? The story of her life.

At eight thirty Leanne dispatched Jeremy to bed.

“Clean your teeth, matey,” she said, relishing her role as “mother.” “Then hop into bed. I’ll come and turn the light off.”

Jeremy had always been a good boy. He twisted himself off the couch and headed to the bathroom, dragging his feet as he went. Leanne smiled to herself. She could remember doing the same thing when she was his age, though she had never gone so willingly.

She gave him five minutes and then went down the short hallway to his bedroom.

“What are you doing, matey?” she asked.

Her brother was on his knees, his backside facing the door.

“Checking for monsters,” he replied innocently. “You never know.”

Leanne smiled then laughed. “You’re a bit too old for that, don’t you think? Have you ever, ever found any monsters under your bed?”

Jeremy hung his head. “No,” he replied softly.

“Well, there you go. You’ve never seen any monsters under your bed.”

“Only because they know I check every night,” he said climbing under the covers.

Leanne shook her head. Boys, she thought. So immature.

“Do you want your night light on?”

“Yes, please,” said Jeremy as he curled into the mattress.

Leanne switched the dinosaur-shaped night light on, switched the bedroom light off and wished her brother a good night.

Around midnight a chill had started to creep into the house. Outside the world was still. And silent. When Leanne turned the television off only the creaks and groans of the old house could be heard. After cleaning her teeth she changed into her nightie. She was about to turn her light off when something made her glance down at the ruffle which hid the space beneath her bed. A frown played upon her brow before she shook it off and plunged the room into darkness.

Once in bed her brother’s words swam lazily around in her mind. “…only because they know I check every night.” She turned over and tried to think of other, more pleasant things but something pulled her from her thoughts. A noise. It sounded like something being dragged across the carpet. She rolled onto her back and stared wide-eyed at the shadowy ceiling. There it was again. And was that a growl?

Leanne switched on the small lamp by her bedside. The room was empty. “…only because they know I check every night.” She leaned over her bed and lifted up the peach-pink ruffle.

The creature’s head spun around, its teeth already bared, a thread of thick saliva spilling over its black bottom lip. Cruel yellow eyes held her stare. Its breath held the remnants of something rotting. A second creature poked its head out from under the ruffle, snarled at Leanne and then with the claws of its scaled arm, pulled her into the darkness.

There was one scream before her throat was torn out, before the flesh was stripped from her body by two, three, four ravenous mouths. A red stain spread out across the carpet, peppered with shreds of bloody flesh. And soon that was all that remained of Leanne.

In his bedroom, Jeremy pulled the covers over his head. His eyes were wide and his body was trembling. He knew very well the reason for his sister’s scream.

I peer into the mirror, examining, and wonder who the other person looking back is, this person with fine lines around his eyes and grey hairs sprouting at his temples. I am not that person. I am fresh-faced and dark-haired.

I am distracted by the glow of birthday candles flickering behind me. 40. For a moment I can think of nothing more than that number. 40.

Then I return my attention to the stranger in front of me. I don’t know him. I don’t know how he got to this point, to be standing in front of me in front of the mirror. Perhaps if I ask, he will step aside and let me see the person I was expecting to see.

I sigh. I return to the cake and my champagne that has gone flat in the glass. I must have been staring into the mirror for longer than I realized. Time does seem to pass more quickly these days.

Suddenly there is a noise behind me in the shadows. I spin around.

“Hello,” I call out thinking that maybe one of my friends has forgotten something and returned.

The silence haunts me. There is something in the room with me but I cannot see it. There are voices, faint and indistinct. I get up and walk over to the light switch. I flick it on and the room becomes bathed in brilliant light. A quick scan of the room reveals that I am alone. Why then do I still feel so uneasy?

I return to my glass of champagne and pick it up. I take a sip and screw my nose up. The bubbles have long since disappeared and the liquid is warm. Then I remember that I don’t even like champagne and that I only drank it to be sociable. I walk over to the back door, slide it open and turf the contents of my glass onto the grass outside. I slide the door shut again and jump back.

