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Two Headlights

By Natalie Spack

By Natalie SpackPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
2
Two Headlights
Photo by Will Swann on Unsplash

Two headlights flashed on a secluded peak of the Santa Monica Mountains in Southern California. These rolling hills were the backyard and playground of the rich and famous whose houses were hidden in the blanket of hills. But tonight, mysterious lights signaled a solo walker being guided by a blue flashlight. A few moments later, the lights flashed again. One, two, gone. They disappeared into the black abyss, as if they had never been up there. But I knew they were there. The coyotes in the field below yelped their nightly tune, unaware of the goings on above them. The walker continued.

I watched from the privacy of the back patio of a house I was house-sitting for the week. Was this signal normal? Did people frequently meet on the top of mountain trails in the middle of the night? It was October, which meant hot in the day and chilly at night, so I wrapped myself tighter in a fur blanket as I sat by the outdoor gas fireplace. I continued to watch, feeling extra cozy, relieved I wasn’t lost in those mountains. The full moon, a rising burnt orange lantern, caught my attention as it peeked over the eastern edge of the mountain. I took in the crisp, fresh air. I was happy to be in this house, away from my apartment in North Hollywood that was a constant reminder of the breakup I went through last month. My light for love was fading, but something in me believed I would find hope again, here, this week.

Eventually I lost sight of the flashlight and the walker. Either the path had weaved into a hidden spot from my view or they had disappeared, too. The former more likely, the latter, more interesting. I couldn’t stop thinking about something I had noticed: the headlights that had flashed before were not modern. They were golden, like vintage movie set lights, during the Golden Age of Hollywood. There was no LED in them. It had to be an old car. I pictured a 1960s red Mustang sitting up there (probably because that was my dream car).

Sleepiness wrapped around me tighter than the blanket and I headed to the comfy spacious bed that for this week, I would make my own. The 15-year-old golden lab, named Beacon, claimed her space on the bed. I was glad for a companion and a guardian. Sleep quickly became my master and I forgot about the events of the night.

The following day proceeded normally, and I did the things a house sitter does: walk the dog, swim in the pool, luxuriate in the hot tub, feed the bird, watch silly movies, and eat pantry foods. When night rolled around and I fell into my new routine of sitting outside by the fire with a cup of tea, I looked at the grand black shapes against the darkening sky. I sat up as something abruptly caught my attention: two golden headlights flashed into my vision like the night before. Again, a lone walker, holding a flashlight, walked towards the signaling headlights. Then, as if on cue, the headlights and flashlight disappeared together followed by a loud, sickening scream that echoed through the valley. Beacon jumped up and began to bark into the darkness. This was my cue to head inside and lock the doors. I didn’t want to be outside and vulnerable to this strange October night.

I ran to my cellphone on the kitchen counter and dialed 911. The service was horrible and I could only hear bits and pieces from the operator.

“What’s...emer...”

“I have bad service...but I believe something suspicious is happening on Mulholland drive...a scream...two flashing headlights...”

“...repeat...”

Oh forget it. I now knew the police wouldn’t be able to help with my horrible cell service. That was comforting. Not.

“If you can understand this, just have someone check out the Mulholland Drive Lookout...”

The scream kept echoing in my head. I was struggling to sleep so I turned on the TV for white noise. “The Birds” by Alfred Hitchcock was playing on TCM. Sleep came to me in bits and pieces and I was relieved when dawn rolled around. When I finally stepped outside to the morning light, Mulholland Drive had become even more strange. Hundreds of vultures circled the spot where the lone walker’s flashlight had last shone. Beacon nudged my leg and I remembered she needed a walk. So did I. Maybe some friendly neighborly faces would shake off the creeping feeling lurking over me.

Beacon had other plans. She wouldn’t budge when I tried to walk toward the safe, paved neighborhood streets. Instead, she kept pulling me towards the walking trail that led to the mountain. She sensed something that I wanted to ignore. Finally, my curiosity won and I allowed her to lead me. We ascended a dirt path that led us higher and higher into the mountain. All of a sudden she stopped and began sniffing the ground around our feet. There was nothing there except for a plant of Lillies, defying the odds and growing in this harsh, desert condition. A vulture flew in front of me, so low to the ground that it caused the dust to fly around like a mini tornado and reveal, buried beneath the dust, a note.

“It is not safe yet. You will know I am ready by the light of the candle.

-D.”

I shivered remembering the scream the night before. Who was D? Why was it not safe? I looked up because I heard a distant rumbling sound approaching. Another tornado of dust appeared on the road and through it was a black Mercedes, swiftly coming towards me. All at once, like a choreographed dance, the vultures gathered above the car and then dispersed the moment the car stopped and a back door opened. One black stiletto. Another black stiletto. From the back door, out stepped a tall, slender, black-haired woman in her 40s. She looked at me for a few seconds, like she was peering into my soul, reading my intentions. She took off her large, round, black sunglasses. That was when I realized who she was. Amelia Vurns, daughter of hotel heiress and billionaire Diana Vurns. Diana had recently been all over the tabloids for being admitted into a mental institution.

