Having relatives that live about 20 minutes away usually leads to a pleasant drive to go see them. When it is almost 3 am, however, it can be treacherous. The backroads at night are usually covered in deer or some other four legged mammal. There are no street lights and the only light you receive comes from either house lights or the moon. When it rains, you're basically making a fool-hardy trek to the unknown. Jason and I were halfway to a relatives house when the mist from the sudden rain made it harder to see. We were going slower than normal to keep from dying if there were any hazards in the road. On this particular stretch of road, there are no houses for a few miles. A modern 15 foot long bridge crosses a wide creek bed. On a sunny day, you can look out of the passenger window and see a field covered in deer or committee of vultures.
We were maybe going fast enough that a turtle could outrun us when we started to notice the shapes of people in the vapors rising off the road. Jason slowed down and stopped. Why he stopped is anyone's guess. He wasn't even sure at the time. We were sitting just before the bridge and watched a dance macabre of ghostly images sway to and fro on the bridge. Jason turned off the headlights and that action gave us a better look at what we were in the middle of. I unbuckled and leaned closer to Jason. Faces. So many faces. I was practically in Jason's lap. The seat I vacated had an unwelcome passenger. The backseat had several more of these vaporous people. A pyre erupting to life on the bridge dragged a scream straight out of my soul. I nearly choked my husband to death. The ghosts left the vehicle one by one and joined their like in three massive circles around the flames. In front of the car a tangible being stood in a hooded cape. I shifted back into my seat and strapped in. Jason tried to turn the ignition on but it just sat dormant. The car was dead. The hooded figure turned toward the flames and walked through the swaying ghosts. As the person walked through ghosts, they scattered into clouds for only a moment before they regained their shapes. Against my better judgement, I slowly got out of the car. I yearned to see through unobstructed view what was going to happen. What I wouldn't give for some salt right about now. I looked over the roof of the car, Jason had joined me. I jumped as the hooded figure threw its arms into the air. Low, deep chanting came from the darkness around us as more cloaked figures stepped into the light to join the ritual. Some turned to look at us as they continued past. They took their places in odd patterns and ceased chanting. I kept the door between me and one tall figure as it stood next to me. I have never felt so small. When the chanting stopped, the figures raised their arms as well. The one standing next to me smelled of dirt and death. I covered my face with my shirt to keep from breathing it in. I heard a deep growling chuckle come from my personal space trespasser. I forgot the smell and the creep standing next to me as the ghosts started dancing into the air. They seemed to be dancing their way in a spiral into the sky. It was lovely in a dark sort of way. The atmosphere grew heavy with the scent of decay. The oppressive power of the ritual these people were doing made it harder to breathe. We got back in the car and softly closed the doors. The chanting started up again and grew into a loud roar. I covered my ears and continued to watch. It was as if something was holding my eyelids open. I had to bear witness. When the chanting grew unbearable, I started yelling in response. Jason had his ears covered and reached out for me. I leaned into his grip and watched as the last of the ghosts slipped into the pyre. A bright light like an old bomb exploding and then silence crashed down. My vision was burning. My ears felt like they were about to bleed. Jason rubbed his head and reached for the keys. The car started up. He slammed on the gas and I tried to buckle up before I got slung around the car. We drove through the remaining mist on the bridge and left it swirling behind us. Be careful on those back roads, people. You never know what's out there.
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Author34 years of life below the Mason Dixon line leads to a lot of stories of old and new. Archives
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