What was that I caught a glimpse of in the glass? My heart is pounding. I turn around and find that once again the room is empty. I shiver. Something is going on and I am not sure how much of it is in my head and how much is real. I check the front door and it is locked. So are all the windows. They are always locked. I lock them to keep the outside world away from my sanctuary, except locked windows and bolted doors can’t keep age at bay.

I miss my youth. Some would argue that at 40 I am still young, but it is not the same as being 24 or even 34. At 24 you can be forgiven for a lot of things. At 40 you can’t. If you could there would be no need for the hackneyed phrase “act your age.” I’d like to see the book that lists activities by age.

I return to the mirror. For some time I am lost in thought. The background begins to disappear and then so do I. When I return it is only for a moment. My face is a mass of wrinkles and I have very little hair. What hair I do have is silver. I am dressed in pale blue and white striped pajamas and I am sitting in a wheelchair.

“How are we doing today, Mr. Winters?”

I don’t recognize the voice. He is dressed in white and smiling. As I am turned around I see a room full of other old people.

“It’s your birthday. Let’s go over to the cake and sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”

“Who are all these people?” I wonder, but then my mind goes again. Everything around me dissolves into nothing and I am once again sitting in front of a cake with 40 candles.

I smile.

I remember it as if it happened yesterday.

Trevor had been drinking. He’d admit it to anyone who asked him, although the story would be the same.

He’d been to his friend Steven’s house to celebrate winning the football finals. The alcohol had been flowing freely, but when Steven had called it a night, it was a night and everyone had left.

The night was cold. He could see his breath on the night air. Random thoughts passed through his head as he walked along the gray concrete pavers. A short distance from Steven’s house there was an old house that he had always admired.

“If I won the lottery,” he thought to himself, “this is the house that I’d buy.”

It was a grand, old character home, built well over a century ago. Surrounding it was a lush green lawn and gardens overflowing with colorful blossoms, leafy ferns and climbing roses. The sweet scent of jasmine wafted on a gentle breeze that raced past Trevor and he breathed in deeply. But the thing he liked most was the white picket fence. All his life he had dreamt of a home with a white picket fence.

Suddenly there was a change in the atmosphere. He looked over his shoulder and then into the night sky but he could see nothing to account for it. There was a crackling sensation in the air, a sparking electrical sensation surrounding him, passing through him and emanating from him. Then he saw a vision.

Picket One. He was an infant on a blanket in a long forgotten backyard. Through the eyes of the infant he could see his mother, keeping a watchful eye on him from the kitchen window. Picket Two. He was six years old, school bag in hand and eyes full of tears. He saw himself grip the hem of his mother’s dress as she tried to leave the classroom. Picket Eight. His thirteenth birthday party. There was only a small group of friends but he was having fun. It was the year he got Sal, his beloved black and white Kelpie. He could see her now as a pup in his father’s arms.

As he walked, time seemed to slow every step to allow him to see the significant events of his life. He had no time to wonder how it was all happening; the visions kept coming. Each pristine white picket held a memory for him.

Picket Twenty-One. He was sitting nervously in his father’s car, waiting for the examiner to take him for his driving test. Picket Twenty-Two. There he was walking gingerly up the steps of the university towards his first lecture. He didn’t know anyone, although everyone else seemed to. Picket Twenty-Three. His first sexual experience. It was with another guy. A rushed event in a cubicle of the sports block toilets after a soccer match. Picket Twenty-Four. Graduation.

The visions rolled on one after the other. Whole chunks of his life were being shown to him like a home movie, though in actual time he was seeing each one in fractions of a second.

Picket Sixty. It was like looking into a mirror. He could see himself at the present moment, looking back at himself.

Picket Eighty-Two. He was in the future. He could see himself a little older. He was on a doctor’s examination table. He was crying and the doctor’s face looked grim.

A wave of cold air swept around him and suddenly he was back in the here and now again. He stopped and looked back along the length of white wooden pickets. Had it all really happened? And if so, what were the tears in the doctor’s surgery for? He turned the corner and hoped that the visions would continue. He had to find out what the bad news was. Maybe if he knew ahead of time, he could prevent whatever it was from happening.

