The Light On the Horizon

It was dark, and the only light to be seen was in the distance, outlining the horizon. There was nothing else but the ground beneath his feet, and the motion of his legs as he instinctively put one foot in front of the other. There was no wind, no smell or sound of any kind, and this bothered him. His nose searched for anything familiar, his ears strained for any kind of noise; it was then he realized that, even though he could feel the ground striking the soles of his shoes, he couldn’t hear his footsteps.

He stopped, the darkness pressing upon him from all sides, ravenous, devouring all senses, leaving nothing in its wake. Except for the star at the end of the road, if this was indeed a road he was on. It had to be, he reasoned with himself, the ground felt like smooth tarmac beneath his feet.

Might as well check it out, he thought. What other option did he have? Light meant civilization. Civilization meant help. A way out of this eldritch nightmare he had found himself in.

Just how did he wind up out here anyway?

He strained to remember anything before the walking, before the darkness, but there was simply nothing there. It was as though the void had taken his memories as a dessert after the main course of the world. Something would rise in his mind, like a bubble in water rising to the surface and, just when he would almost have it, it would be gone. It felt like having something permanently on the tip of his tongue. Maddening.

He resumed his walking, increasing his pace, the ground meeting his feet faster with every soundless step. He soon noticed that it was not simply one light in the distance but two, blinking in near unison.

I have to be closer, he thought, to be able to see that little detail.

Light suddenly cut through the darkness behind him, casting his shadow out in front of him. He saw that it was indeed a road he was on, its reflectors stretching out to infinity toward the horizon. He turned to see where the light was coming from, but its radiance burned his eyes after so long in the dark.

Then he heard it, an engine coming up the road behind him, getting louder with each passing moment. He didn’t like the sound of it. It was like a growl, a hiss, and a roar mixing into some horrid creature’s exhaling breath. He tried to imagine what kind of car could make that sound. Had to be a muscle car, something fast, with switches and dials that gauged how much power it put out as it tore across the open road.

He started walking again, closing his eyes to the growing light around him that stabbed them like jagged glass, even though the car was still some distance away. He had some time before the car overtook him, and he hoped that the driver would see him in this murk while flexing his machine’s horsepower.

He took a moment, trying to estimate exactly when he would jump to the side when he realized it was nearly upon him, the sound of the monstrous engine pressing into his shoulder blades. He scrambled blindly to the right until he felt dirt sliding beneath his shoes, and continued his trek.

Brakes squealed at his back, the headlights dimming as the driver cut them. He could hear the engine purring behind him like a caged beast while it idled. A primal fear gripped him, goosebumps rippling down his arms. He didn’t want to turn around, but necessity overrode his feelings. This could be his only chance at salvation, his only chance of getting to the light on the horizon, where he knew he was supposed to go.

He turned, opening his eyes to see the orange running lights of the car staring back at him like glowing, slitted eyes. He approached the vehicle, the exhaust wreathing around its grille like the smoky breath of a dragon. He could barely make out the figure of the driver through the dirty glass of the windshield but could see them outlined by the green light of the dashboard. When he reached the passenger side door, he froze, holding onto the handle with a dead man’s grip. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to open the door and slid into the empty seat.

The driver said nothing, simply staring ahead as he put the car in gear and pulled off, his hand returning to the wheel to steer.

“Thanks, man,” he said to the driver, locking his seat belt in place. “I don’t know what that is up there, but that’s where I’m headed.”

He looked at his savior but the darkness seemed to leak inside, hiding everything but the driver’s profile. The massive hands gripping the wheel, however, he could make out - like two giant hams holding on at three and nine like vices. Veins bulged from the back of the knuckles, running up forearms that looked like roped steel. The driver said nothing to this investigation and simply piloted the car with an expert’s touch, speeding toward the horizon.

The keys swung like a pendulum in the ignition, and he noticed the metal key fob they were attached to. The dim green light from the dash revealed the shape of a woman’s name but it was purposely misspelled. He decided to use that as a way to try to break the ice and get the driver talking, to feel him out a bit.

“Sharon, huh? That your old lady? I gotta tell you buddy - I’ve never seen it spelled with a ‘C’ before. Where’s she from?”

Nothing. Not even a grunt in reply. He turned his attention back to the windshield, watching the headlights slice through the night in front of them.

“It’s pretty, though,” he said, trying to get some sort of response. “It reminds me of a name I heard in school once.”

Nothing still. He decided to give up and enjoy the ride. The guy was a little bent and maybe it was just better to be quiet. He squinted through the windshield, looking over the hood at the horizon ahead. The end was coming sooner than he expected, the light of his destination growing stronger with each passing moment. So bright, in fact, that he had to close his eyes again against its blaze. The car slowed, the sound of dirt and stones popping under the tires until it came to a stop.

He opened his eyes to the sight of a ramshackle house, falling to pieces under its weight. The foliage surrounding it was in dire need of cutting, having nearly covered the home. A rusting iron gate hung from hinges set into a crumbling stone wall that circled the property. The light source he saw from his distant starting point was a caution light swinging from its lines above the road. The second light was from a car parked at the curb, its emergency lights blinking nearly in time with the caution signal.

“I don’t think this is where I’m supposed to be,” he said.

In response, the driver removed one hand from the wheel and pointed toward the house, so close to his face that he could smell the sudden stench of decay slap him like an open palm.

“Watch,” the driver said, finally breaking his silence, “and remember.”

Looking through the glass of his window, he could see a man walking hurriedly toward the waiting car at the curb, holding a briefcase in one hand and a revolver in the other. His eyes widened in terror and recognition.

It was him.

He watched his twin toss the briefcase into the back seat with the pistol and open the driver-side door. He began to beat on the glass, screaming for his mirror image to notice him. He suddenly knew what was coming.

Another man, holding his hand to his gut to staunch the blood pouring between his fingers, stumbled from the house. He reached the gate and fell against it, holding onto it for support. Flakes of rust peeled off, floating to the dirt. In his trembling free hand, he raised a huge pistol of his own, aiming at the turned back of his double.

“You forget something, you son of a bitch?” The figure asked. Blood dripped from his mouth, his words gargling as he struggled to stay upright against the gate.

His double turned slowly, arms raised in surrender.

“It was nothing personal,” he heard himself say. “Just business. You know the rules.”

He looked for a way to roll the window down, but there was no cranking arm or switch. He reached for the door handle and the locks slammed home.

“No,” said the driver.

The wounded man pushed off of the gate, shuffling across the dirt. He fell to his knees at one point, blood dripping thickly to the ground.

“Looks like I got you good,” his double said, lowering his arms. “Why don’t you put the gun down and we’ll get you some help.”

“No,” the figure choked, standing unsteadily, “There’s no help for me now. Or you.”

His double dashed for the gun that lay in the back seat. Two shots rang out, and he saw black holes appear in his back.

Inside the car, he screamed, feeling the impact of the slugs as blood exploded from the exit wounds in his chest. Crimson spatter painted the dashboard, with clots of flesh sliding down the fine mist on the windshield. He touched his chest, watching the sticky blood pool in his lap.

“Oh, God,” he said, looking down at his red hand.

He looked again at the scene outside his window, at the wounded man with the hand cannon picking himself up from the dirt, where the gun’s recoil had laid him. His double crawled toward what he hoped was safety, leaving a smeared trail in the dirt behind him.

His killer stumbled to the car, reaching into the back for the case. Retrieving it, he slammed it on the roof of the car, opening it and removing a single gold coin. Using his foot, he kicked the doppelgänger over onto his back and dropped the gold coin onto his chest. The sound of the coin striking his chest was like thunder inside the car.

His killer aimed his weapon and fired one last time. He felt the back of his skull come apart, spraying the back seat of the car with brain and bone. With his one remaining eye, he watched his killer close the case and limp off, eventually evaporating from sight.

“Do not worry,” the driver said, “his time will come. Soon, in fact. For now...”

He felt the driver’s hand grasp something from his lap with a thumb and forefinger that now felt like dry twigs. He watched the hand lift the coin that lay on his chest outside, holding it up admiringly in the cold green light of the dash. He looked past the coin, into red blazing eyes set above an unkempt, dirty beard. Teeth exposed by the slow rot of their lips moved up and down, mouthing the words that he heard with his mind. A scream died in his throat as the driver put the car in gear, driving into the hungry darkness.

“We have somewhere to be, don’t we?”