T-boned

in the night, you’d nearly miss it...

Apr 23, 2025

Pitch black. Lonely headlights. The curved end of the driveway. Behind me stands our beige rancher, the one with the split floors and the ex-husband who stays away on weekends. Patience does not belong to us, so, of course, he took the opportunity to step out. I’d be angrier if I could blame him.

In the night, you’d nearly miss it, the bend where the toes of my car test the asphalt waters of traffic. In the dark, I don’t have to worry about who is pulling around the bend. The knuckles on my steering wheel are foreign; so translucent, you can read my future in the bones.

< < THUD > >

An unknown hand raps upon the window, a bellowed bass of a palm patient with intention. With a whiplash turn, I face the sound, but my eyes have no tale to tell the brain.

There is nothing.

That is not to say I didn’t see anyone. But rather, I saw nothing. The pitch I considered darkness only moments before was swallowed by a nothing replacing my passenger seat. The corner of the night where light should soon follow is nonexistent, and absence seeps into the fabric, eating away at the space beside me. A deep, throaty groan demands my attention:

“Go.”

Bending the arch in my sole, I press my foot into the pedal, pulling me from the dead-end drive and into the winding road. If there were cars, there are no headlights. More darkness, grabbing for the dim illumination of my high beams. I look right, and the hole is still there.

But now, it’s grinning.

Digging my heel into the baseboard, I speed up, believing I can outrun the nightmare is clinging to me.

< < THUD > >

Faster.

My heart races.

Zero cars.

The only sense of safety is leading by only six feet. Will my grave be as shallow?

Praying the road does not cave in before my next grip, I force air to fill and leave my lungs in a desperate attempt to feel human. My breath and the car cannot escape. Finally, the intersection pulls up, and I stop. The engine is silent. I don’t know when the music stopped playing, but a light in my peripheral vision pulls my gaze back to the passenger seat.

< < CRACK > >

My fearful ankle releases the brake just enough to creep us forward. My eyes are darting: light, seat, light, road, seat, light, seat, road. Every few glances, the chair is there; in another few, the darkness sits shotgun.

As the minutes drag, my heart slows.

Breath catches up to my present, and gentle reassurance washes over me. I hang my head in my hands.

Today I'll be better.

I raise my head, looking up to greet the heel of the red light. A screeching honk assault. Desperate brights beg me to move. The only control I command turns my head to the left. Dragon eyes chromed into an insect-infested mouth, and rubber claws snatch me by the throat.

and the darkness swallows me.

Thank you for reading!

Heading to the gym the other day, I was having an existential crisis at the end of my driveway, as one should at 3:12 a.m. As I sat there, head in my hands, vision blurred, darkness creeping, a loud THUD hit the passenger window.

Horrified, I looked to my left, but it was so dark I couldn’t calm myself. Where a seat became a window that leapt into trees during the day, in the middle of the night, there was only my anxiety.

Thus, this short story was born. Of course, with a fictional ending because we love horror here. Until next time!

If you liked this, here’s some body horror poetry: