by K. Massari
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The Walkers of
Ford Road.
2016 Halloween Stories
By K. Massari
Copyright © 2016 K. Massari
All rights reserved.
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, places, incidents and characters are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or actual events or organizations, is purely coincidental.
Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com
The Walkers of Ford Road.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“What do you mean by that?” he growled with a gravelly voice, not looking up.
She held on. She did not let go. He was hauling everything from the insides of his car to a pile further towards the house. There were no lights on in the house. It looked deserted.
“Come on in now. I am so tired.”
She had no idea what he expected of her. Hers was a backpack and a bottle of water. She moved towards his pile (of suitcases and bags and boxes). They paused and stared at each other and then up at the house.
“This is our home now,” he mocked, and broke out in a broad but bitter smile, stooping down to grab as much of his stuff as he could.
“Want me to help?” she asked.
“Oh, by all means,” he threw at her over his shoulder. He marched away without another word, sweating profusely in the unbearable heat.
As she was picking up a large box (which turned out to be surprisingly heavy) she saw how he plucked a key from a flower pot dangling from the porch. He opened the door to the house with ease. He did not, however, turn on any lights until he was in the back of the house, so that she saw only a glow, not a real light. She hurried. Ford Road was utterly barren.
They had driven for at least five miles without seeing another house, without passing another car. She could not comprehend how this was possible. And she wasn’t at all sure it was a good idea to spend the night in a house with a man she hardly knew, other than from driving upstate with him all day, but before that, had never had any dealings with.
They had hit it off immediately, with a strong déjà-vu bond, both travelers on a nerve-wracking journey. She felt dizzy and stumbled forward and into the house to lean against a wall so she would not go down. He came back to her, his shirt unbuttoned. “What?” he asked, and touched her arm. She let him, despite the nausea. He was an exceptionally good-looking young man, not what you would expect of a psychopath lurking on a highway.
“Come on, let’s get further back. Let’s crawl into the place and make it our sanctuary. I don’t want anyone to see a light. They don’t have to know I’m back. We won’t be staying for long.”
“Back where?” she wanted to know, following him around. “Is this your mom and dad’s house?”
“They didn’t have a house,” he said bluntly, closing what appeared to be a kitchen door behind her. “It belonged to an aunt.”
“Let me get my stuff and hide the car, okay?” he continued. “Then we can … talk.”
She was about to object, but he was out the door again, lost in the night. She went to the refrigerator and opened it, and did not draw back in horror when she saw it had been turned off for quite some time. Somehow, she hadn’t expected it would be stocked up, not from the looks of the place. And it wasn’t exactly how her luck usually panned out.
She heard the thuds of his things being deposited in one of the front rooms. She checked the cupboards. They were bare. Could they order takeout, out here, in the middle of the night?
Or was he just not going to give her anything?
It was depressing. She got up, her coat over her arm, and considered just leaving through the back door, walking alone along the road, until she hit the small town they had driven through earlier. Would he follow her? Make her get back in the car? Why would he bother?
“What’s up?” he asked, coming in, shutting the door again, acting like a husband on a Saturday morning, his hair tousled, his chest tan and strong - but the dark circles under his eyes a sure giveaway that he had been working too hard for too long.
“Nothing,” she lied and he took her in his arms.
She dropped what she could, not only clothing, but also apprehensions and doubts and fears, and kissed him and ate at him, gobbling his salty taste up (his lips felt so good, and she hadn’t been kissed by a man in such a long time). Both of them were desperate, both of them were in such grave need of that joy only love can provide.
He stopped and looked into her eyes. He let her go and started to button up. He shook his head. His hair nearly covered his dark eyes, black strands hanging loosely.
“We need to eat and wash up.”
“I agree,” she said, looking around for something to tidy up with.
“Do you have running water?”
“I think so.”
They sat in the desolate kitchen, too tired to move. After what seemed to stretch like hours but was only mere minutes, he directed her up the stairs and gave her an order in no uncertain terms to stay in the back of the house. She found a bathroom with cold water, a toilet and a shower, but after all the hours on the road cooped up in a hot car, it was heavenly.
She did not have a change of clothing and the only towel was dirty and stale. As if he could read her mind, he knocked on the door and when she said ‘yes’, it opened a bit and he handed her a large T-shirt and what looked like pajama pants and a set of fresh towels. “Thank you!” she cried, but the door closed on her.
He was lying on the bed when she came out, fresh and clean, her hair washed with the last of her shampoo. He managed half a smile. “My turn?” he asked. She nodded.
One bedside table light was on, the room dark in the corners, as the lamp was tiny and a dishtowel had been thrown over it to further mellow the glow. Shadows were large and scary, so she was grateful she could slip under the covers. A plate with a sandwich and a peach was on her side next to the bed, with a glass of milk, and she sat up and chewed slowly and gratefully, her eyes wide, her heart beating rapidly.
Later he came to her, when she had drifted off to sleep, and he was a gentleman about it, kissing her hand, smoothing the wrinkles on her forehead, whispering ‘good night’. He did not try to have sex with her, although she moaned and hoped he would.
“Oh, and what I wanted to ask all along …” he said as she was fighting hard to stay awake, towards 3 a.m.
“What’s your name and who are you?”
They both giggled and laughed out loud, two children sharing a joke. He slid down deeper under the covers and turned the lamp off. The moon outside was nearly full and the light it flooded the room with, at once blue and gray, was much more comforting than the kids’ contraption that had cast such giddy shadows moments earlier.
“I go by Tracey.”
“I’m Roger.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
There was an awkward silence, and she was sure he had fallen asleep. Or perhaps he was the kind of weirdo who would not sleep at all, plotting to kill her, staying awake at all hours. He had been exhausted, she reassured herself. And besides, it didn’t really matter, she might welcome it, her life wasn’t really worth fighting for. She would only ask one thing, for him to make it quick, but usually, on TV, they didn’t make it quick. She shuddered.
“I am not going to … kill you,” he said.
“But you could,” she answered.
“I probably could.”
“It’s like I know you though.”
“Yeah. We know each other.”
“How? Did you kill me in another life?”
“Doesn’t matter. All that matters is we’
re here.”
“Maybe you’re right, Roger.”
“You know I am.”
After a moment of silence, he added:
“Oh, and Tracey?”
“Yes.”
“I might kill you tomorrow.”
“Good night then.”
The bantering had been fun while it lasted, but she woke after midnight, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. He was snoring softly beside her. Panic engulfed her from all sides. She needed to get out of there and she needed to get out of there fast. Or she would go crazy.
Concentrating on moving ever so slowly, she lifted his heavy arm off of her stomach. She swung a leg over the side of the bed. He mumbled something deep in his sleep. Tracey twisted and wiggled and pushed her butt out of the bed, but when she was standing, his eyes snapped open.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.
“Bathroom,” she said in a creaky voice. She swallowed hard.
“I’ll come with you.”
“What?”
“I have a flashlight. I don’t want anyone to see us …”
“At this time of night?”
“You’d be surprised.”
She could only shake her head. He stumbled out of bed and had to steady