Tea-Stained Muslin

I yawn, closing my eyes momentarily before returning my attention to the road before me. I’m one of a handful of people still on the streets at this hour, so my only companions are my music and the occasional distant headlight determined to make itself known. I grin a bit. “This is beginning to sound like the start of a horror story,” I say to myself. As if agreeing with me, my stereo finally reaches track 5. I look at it almost involuntarily before I remember where I am and what I’m supposed to be watching. This particular song is somewhat creepy even during the day. Therefore, I quickly start to regret listening to it in the velvet darkness. Grimacing, I skip to a more upbeat tune and try to cajole my thoughts away from horror stories.

Apparently, I need to work on my cajoling skills. The more I try not to think of any possible scenarios, the easier they come to me. Visions of fog with no origin invade my mind. I can imagine it all to clearly, curling possessively around trees and houses, obstructing my sight like layers of tulle. “And then a cloaked figure would appear and point me to my doom!” I once again fall into my habit of talking to myself before I laugh a little too loudly. After a few moments my laughter trails off. I pause for a instant and check the road for any sort of skeletal or cadaverous being, half expecting one to appear in my headlights any second. I also check the passenger’s seat and glance at the rearview mirror to see behind me.

My eyes widen at the satin glare of headlights a fair distance away in the mirror. My thoughts race towards the concept of that car being driven by some sort of spirit. My heart beats faster. As I follow the curves of the road the lights eventually become hidden behind a bend and disappear, as if closing their eyes to give me a head start. I take full advantage of it.

My tires continue to roll down the dark road as I try to calm myself down. I take a couple of deep breaths and attempt to focus on not crashing the car. Out of the corner of my eye I see a movement. I almost cry out in relief when it reveals itself to be nothing more than an owl, but I am nonetheless overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of connections my mind has made. They race by in a bit of a blur before my subconscious finally settles on one image. Lacy and delicate, yet overwhelmingly strong, the ghost is overlaid on top of reality for a long moment. I almost slam on the brakes as I remember the connotations of the vengeful spirit and his words.

“Come on,” I remember him telling me, “It can’t hurt anything.” I force myself to pull over and put the car into neutral as the memories return. “We can’t deal with this right now,” I recall him pleading, “And beside, it’s no big deal.” His voice echoes and repeats in my mind as I huddle to myself in shame. My body shakes as my hands grasp the worn cotton sleeves of my shirt. As the first tear falls onto my crossed arms, a pair of headlights progresses down the road, never looking back.