Steve didn’t take this particular route to Dalford often, but he knew it well enough to realise he’d probably taken a wrong turn somewhere. Squinting at the upcoming road sign through the gathering darkness, he managed to read ‘Dalford 6 miles,’ pointing left, which reassured him he was still going in the right direction at least.
Humming, he turned up the heater of the old van. The country road verges slid by his peripheral vision, bone-stick hawthorns and sharp fingers of alder, poking over worn drystone walls, typical of this area of Somerset. Occasionally the warm glow of lights from farmhouse windows somewhere across the fields caught his eye, and he wished he were indoors now in a cosy room beside a roaring fire. It was getting bitterly cold. He wondered if maybe he should have taken the main road route, but that was the long way round, and Marie was waiting, probably with some wine already opened on the kitchen top. His hands-free buzzed cheerily, its cherry-pink alert button popping at him from the dash holder.
“I’ve got a lasagne in the oven, Steve. Will you be much longer?” His wife’s voice was tense and he could read the irritation in it.
“Sorry Sal, the boss has just sent me on an emergency job, so don’t wait for me. It’s a burst pipe so I’ll be pretty late, I expect.”
He wasn’t comfortable with the lie.
“Oh, I see.”
He knew that stiff Sal tone, the one that would explode with anger later as she accused him of having an affair, of losing interest in her. It had always been the same accusation over the past year, but this time she’d got it right. There was no job but there was Marie. His marriage to Sal had become a dead-end road long ago, bitter, strained, but at last he’d had the balls to admit it to himself and this weekend he was determined to sit down with Sal and say ‘lets call it a day.’ It was the least he owed her, and himself, he reasoned. They could both make fresh starts, take a shot at trying to be happy again.
Lost in thought, he pulled up at the junction. Dalford 6 miles, said the sign, pointing left. Surely he’d just passed that sign only minutes ago? He felt he recognised a particularly gnarled, overgrown elder that grabbed at the passing cars just before the sign too. Turning left anyway, Steve started to gather speed and had just rounded a bend when he was confronted by a set of temporary traffic lights. Pulling up, he tapped a frustrated rhythm on the steering wheel. His van headlights picked out the red and white men-at-work sign so that it glowed eerily in the darkness on the verge. Softly falling snow started to patter at the windscreen, while the van engine hummed and the radio purred ’80’s pop classics. He waited for the light to turn to green.
On his way once more, his thoughts turned to Sal again. How long had they been married? Three years? It had fallen sour pretty quickly. One day he’d been sent on a job to a pasty shop in Wells, where he’d met shop assistant, Marie. They’d chatted, laughed, got along like old friends, and at the end of the day as he’d been packing up his tools, she’d smiled cheekily and handed him her phone number on a napkin. So Steve, who had never even considered being unfaithful before, had suggested they meet for a drink, just a drink, nothing more. But a beer and a pasty in a local pub later and Steve was sold. Marie, smelling deliciously of cinnamon and roses, took his mind away from the glooms of his marriage with her amusing tales of her life and cheerful banter.
Now here he was en route to Marie’s home and Steve sweated with nervous anticipation that tonight might turn out to be a more than a ‘just friends’ moment. They were both attracted to each other, that was obvious, so where else could it eventually go?
Coming round the bend, he could see the blood-red reflection of the traffic lights on the wet road, and there was the men-at-work sign again, although there were no men at work at this time in the evening. How had he managed to drive in a loop and come back to this point again? He’d not turned off anywhere. The fact these lights were even here was odd, as there was no sign of any machinery parked nearby, waiting for daylight before the ripping up and crunching of tarmac began, and no cones or plastic barriers sat by the roadside either. So why the lights blocking his lane? There was no traffic coming towards him, and the road was empty.
“Typical of this bloody council,” Steve muttered.
He was irritated now and began tapping a finger on the gearstick as he waited for green. Minutes passed as his exasperation grew. Marie would be waiting and the lights were not changing. He selected her number on his phone but there was no signal, only an odd low buzzing sound coming through the phone. Of course, he was in the middle of the countryside between towns, he reasoned.
Snow was gathering on the branches of a large oak tree in the field beside the road, and Steve watched as the crystals fell like feathers onto the dark road.
“Come on,” he cursed the lights. “Turn green, for Godsake.”
Bearing in mind the road had no other traffic he considered just driving around them, presuming they’d got a fault and were stuck on red. But something about doing that made him feel uneasy, as though someone, somewhere, would see him on a hidden traffic camera. So he waited and tried calling Marie again to explain he was running late. Again, all he could hear was the odd static buzz. Suddenly the signal connecting light came to life and he was sure he heard a phone ring tone, faint, as though buried somehow underground. A whispering voice broke through, but it was not Marie’s.
“Choose. Red green red green. Go or stop?”
“Yes, you must choose. Go or wait.”
“He has to choose!”
The hissing faint voices coming from the speaker appeared to be having a conversation among themselves.
