The Devil’s Road

“That was It’s All Over Now by Molly Hatchet. Y’all, I reckon there’s nothing better than good old Southern Rock to soothe the soul on a stormy Sunday night. This is Sammy James, and I’ll be riding with you ‘til the cows come home, here on 95.3 Rebel Country. Up next, we have the full-tilt strumming of a three-guitar attack. Y’all stay safe while you travel the Devil’s Road with the Outlaws.”

Master Sergeant Oscar Greene Jr. cranked the dial of his radio as the resonant tone of Freddie Salem blasted from his twin speakers. The full-throttle hard beat roared to life, slamming against the interior of his Ford F-150 crew cab. The thunderous crunch spawned by the unbridled riffing of a fine-tuned Gibson guitar caused the all-American blood in his veins to boil, his camouflage-draped knee to bounce, and his callus-ladened fingers to drum against the steering wheel; a much-needed reprieve at this ungodly hour.
He ought to have been home by now; his drill weekend ended hours ago. Instead, he had sixty-seven miles of Tennessee backroads to go. A rather unfortunate byproduct of a nine-car pileup on I-24, after being trapped in standstill traffic for forty-five minutes, Oscar heedlessly decided to turn off the interstate and take a rural route home, doubling the duration of his journey.

And now Oscar was driving in the dark.

The pitch-black country road was devoid of streetlights, leaving only the beams of his headlights to slice through the looming darkness. Menacing, gloomy clouds, heavy with malevolence, churned and roiled, obstructing the radiance of the full moon. A deep, sinister grumble of thunder reverberated in the heavens, as though it was aware of Oscar’s weariness. At least for the time being, the encroaching storm held back, much to Oscar’s relief. He loathed navigating through the darkness, especially during inclement weather. Merging the two was a recipe for disaster.

With each deafening thunderclap, the Air Force mechanic could feel his anxiety spike. Even in the cool night air, sweat beaded across his brow and dripped into Oscar’s eyes, stinging them. Goosebumps rose on his neck. His chest tightened; a nauseating inferno began to sear its way up the back of his throat.
Oscar could not shake a persistent sense of unease within himself. Perhaps it was his phobia of the night and the approaching storm. Or perhaps it was the sense of complete isolation. The region was uninhabited, with only the ominous silhouettes of overgrown grass and bushes discernible on either side of the roadway. Nor had he seen another car or any signs of human life for the last thirty minutes.

Or perhaps it was the teachings of his father that cultivated the feeling of ghastly apprehension. The elder Oscar Greene was a superstitious man, firmly convinced of all things supernatural; a conviction he instilled in his children at a young age. And it was evenings akin to this that he had cautioned his family about. “Don’t go out at night,” his father would warn. “For wickedness doesn’t always hide in the shadows; sometimes it’s disguised in plain sight.”

Within the constraints of the military and his everyday existence, Oscar tried to heed his
father’s counsel. However, this evening was an exception. One he regretted.

“Cause…never…free,” the radio crackled, suddenly cutting off the lyrics of the rock song.

“Just f-ing wonderful,” Oscar mumbled to the empty cab.

As the song dissolved into interference, Oscar’s temperament plummeted, abruptly turning bitter. Trying to soothe his temper, he stabbed at the truck’s infotainment system in a futile attempt to find a station that came in clearly. Nothing worked. White noise shouted at him as he switched between the stations. Every now and then, a female voice would articulate a fragment of a word, or Oscar would detect a fraction of a note. Nothing beyond that.

Oscar found it peculiar. He expected the signals to be strong, as he had passed a broadcasting tower twenty miles earlier. Shaking his head in defeat, Oscar pawed at his phone resting beside him on the bench seat. The screen was completely blank. He pushed the power button to double-check, once, twice, three times, but it remained unresponsive. In a huff, he tossed it back on the seat.

