Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

A Slipping of the Catching Brakes

The rain spits at the world below with a certain disregard that could almost convince an unbeliever that Mother Nature is a physical beast, born with the same nuances the ant-like human race is also given. But, like the family pet, Mother Nature’s personality traits are decided and given by man, because everything must have an explanation, even when there is truly none to be had.

Stephan digs his hands deeper into his pockets, pulling his head between his shoulders with each strained step. The chill hits him in waves that cascade across his cold frame like a million little blades piercing every nerve ending they can find. The rain strengthens, crashing against him relentlessly. Cars scream by, fighting their way through the walls of water, while their humans laugh, grumble, and complain within the safety of their four-shelled carriages.

He hisses, tightening his hold on himself, like a turtle retracting into its shell. His lip curls and his nose wrinkles as he casts a wayward look towards the heavens.

“Can’t you just give me a FUCKING break!” he sneers beneath his breath, digging his hands deeper into his pockets while clutching himself tightly all at once.

The meaty call he knows all too well cries out at the downpour, and he turns with a lost moment of awe. The freshly polished yellow dolly Holden Monaro roars up the hill as if it has just rolled off the factory line—the rain almost terrified to touch the steel as it cuts its way through the unyielding sea like a hot knife through butter.

He stares wide-eyed, droopy-lipped, only to have the breath catch in his chest as he stares into his own eyes—then he is in the car, dry, warm, and staring out at the rain-soaked version of himself.

He sucks in desperate breath after desperate breath as he turns to the driver, who casually smiles.

“Wouldn’t want to be caught out there in this shit storm!” he says with an almost sarcastic flick of the tongue.

“W-W-What’s happening? W-Who was that b-back there, a-and who t-the FUCK are y-you?”

The man laughs. “Do we really need to do all the backfill, or can we leave that open-ended, knowing the answers that don’t come are the answers you expected to be given? And on your deathbed, perhaps, you’ll reflect upon your pitiful life and realise the answer to all the questions was me all along,” he says with a twisted smile. “Not that you should take that to heart. I think all you meat suits have it terribly unfair, while those above live like the kings in all the stories you write about in your dirty cesspool of a cage you call home.”

“T-T-T—” he stammers, as the car comes to a sudden and jolting stop, flinging him violently into the dashboard. He grips his jaw as a sea of red streams from his broken nose, and he awkwardly spits bloody teeth into the palm of his hand. He looks up at the driver with eyes full of terror.

The driver puckers up his lips, roughly caresses his flowing beard, and grimaces. “What is it? What could you possibly have to say that needs to be said? You wanted a break—I gave you one, and not only that, I did it in style! Now, what? What could you possibly want to say?”

“T-T-Thank y-y-you,” he splutters, wincing in pain.

The driver smiles, wobbles his head from side to side proudly, and gives Stephan a wink. “A pleasure,” he says as the door opens and Stephan tumbles out into the street. “Be seeing you, Stephan,” he says as the door slams shut on its own and the car takes off, leaving Stephan lying in the street. Another breath catches in his chest as he hears brakes locking up, car horns screaming, and wheels skidding toward him.

It’s then that he locks eyes with a version of himself, standing wide-eyed and droopy-lipped on the side of the street, drenched from the rain—watching as the car mows him down in a bloody spectacle.