“Hello, who is this?” Steve ventured.
Then the phone cut out again. He shuddered, baffled, staring at the windscreen wipers chasing away the gathering snow in front of him. Had he just picked up a signal from someone else’s’ mobile nearby? But he could see no house lights either side of the road, just the dark, snowy countryside. Odd too, he thought, that the whispers had talked about exactly what he’d been debating to himself.
“To hell with it.”
Steve urged the van slowly forward and swept around the red light into the opposite lane, pulling back into the left again to continue up the road. As he did so he was sure he caught a glimpse in the rear view mirror of something large and dark alighting in the oak tree behind him, a tattered shadow. Snow fell from the branch it had landed on and scattered on the roadside. What sort of a bird was that, Steve wondered? Mindful the road was slippery, he drove carefully on until he reached the next junction. There was the ‘Dalford 6 miles’ sign again and this was definitely the junction he’d just come through.
“What the hell is going on?”
He was sure he’d made no turns, left or right. The signs must have been messed about by kids, he reasoned, and this time he made a deliberate right turn, the opposite direction to the sign pointing to Dalford.
Rounding a bend after a minute or two of driving, he came across the same temporary lights and the old oak beside the road again.
“No way.”
Uneasiness stabbed him hard in the stomach. The light was at red. Steve automatically pulled up and tried calling Marie again. As he was about to select her number, the set crackled to life with the odd buzz once more, and a male voice barked at him.
“Don’t go through the red. They’ll get you if you go through the red again. They try to fool people, test them.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
Steve was angry now. What the hell was this? He became aware of movement up in the oak beside the road and of two, three, spindly dark shapes, like bloated black refuse sacks, landing in the branches. He was about to open the driver’s door when the voice that had warned him about the red light croaked at him again.
“No. Don’t go out there.”
Unsure, instead he locked the door. A squabble of angry voices came over the line, and he was certain he could hear muttered threats.
“Shut up!”
“Don’t tell him that, fool. You’ll spoil the game.”
“Yes, don’t give it away.”
The male voice had gone, and only the odd muttering and hissing remained.
“Who are you and what is this game?” Steve demanded, but his outburst was met with silence. The signal faded out again, the tiny light vanishing.
Unnerved, Steve leaned to peer up at the bird-things waiting in the tree. Their huddled black shapes were partly concealed by the branches and the darkness, but he sensed they were staring at him, watching, waiting for him to make a move. The light stayed on red. He swung the van into a three-point turn, wheels spinning in the snow in his haste. He decided that he wouldn’t go through the red light again, just go back the way he’d come and take the next turnoff, whichever direction it said. As the van gathered speed, the black bird-like shapes took off from the tree and Steve was horrified to see they appeared more human than avian in his rear view mirror. Long skeletal legs hung down below their sack-like bodies, while their wings flapped slowly, wings that he guessed must have at least a six foot span. The faces, as they gained on him, had the appearance of burnt, blackened human skulls on swan-like necks, and he could make out glowing red eyes.
Panicking, Steve put his foot down, all fear of an oncoming car as he slewed across the slippery road gone in his terror. The first of the creatures caught up and he heard a scrabble on the roof and the van dip as the thing landed on it.
“Fuck!”
He swung the van sharply to the left and whatever it was went skittering off to flap into the hedge, screeching with an unearthly wail. The others had nearly closed the distance now and Steve prayed for a turning to appear, leading anywhere, just off this road. All he could do was carry on forwards, wrestling the van as it slid and bounced across the country road. Even a house, he decided, where he could pull into a drive and beg shelter would be welcome, but there were no cosy windows aglow anywhere now in this desolate countryside, only the seemingly endless road.
At last, his headlights picked up a road sign and he slowed to take the junction. Dalford 6 miles, the sign now pointing both ways to the left and right.
“No!”
He swung the van right, managing to keep it on the road. He dreaded what would happen if he crashed and found himself stranded out here, with those things. Glancing in the rear view mirror, he could see the dark, bulbous shapes with their skinny legs and glowing eyes, gliding on silent wings across the junction, although they appeared to be holding back a little now.
Desperate, Steve shouted aloud as he rounded a bend and there, like an ominous red eye staring him down, were the temporary lights again in the distance. The dash phone crackled into life as he automatically started to slow down, remembering the warning from the mystery voice earlier.
“Red green, choose, choose,” the hissing inhuman voices mocked.
“What will he do? Stop or go?”
The voice that had originally warned him not to run the light suddenly broke in urgently.
“Take the next left before the lights.”
“There is no turn off,” Steve yelled. “No fucking turnings before those lights.”
“There will be. I will make one,” the voice reassured him.
Just before he reached the lights a mysterious lane appeared to the left, emerging as though from a heat haze. Steve didn’t question, just slid the van around into it, and floored the accelerator. Now he was terrified that he may have just minutes to get clear of the area before the lane vanished again.
He was aware of the hissing voices shrieking in disapproval.
