Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

A Metallic Motif of Motion

Cars thunder past in droves, one after another, rushing relentlessly onward. The worlds of each driver are separated by their metallic coffins, the landscapes outside no longer a part of theirs. Every journey becomes a void between A and B. He grimaces, clumsily wiping a sweaty palm across his face as he rubs at an irritating itch near his jawline. He snorts and sniffs, scrunching his nose and curling his lips, each blessed step carrying him closer to his destination.

More cars thunder past—their loud engines drown out the voice on the other end of the phone.

A deep-seated sigh escapes his throat as he pulls the phone from his ear, glaring at the screen. He spits a frustrated hiss, shakes his head in disapproval, then shoves it back against his ear.

“I don’t care,” he huffs gruffly.

He falls silent for a few moments, listening intently, his breaths slow and rhythmic, measured with each step. His nose wrinkles again, and his teeth bare like those of a cornered animal. His movements sharpen, his steps pounding against the ground with increasing focus.

“Like I said, I totally understand—I just don’t care. Plain and simple!”

He rolls his eyes and lets out another long-winded, lacklustre sigh, his gaze lifting toward the sky.

“Okay, okay!” he snaps, coming to a sudden stop and throwing his free hand into the air as though holding back something—or someone. “I’m sorry if that process doesn’t fit your schedule, but it’s what’s going to happen.”

“You call me and, for some reason, expect me to drop everything to meet your bizarre request without even batting an eyelid? Well, that’s not gonna work for me. That’s not gonna wo—”

The words catch in his throat, and his brow furrows.

“W-W-W-What?” he stammers, his eyes widening as a fresh wave of sweat cascades down his forehead. “I-I-I—I don’t understand. W-W-What is that supposed to a-achieve?”

A nervous smile wraps itself across his lips. “I-I-I, I can’t be expected to—” His flesh pales, the blood rushing from his cheeks. “T-T-That’s completely unfair! Y-Y-You can’t just pull something this absurd and believe I won’t retaliate. I’m a—”

His words falter, his chin crumbling as his lips tremble. His eyes well up, glistening with tears as he stares out into the emptiness beyond him.

“I-I-I—You can’t. T-T-They did nothing to y-y-you. T-T-They—” He takes another deep breath, his chest heaving as he clenches his eyes shut.

“I-I-I—I understand.”

He nods, his jaw clenching tight as he arches his head back, letting his eyes flutter upward to the empty sky.

“N-N-No, I understand everything you’re saying. They are cattle—a commodity needed to perform a task,” he stammers nervously. “Y-Y-Yes, I get it. I c-can see why you needed to do it, a prime example of my inability to read a room.”

He lets out another long-winded sigh, his lips curling in distaste.

“Of course. This one will be on the house. Yes, I will ensure that in the future, I am much more accommodating.”

“C-Can you put her on, s-s-so I can assure her that I’m making them safe?” he asks nervously, his voice trembling. “I-I-I, I get that. I truly do. B-B-But don’t you want to ensure that the power you claim to have i-is confirmed? Otherwise, h-h-how do I even know they’re alive? Y-Yes, I understand, and I know that I just have to trust you, but if you c—”

He takes another deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he clenches his eyes shut. When he speaks again, his tone is quieter, sharper.

“Of course, that is totally understandable,” he seethes.

There’s a long pause before his lips curl into something too tight to be a smile. “Which is why I’m sure you’ll understand why I have to do this.”

Without waiting for a response, he steps out onto the road.

A car slams into him with a thunderous crack. His body tears like paper, bones snapping as a crimson spray bursts into the air. His head smashes against the windshield, shattering it in an explosion of jagged glass before his mangled body is flung across the pavement like a ragdoll. He lands in a twisted heap, his limbs bent at impossible angles. Blood pools beneath him, painting the asphalt in a grotesque smear.

The phone remains tightly clutched in his hand, its screen flickering faintly against the growing silence.