But the rest of the picket fence was just a picket fence.

It happened by accident.

It was early evening. The streetlamps cast circles of pale light at regular intervals along the street. Trent opened his front door and stepped onto the veranda with a large plastic bag of rubbish in his hand. As he walked towards the steps that lead down to his front garden he noticed one of his neighbors strolling along the footpath.

“Hello,” he called out.

Mr. Walker smiled and waved back.

Then without warning a large, dark figure flew out of the shadows and fell upon the unsuspecting man. Trent opened his mouth to shout a warning but it was too late. Mr. Walker lashed out, punching blindly at his attacker though his efforts were of little use. In the blink of an eye the creature had overpowered him and bitten down hard into the man’s neck. A spray of blood shot into the night air as the wounded man continued to struggle, but as more and more blood drained from the gaping wound in his neck his body became weaker. Within the minute, his arms were hanging limply by his side as the creature savaged his neck, tearing off chunks of flesh and spitting them aside so that it could drink the warm crimson liquid that sprayed from the torn veins and arteries.

Trent stood aghast. The plastic bag of rubbish slipped from his hand to the wooden floor of the veranda. Suddenly he had been transported to another place. This was not where he lived. Surely.

When the creature had finished it let the body drop to the ground, stood upright and licked its lips. Only then did Trent realize the danger he himself was in. Only then did the creature notice him. Their eyes met and Trent felt his blood chill. He turned and fled into the house, just managing to shut the door before the creature was at it, attacking it with talon-like fingernails and growling like an animal.

Trent ran into the kitchen to get a knife, but as he hurried towards the drawer where the knives were kept he noticed a dark blur pass by the kitchen window.

The back door!

Was it locked? A surge of adrenalin. He ran into the laundry and turned the key in the lock. Had he made it in time? He peered through the glass panel that ran the length of the wooden door, his breath fogging the glass. He couldn’t see it anywhere.

He snuck back into the kitchen and opened the utensil drawer, his hand soon finding a large carving knife. The large weapon only made him feel moderately safer. It didn’t seem adequate against the might of such a voracious killer.

He listened for any sound which might give the creature’s presence away, but there was only silence. He moved carefully across the kitchen linoleum and into the shadowy lounge room, lit only by a small table lamp.

“Looking for something?”

The voice was cold.

Trent peered into the corner.

The creature that stepped from the shadows was dressed entirely in black. Black trousers, black shirt, black gentleman’s jacket and black shoes. Its stark white face was smeared with blood, accentuating the redness of its full lips; its eyes were completely black. The space where its nose should have been was just a mass of wrinkled flesh surrounding two small holes. Bat-like. Ugly.

Before he knew it the creature was behind him, its foul breath on the back of his neck. But he was faster. Gripping the blade he spun around and dragged the blade through the creature’s neck.

As the dying creature fell to the carpeted floor Trent smiled to himself and walked over to the light switch. He flicked it on and looked at the collection of vampire heads he’d already had mounted and hung on his lounge room wall.

“Now where am I going to put you?” he thought to himself as he rested a finger on his lip.

The odor was overpowering. Alice screwed up her nose in disgust and stepped into the entrance hall of her home. She noticed immediately that the front door was open.

“Hello,” she called. But the silence remained unbroken.

As she walked slowly towards the door she noticed that the smell was not so pungent in the entrance hall, where the fresh air from outside diluted it. She took the opportunity to take a couple of deep breaths. Then she closed the door and slumped against it for a moment.

“Who opened it?” she asked herself.

An uneasy feeling settled upon her as she moved towards the stairs. The feeling she wasn’t alone followed her all the way up to the second floor and was a constant companion as she checked each room, one by one, for any intruders. But the rooms were as empty as they had been for a great many years. Except the main bedroom.