“No!”
“He can’t do that….not fair.”
“Curse you for helping him.”
The voices were fainter though, breaking up as though interference was blocking the signal and cutting them off.
“Thank you. Thank you, whoever you are.” Steve muttered aloud to his saviour voice.
The bird-skeleton monsters were not following, had vanished, and the lane suddenly ended at a T-junction. Steve’s gut twisted in anticipation as he pulled up, his headlights picking up the road sign. This time no Dalford, just left to Wells 2 miles and right to Bristol 10 miles. Steve broke out in a sweat, wondering if this was another trick and if he should do anything for a moment. Head spinning with the dilemma, he sat in the van, hands shaking on the wheel as the snow kissed the van’s hot bonnet, melting away. His was the only vehicle on the road in the darkness. Taking a deep breath, he made his decision and headed right for Bristol city.
After a few moments, car headlights appeared a way off in front of him. Another vehicle, or was this another visual trick to lull him into a sense of false security? But it was a car, a real car with a woman at the wheel, and her headlights chased the shadows around his cab as their vehicles passed. Then she was gone again, tail lights vanishing up the road. Red lights, like that cursed traffic light and the eyes of those things, Steve thought and shuddered. He passed though a village where TVs flickered through curtains, and normal, real people lived their daily lives. He’d never been more relieved to see a petrol station in his life as he pulled onto the forecourt of a local Texoco’s. Turning off the engine, he sat in bewilderment for a while, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Had he passed through some portal into a parallel dimension or something? And who had his saviour been? Gathering himself together and forcing himself to stay calm, he made his way unsteadily into the filling station shop and approached the assistant.
“Can you tell me if there are any roadworks due to start around here soon?”
“Not that I know of, mate,” the young man shrugged. “Any petrol?”
No, no thanks, just this.”
He shoved the cold can of lemonade forward, aware his throat was as dry as old parchment. Back in the van he barely tasted the drink. This time when the phone rang it was definitely Marie that answered.
“Marie, something weird happened…I’m sorry… I’m not even sure where I am. Somewhere between Wells and Bristol. I…got lost.”
“Are you OK, Steve? You sound a bit shaky.”
“Yeah, yeah I’ll be with you soon.”
Realising he really needed directions, he went back into the shop to ask the assistant the way to Dalford.
“Yeah, turn left out of here an’ next junction right. You can’t miss the sign.”
“Thanks.”
Maybe he should just ring Marie and cancel. The thought of leaving this main road to travel back onto those unmarked, winding country roads again frankly alarmed him. To just carry on into Bristol with its busy, well lit streets and home would make more sense. But he couldn’t let Marie down and he badly needed to talk to someone familiar and comforting right now. So Steve drove to the junction and turned right. The sign for right said ‘Dalford 1mile,’ and left was to some village he’d vaguely heard of. After five minutes he found himself at another junction and he groaned in disbelief as he read the sign ‘Dalford 6 miles.’
“No way!”
He performed another three-point turn and followed the route he’d just come, remembering the filling station assistant’s directions. He expected to find himself safely back on the main road therefore, with its streetlights, the petrol station and cluster of houses. But instead he found himself turning a bend where a green traffic light lit up a huge, gnarled oak ahead of him.
Stomach clenched, he drove faster. Maybe if he could make it through the green light he’d be free, the voices and the bird-horrors wouldn’t come. But the light changed mockingly to red, just as he was getting close to it, and he had no choice but to overshoot it in the snow. Braking a little way past the unit, he looked back to check the tree, nervous sweat breaking out down his back. No bird-things were there and Steve expelled a relieved breath.
As he started to pull away again there was a thump on the roof and the van rocked slightly as something landed on it. Steve braked hard. Claws scraped along the roof as something heavy slid across it, and then a grinning skull face on a long black feathered neck appeared, peering in at him through the windscreen.
Steve screamed and watched, frozen, as more black shapes dived out of the snow-filled air to land on the road and start hopping towards the van. He counted five, lumbering closer, dragging their bat-wings along the ground, heads bobbing and weaving side to side on their swannish necks. Steve started to sob and the snow fell thicker, covering his tyre tracks so, soon, no one would even know he had ever passed this way.
Desperately punching 999 into his phone was the only thing he could think to do, however futile it may be, but the only sound he could hear was the crackling tone again and the muttering voices, talking distractedly among themselves.
“Didn’t learn, did he?”
“No. Had a chance. Blew it.”
“Yep. Blew it.”
“Some humans just never learn.”
[bctt tweet=”OCTOBER TERROR 2018 Short Story Award – Entry #15 ‘Bend in the Road’ by Stephanie Minns – Enjoy all this terrific, disturbing material you have in your hands, lots of horror stories at your disposal for your dark delight and vote!” username=”theboldmom”]
On October 23rd we’ll close submissions and open a poll for the readers to choose their favourite one! You’ll have a week to make your choice and on October 31st we’ll announce the winner!!!