“Hello,” she said, like she was asking a question. I nodded back. Beacon began to howl and I awkwardly tried to quiet her. “This path isn’t safe to walk on alone. There are snakes around here.” She said in the low register of her voice. I didn’t respond, unsure what to say.

“Rattle snakes! This path is known for being infested with them,” she said, now very sing-songy. Too light for the moment. Her eyes slithered to the paper in my hand. I crumpled it up.

“Finding treasures?” She asked.

“No, just taking my dog for some exercise. We should be going now, it’s getting hot for the dog.” I smiled politely and turned the other way, walking as fast as I could. I felt her eyes burning through me as I descended the mountain. When the vultures flew over my head like a rehearsed performance, I knew she was driving away. I looked at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand. Why had she noticed it?

When I returned from the walk, I turned on the TV in hopes to hear friendly, distracting voices. Instead, I found the opposite. A somber news report concerning Dianna Vurns, missing, after escaping the insane asylum. This day couldn’t get any creepier. I placed the wrinkled piece of paper on the kitchen counter. “D” could very well be Diana. I did not want to be involved in this. The woman from the black Mercedes, Amelia, came on the screen. Again, Beacon began to howl.

“If anyone has any information, please come forward, you will be highly compensated.” She pleaded. I felt like she was looking directly at me again, reading my thoughts. Nothing in me wanted to give her information.

I had to go to work for the day and I allowed myself to be washed in the problems of work, and hopefully forget about the morning. On my way home that evening, I grabbed a pint of ice cream from a local market. Somehow that made me feel safer to return back to the house.

It was twilight when I turned onto the long driveway that led to the house. I hadn’t left any lights on that morning when I left, so I couldn’t explain the small flickering light I saw coming from the house. As I got closer my heart stopped. In the top floor window, there was a lit candle. I slammed on the breaks. Who lit a candle in the house? I tried not to consider the paper I had left on the kitchen counter and what it said. Maybe the owners of the house returned early. Yes, that was a comforting, logical excuse. I sensed it wasn’t safe for me to go into the house alone but I ignored that too, and pressed my foot on the gas petal.

I took the approach of acting like everything was normal when I got to the house. I went through the garage door and loudly called out to beacon that I was home. Nothing seemed displaced or out of the ordinary. I looked to the ceiling, wondering if someone was up there, waiting for me. The moment that Beacon heard my voice, she ran to me, and the look in her eyes confirmed to me that someone indeed was here. As if on cue to echo my thoughts, the floor above me creaked.

Why did I come back here?! I thought.

The floor continued to creak. The sound moved above the kitchen and then towards the stairs. Whoever was up there was coming to find me now. I tip-toed to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. The stairs creaked, one after another.

“Mommy?” A horsed voice cracked.

On a hunch I opened my mouth and responded, “Diana?”

Suddenly a grey, long-haired, ghostlike figure of a woman stepped through the kitchen. She was fragile, with draping clothes and malnourished skin. Her eyes grew wide and scared when she saw me and didn’t recognize me.

“Don’t send me away,” she whispered. I put down the knife. She was no threat.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Because he can find me here. This is my childhood home,” she whispered.

“Who is the candle in the window for?”

“Him.” She looked out the window longingly. “Dont send me away.” She repeated, pleadingly. I had never held the fate of someone else so closely in my hands.

“She’ll come for me soon, to lock me away. The horrible creature I created. She has no empathy. She only wants my money.”

“Amelia?” I asked. She nodded. “She can have all my money, I don’t care. I just want to leave this town with him like I should have done 70 years ago.”

“Why did you scream last night? In the woods?”

“I didn’t. That was Amelia, angry that she had lost my trail. It was the sound of her plans dying.”

Suddenly something outside caught my eye. It was now dark outside and when I looked, I saw two golden headlights approaching the house. Diana straightened up when she saw the headlights and a childlike joy lit up her face. She looked at me, wondering what I would do. I clutched my phone and looked toward the TV which still flashed pictures of the missing Diana. The car stopped in front of the house and the golden headlights flashed. One. Two. Gone. I looked closely at the car: A 1960 red Mustang.

I had lost my hope for love, but maybe I could get a step closer by helping this woman’s last chance at love. Maybe she was crazy. Maybe I was crazy, but in that moment, I wanted to see her get into that red Mustang more than anything else in the world. So, I put down my phone and nodded to her. She understood my message and ran out of the kitchen as fast as her frail body allowed. I looked out the window as she walked toward the car. Her body seemed to come more alive with every approaching step. She got in and the red Mustang drove out of sight.

For weeks, news reports concerning Diana hit the news cycle. Doctors were interviewed concerning her mental state and possible dangerous outbursts. I laughed, picturing this 86-year-old woman being dangerous. Then the big news story broke that her money, billions, had completely disappeared. Eventually the stories died down and it was never reported who had stolen her money. Maybe Diana WAS crazy. Maybe the man she went off with took all her money. I would never really know. But I liked to imagine Diana like this: wrapped in the warm arms of her high school sweetheart, living luxuriously somewhere remote, finally free, and that gave me hope.

fiction
2

About the Creator

Natalie Spack

I always have a notebook around so I can write down my thoughts! Anything from scripts, short stories, novels, songs, to poems! I also love comedy and make my own funny sketches on youtube (www.youtube.com/nataliespack)

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