The main bedroom was located at the end of the passage and in it there was a large queen-sized bed and a collection of boxes. Alice frowned. She couldn’t remember having seen any of those things before. She walked cautiously over to the bed and circled it, looking down at the mattress; trying to recollect if it belonged to her or not. In her heart she knew it didn’t, but how had it come to be sitting in the middle of her bedroom?

A noise from downstairs set her heart racing. There could be no question that there was someone in the house with her. She snuck over to the door and peered out. Someone was climbing the stairs. She dashed across the hall into the bathroom and waited breathlessly behind the shower curtain.

The sound of footsteps grew louder and the stink of fresh meat washed over her in a wave that almost made her gag. She noticed a faint shadow slide across the tiled floor of the bathroom as whoever it was invading her home walked by. It was followed by another shadow, and muffled voices.

Alice stood wide-eyed in the bath, trembling behind the shower curtain and hardly daring to draw breath.

In a matter of seconds the two shadows passed by again, moving in the opposite direction. Alice took a chance and peered around the door jamb, catching a glimpse of someone wearing navy blue overalls disappearing down the stairs. She stepped out of the bathroom and onto the dusty carpet then crept as quietly as she could along the hall until she reached the landing. Peeking around the corner of the wall she saw a small group of people congregated near the open front door.

“Ah, good, you’ve arrived,” said a man wearing a leather jacket.

“Only just started unpacking, mate,” said one of the men in blue overalls. “We’ve done the main bedroom.”

“Well, there’s no hurry,” said a woman wearing jeans and a baggy white top. “We’re just here early to do a bit of cleaning. We’ll try to keep out of your way. We’ve sent the kids outside to play in the garden until you’ve finished, so they won’t bother you.”

“Appreciate it, ma’am,” said the man in overalls.

“You haven’t seen any ghosts yet, have you?” asked the woman.

“You’re joking,” said the man in the overalls.

“No. Seriously, there’s supposed to be a ghost here,” she said. “Part of the reason we got the place so cheap. No-one else wanted to take the risk.”

“Bloody nonsense if you ask me,” snorted the woman’s husband. “Don’t believe a word of it.”

It was well after midnight. A full moon bathed the bare winter landscape in a powdery light. It was a struggle for Peter to keep his eyes open since he had driven so far and had so far to go. His thoughts were of home, his bed, and sleep.

He was in the middle of nowhere and as fate would have it his car suddenly lost power. There was a chugging sound, the headlights went out and the car rolled to a stop on the gravel by the side of the road.

“What the hell…?” he groaned.

He twisted the key in the ignition but the engine refused to turn over.

“Shit!” he snapped, smacking the steering wheel.

He opened the door and stepped outside. His breath was a cloud on the night air, which bit into the exposed skin of his face and hands. There was no joy with his mobile phone either. It seemed that he was stranded and the only thing to do was to start walking.

After trudging three miles he came across a farmhouse with a light on. It looked to be quite a way from the main road but he had come this far. He jumped the front gate and moved quickly through the misty air towards the light. It was then he heard them. The dogs.

There were two of them. They burst onto the dirt road behind him, snarling and barking savagely, threads of saliva flying from their mouths. Their legs carried them like rockets through the night and even though Peter had started sprinting, their snouts were never far from his heels.

The light ahead grew brighter. He was nearing the farmhouse. His lungs felt as though they were on fire. His throat was as dry as kindling. Part of him wanted to stop and let the beasts tear him apart, but one small voice of reason propelled him forward.

Just meters ahead he could see the worn brass knob on the weathered door. He held out his hand to meet it.

“Let it be open. Let it be open,” he chanted to himself. “Oh God, please let it be open.”

He fell into the front room of the house, spinning around to slam the door in the faces of the dogs. Two almighty bangs rocked the old house, followed by a single yelp. Peter inhaled deeply and then emptied his lungs slowly. His skin was covered in perspiration and there was a dull ache in his chest. The sound of frantic scratching at the door filled his ears and he backed towards the staircase, which rose and twisted into the shadows of the second storey.

Then the scratching stopped. An eerie silence replaced it.

“Well, hello there,” said a voice from behind.

