You Are A Death Risk, Part Four
By BD Scott
Dremond is driving away from his problems.
His wife has decided Dremond has resumed alcoholism and is retreating from life.
Someone back in Dremond’s home town is getting a clue to the terror that which surrounds.
Today, all of these realities change.
Dremond stopped again, this time at a fuel station one-hundred miles away from home. His thoughts ran stale and rank, like his body, which hadn’t felt the comforting warmth of water and scented soap for two days.
His cell phone died sixty miles ago and he didn’t care. He figured his job was over, his wife had given up on him, and his best friend would remain silent to his absence.
None of it mattered. The town was going to shit anyway. The lone building in the centre of town, purported to be the landmark all would revere, wouldn’t earn as much of a secondary glance from any accidental tourist. The rest of town wasn’t much to look at either. Somehow, all of the construction companies who entered town believed otherwise. They pitched the idea of the much needed facelift several years ago in the Town Hall meeting. Most felt their town needed to revive itself and shove its existence into the 21st century. One company won the bidding war and the people were over-joyed because of job potential.
But the problems of bringing a bigger better building to fruition somehow created unforeseen low wages and outrageously poor working conditions. This town-wide “buyers remorse” convinced many that the “powers that be” sold the town out in favour of a cheap building company wanting to practice manufacturing rather than building up a town’s marketability as a tourist attraction. This long string of thought reminded him of his own resources.
“Damned money. Gonna be out of it soon, ” he breathed with a body-sized sigh, ” Eh, fuck it. I’ m tired.”
Dremond found an out of the way parking area, which seemed completely deserted and void of life.
“This’ll be perfect. Sleep is still free of charge,” Dremond whispered, cozying himself in the backseat of his truck’s cabin area.
He shot a glance at his phone on the front seat, assuring it lay void of battery power. He lurched forward for his fist to slam every lock closed and retreated into the fetal position in his trunk cabin, laying upon a memory foam bed with a thin pillow.
“No one will hear me snore or beat me up as I sleep in here,” he concluded to the confined, closed air.
He didn’t care if everyone forgot about him for tonight or for any length of time.
BACK IN TOWN THE NEXT MORNING AT THE SUPERMARKET, 10 AM
“Hey Allison, where’s the big D?”
“I thought you two were hanging out these last few nights.”
“Uh, no. Haven’t seen the little ringworm. What’s his deal these days anyways?”
“I’m not sure. He hasn’t spoken to me since that night I…”
She lowered her head, fighting of tears of guilt.
“Wait hon, a call, this might be him.”
Art answered his cell phone and held up a conciliatory finger to pause their conversation. Seconds later, he motioned to Allison to hug him.
She could tell Art spoke with his wife from his soft tone.
“No such luck, Allsion. Seems I need to add milk and butter to the already long list of eats.”
“It’s ok, ” Allison conceded, entering the comfort of Art’s huge but protective arm. She held back from holding onto him a bit longer, since she missed Dremond so much.
She straightened herself up and offered a weak smile.
“Thanks, Art. I needed that.”
“Hey, I’m sure he’ll turn up. We men need our space sometimes. It’s our nature. If you need anything, gimme a call, ok?”
She nodded in short bobs, like one does to a peppy Beatles tune. Her nod was interrupted by a horrific screeching of tires and horrendous smash of metal on metal, resulting in a huge cloud of smoke and fire.
To their terror, two more cars veered just left of a twisted, destructive scene full of twisted metal, harsh vinyl stench, and burning human beings.
Someone on the sidewalk pointed to the large building and toward the upper floors.
“There, see them! Look! They caused this!”
But no one paid attention to the passersby screaming.
Instead, it seemed the whole town jumped into action to put out the fire and assist the police and EMS.
Seated behind a shut window three stories up, the shadow of some thing laughed at the carnage below, nearly shattering the glass.
To Be ContinuedBD Scott, Author, Producer of Bestshorthorrorstories.com & Founder of Friedrich Imagines, Ltd. a media production company