The sharp sizzle and snap emanating from the silent stations exacerbated his already frayed nerves. He gritted his teeth as he shut off the radio. Nevertheless, the silence was absolute, the hush eerily overpowering. Only broken by reverberations of the impending tempest. With every echoing crash from above, Oscar gripped the wheel more firmly, causing his knuckles to blanch from the strain.

Oscar reassured himself that he could accomplish this task. He was on the verge of reaching his destination, with only fifty-four miles left to cover. All he needed was for the weather to hold out for a little longer. With the same determination as the Little Engine that Could, Oscar repeated to himself, you can do this. You can do this. You can do this.

Unfortunately, Lady Luck did not favor him this night. It started drizzling a few miles down the road. A congregation of minute droplets collided with the windshield, briefly adhering to the glass, before oozing downward to oblivion. The cadence of the soft taps felt akin to a thousand razor-sharp daggers piercing his brain. With a forceful twist of his hand, Oscar activated his windshield wipers, temporarily erasing the source of his frustration.

In the silence, the darkened road stretched out, growing endless, snaking around the countryside. Sergeant Greene stifled a yawn as he rubbed away the drowsiness from his eyes. As he did, a beep resounded in the vehicle. Oscar blinked his fatigued eyes a few times until he saw the gas gauge on his dashboard had lit up, signaling low fuel. Fortune was taunting him once again.

“Sonofabitch,” he cursed himself and his numskull decisions.

Groaning, Oscar started frantically scanning the deserted road for a filling station or any sign of its existence in the vicinity, whether glaring neon lights or a billboard cloaked by the gloom of nightfall. The very last thing he wanted was to be stranded in the middle of nowhere.

He first saw them as he scoured the roadside searching for his salvation; two silhouettes walking along the edge, shrouded by darkness and distance. They were moving at a slow, measured pace as if they were hunting for something or someone. Oscar was intrigued by them, his focus twisting to the pair, and he couldn’t help but wonder who they were and what they were up to – amidst the blackness and rainfall of the night.

The instant his headlights pierced the twilight and illuminated the pair, the taller of the two began walking in reverse with their thumb outstretched, the telltale sign of a hitchhiker. Out of nowhere, Oscar was struck by an overwhelming urge, a hypnotic pull, to offer the pair a lift. His hands instinctively veered the steering wheel, guiding his truck towards the edge of the road.

As his truck crept forward, nearing the hitchhikers, he was seized by a glacier surge, jolting him into a state of clarity, exposing the recklessness of accepting two random strangers into his truck in the middle of the night. Shaking his head, Oscar swiftly accelerated and overtook them, avoiding eye contact.

Nevertheless, shortly after, Oscar succumbed to the lingering impulse to play the Good Samaritan and he quickly shifted his focus to their reflection in the rearview mirror. However, once his eyes locked onto the pair, fear began crawling up his spine like a frigid wind ascending from the pavement.

Making up his mind, Oscar drove on. Not looking back.

Several miles down the road, Oscar let out a breath of relief upon seeing a filling station. As the rain picked up, he veered off the highway.

The station was closed for the night. Yet, fortune finally smiled on Oscar as the pumps were equipped with round-the-clock service. Oscar turned off his vehicle and tentatively stepped out of the crew cab, nervously glancing over his shoulder, still unable to shake the perturbing sensation that had taken hold of him earlier. He stood beneath the fluorescent light of the overhang for several moments, attempting to decipher how to operate the dispenser, which appeared convoluted in the dim light. The storm raged, becoming heavier and louder against the concrete roof, as Oscar eventually managed to insert the nozzle of the pump into his gas tank. His dread climbing with every painstakingly slow moment it took to fill up his tank.

Suddenly, the lights above him began flickering erratically, spawning a procession of ominous shadows waltzing around him. Oscar jumped, his heart clambering up into his throat, at the sudden burst of bulbs shattering; instantly bathing the overhang in darkness. In mere moments, the temperature seemed to plummet, evidenced by Oscar’s visible, frenzied exhale. As Oscar surveyed his surroundings, a sense of terror began to well up in his gut. He slowly pivoted, his gaze fixed on the desolate highway, fully anticipating what awaited him. Despite his expectations, Oscar still felt his stomach churn, his complexion paling as he sharply inhaled a frigid breath, nearly choking on it.

