Being Chased

What may happen on a deserted road at night - - -

Donald McMillian was grateful when the car slowed down to give him a ride. Little did he realize that it would be one of the most thrilling events of his life. The car ground into the gravel while the driver leaned over to unlock the passenger door. For a moment, McMillian felt a moment's hesitation. Was it a slight chill that he felt down his back? He had hitchhiked many times before. But there was something in the man's smile through the window that made him uneasy. In the green glow from the dash lights, his face showed an eerie effect.

But pride and shame drove him on. The door snapped open. It was too late for Donald to turn back.

"Where ya headed?" asked the driver.

"Can you get me to Belanfort?"

The man looked ahead down the road for a moment. "Belanfort, that's about six miles. Sure."

Donald climbed into the car. The door was closed. They were off.

"How often do you walk this road?" the man asked.

"About three times so far," Donald replied.

"At night?"

"No, this is the first time at night."

"Then I guess you haven't seen it. It's a lucky thing that I picked you up when I did. Of course, sometimes he's there. Sometimes, he isn't."

"Who is he?" Donald asked.

"Maybe you'll see," the man answered.

Donald felt another twinge of discomfort. He was about to ask what the man meant; but he was now gazing intently out of the windshield as if looking for something. After a mile or two, Donald noticed that he was slowing down.

"It's right around here usually," the driver almost mumbled.

"What are you lookin' for?"

"Maybe I shouldn't say," he said mysteriously. "Sometimes he doesn't show up. Then I would feel like a fool, with you here."

"Could you tell me more? Is it someone you are lookin' for?

The driver did not answer. He was once again staring out into the shaft of light in front. Donald wished that he could get out. He never picked up hitchhikers himself. Now this green lit face put him more ill at ease than ever before. He was about to make a question or comment, when he stopped. The expression on the driver's face had changed suddenly to that of wonder and amazement.

Donald looked out to see, down the road, a man standing. He was facing their direction as if waiting for their arrival; but there was no posture or gesture indicating that he wanted a ride. His arms were down at his side. But Donald could see that his face seemed to show something of an evil smile.

"Is that who you were talking about?" he managed to ask.

But suddenly the driver punched the accelerator forcing the car to lurch and speed forward. As they passed the outside man, Donald looked back to see him raise his hands into the air in some strange gesture. The smile had turned into an expression of delightful lunacy. Was he laughing?

"What is this . . " Donald stammered. There was no reply from the driver, just silent calculation with an occasional glance into the mirror.

And then Donald looked back. The man was now beginning to run towards them. It was useless of course to chase a car. Donald watched the odd man as he faded into the distance.

But then, Donald realized that the man was closing in on them. He was running in a ridiculous manner with his arms flailing in no rhythm. But in the red lights, Donald could see that he would soon match their speed.

Donald nervously looked at the car's speedometer. He gasped to see it reaching over fifty miles per hour. The driver was still going faster with the odd man in pursuit. Donald wanted to scream. The road was narrow and winding; and the car was swerving and screeching dangerously.

Donald looked back and saw the man closing in still. A look into that lunatic face told him that whatever was behind them was not human. The legs seemed to be moving very little as if it were floating along behind the car.

He looked back at the dash. Fifty-two miles per hour. And then, he saw something up the road ahead. The road took a slight dip and passed a small bridge. Beyond the bridge was a building - a church building off to the left.

"Thank God," the driver said in a tone of frenzy. He looked again in the mirror.

What did he mean? Donald looked back again, just as the car slowed slightly and bumped across the bridge. They were on the other side. The car was slowing.

At that moment, behind them, Donald saw a blinding red flash. In an instant, there was a smoky swirl that spiraled upward and faded from sight. The peaceful night scene took its rightful place.

The driver slowed the car down to a stop. "He's gone now," he said. "He always vanishes like that when I cross the bridge. I think I heard once where spooks can't cross over water."

"You've seen it before?" Donald asked the man after a moment's silence. Who is it? What is it?

"I don't know. I've been through this three times. I guess I just wanted to try the road again to see if he was still there. Maybe he chases everyone; but I've never heard of it from anyone else."

Donald shuddered. He might have encountered that thing had he walked further down the road.

"You know, he always disappears at the bridge. It's almost like a game we play. But I don't even want to guess what might happen if he ever catches up with me. That's something I don't wanna know."

William Darby