Peter turned around, still trying to catch his breath.

“I’m awfully sorry, ma’am,” he said puffing. “I was being chased.”

The woman, tall and slender with a lush mane of thick black hair cascading over her shoulders, moved down the stairs as if she were floating.

“Come into the kitchen. I’ll see what I can get you to settle those nerves,” she said with a beguiling smile.

Peter followed the woman down a small hallway.

“This is my husband,” she said gesturing to a stocky man sitting at the table.

The man stood and offered his hand to Peter.

“Pleased to meet you,” the man said grinning.

His grip was powerful and when he refused to let go, Peter’s heart began pounding. Suddenly a snout pierced the man’s face and bits of flesh splattered Peter, hitting him before dropping onto the floor. Immediately the creature began snapping at him. Peter jerked his head away, exposing his taut neck to the woman, whose long, sharp teeth glistened in the lamplight before embedding themselves in his neck. Half a scream escaped his lips before it was replaced by a gurgling sound and the sound of meat being torn from bone.

Jason hated these trips to the country. Even with a bonus and a percentage of what he sold the trips were taking their toll. He had been invited to dinner that night. Alicia. 35, tall, raven-haired and full lips. How could he pass all that up? And yet he was going to have to. If, by some freak chance, he did make it back home in time he was too damned tired to be in any mood for love.

He hit the steering wheel with one hand then turned the stereo up with the other.

As he neared the outer limits of the city, the sun had just set. The horizon was a dwindling glow of pale orange and the first stars were twinkling, almost hidden in the sun’s final rays. He turned his headlights on, illuminating the “Black Spot” sign–indicating a particularly dangerous part of the road. He paid it no mind and maintained a speed that was a full fifteen kilometres over the limit.

Suddenly a voice screamed in his head “Mine!” and the steering wheel was spun with a force so powerful that it sent the car spinning across the four-lane highway. Jason grabbed the wheel and with white knuckles and a pounding heart he managed to steer the car back from the edge of the road. Fighting the urge to slam his foot on the brake he eased the pedal down instead and finally the car came to a stop. His shirt was saturated and his forehead was dripping sweat, despite the fact that it was a late autumn evening. He felt giddy and was having difficulty getting his breath back, but after a few minutes of huffing and puffing he finally felt ready to continue on his way.

“Mine!” he heard a man’s voice shout and again the steering wheel was snatched from his grip, though as the car had barely had time to start moving Jason quickly regained control.

His hands wrapped themselves like vices around the outer rim of the wheel. His foot went hard and then light on the accelerator; he couldn’t decide whether he should get the hell out of there or take things easy.

Then he noticed the willowy, cloudy figures beginning to appear at the side of the road.

“Mine!” screamed a female voice inside his head.

“Mine!” shouted a man’s voice.

The steering wheel was being wrestled from him, but he refused to relinquish his grip on it. He refused to let whatever it was these things were get the better of him and send him crashing into a tree.

“Mine!” boomed a deep voice as the steering wheel was again given a sharp tug.

The car swerved into the oncoming lane. Jason held his breath as his eyes scanned the highway ahead. For a moment he imagined that he saw a set of headlights and he gritted his teeth waiting for the impact, but the lights were ghostly figures, tearing towards him through the growing darkness.

“Mine! Mine! Mine!”

The voices screamed and clamoured inside his head. He wanted to press his temples, press the voices out, but his hands were kept busy on the wheel.

A woman’s pale face appeared at the windscreen and as she opened her mouth to scream the flesh fell from her skull and was sucked into the night by the g-force of the car.

“Mine!” she shrieked, and then Jason felt the sharp sting of a palm across his face.

He screamed as his car veered off the road and crashed headlong into a giant eucalyptus tree. The force of the impact sent him flying through the shattered glass of the windscreen. He heard the snap of his neck, some other-worldly laughter and a brief spray of stars exploded in front of his eyes before darkness consumed him completely.

“Mine!” laughed the spirit as she ventured back to the side of the road to claim her next trophy.