The pair was standing on the other side of the street. Watching him.

Hysteria exploded in his chest as they started to slowly cross the street. Oscar fumbled with the gas nozzle, his cold, clammy hand were trembling uncontrollably. With another peal of thunder, Oscar shifted his gaze upwards once again.

Shadows blanketed the pavement as the pair reached the entryway of the filling station. His heart wailed in his ears, the drumbeat begging him to flee, nothing but adrenaline pushing him. Oscar blindly shoved the nozzle back into its holder and bolted towards his door, not being able to tear his eyes away.
As they drew near, he became more horror-struck; his skin crawled and his muscles screamed. Even though, as the pair walked into the obscurity of the overhang, Oscar recognized that they were just a couple of teenagers, no more than fourteen or fifteen. They appeared disheveled, cold, and drenched from the downpour.

But something wasn’t right. They weren’t right.

They were closing in, almost at the adjacent pump as Oscar frantically climbed into his truck. He trembled uncontrollably, attempting to retrieve his keys from his pocket; berating himself as they slipped from his grasp and dropped to the floor. Oscar leaned over and scooped them up quickly. However, not fast enough, Oscar found himself eye-to-eye with one of the teenagers as he sat up. A cold, sickening inexplicable sense of fear swept over him as the teenager lifted his hand and started knocking slowly but firmly against the driver’s window.

A familiar compulsion, reminiscent of the one he had felt when he first spotted the pair, began surging up inside him, compelling Oscar to engage with the two teens. Unconsciously, he cracked the door, just a fraction. But before Oscar could utter a word, the boy spoke first, while the second teenager loomed in the distance, motionless, yet Oscar could discern a hint of a smile on her pallid face. His voice was hoarse and drawn out, much older than his years.

“Can you give us a lift into town? We missed the bus and don’t have a ride.”

As the boy spoke, Oscar felt a shiver of numbness course through his body, leaving him speechless with his mouth gaped open. Coughing lightly, he directed his gaze towards the keys still clutched in his fist.

“I-I’m sorry, but I’m not going into town.” Oscar stuttered, keeping his eyes down.

The boy pounded harder as he persisted yet again for a lift. “Don’t be frightened, sir. Please let us in. We won’t hurt you. We just need a ride.”

Oscar declined once more, and gazed upwards, attempting to appear menacing, but a vortex of bone-chilling terror met his gaze. Oscar locked eyes with the teenager and let out a sharp gasp, his body recoiling as he instinctively tried to retreat.

His eyes.

Throughout his existence, every happiness, every anxiety, every sorrow Oscar had ever experienced could not obscure or erase the recollection of absolute horror he felt when he peered into the boy’s eyes. The feeling of seeing Nothing.

The boy’s eyes were gone, replaced by sheer darkness, completely void of light. No visible pupil. No iris. Just pure black darkness.

Time stood still while Oscar stared into the abyss, leaving him paralyzed. In desperation, he let out a scream, a despairing howl from the depths of his soul. The sound of his own outcry pushed him out of his trance; in a flash, Oscar inserted the keys into the ignition, and with a twist his diesel engine roared to life. As he went to pull away, the boy pounded on his window with a pale fist, screaming, demanding a ride.

“Let us in,” the teenager hissed. “You have to let us in.”

Fuck that, Oscar thought as he slammed on the gas and shot out of the filling station.

Oscar covered the forty miles to his house in a rush, arriving in a blur. Ignoring his driveway, he drove onto his front yard, hastily parking in front of his porch. Oscar clumsily disembarked from his truck, leaving the driver’s door ajar behind him, and quickly dashed inside his home. He slammed the door shut, locking it, securing it with a heavy wooden chair for good measure.

Sinking into the chair, Oscar burst into tears, hiding his face in his hands as two dark figures appeared at the edge of his driveway.

Credit: Rebecca Genslinger