|An Occurrence on Buck Creek Road (standard:horror, 606 words)|
|Author: kendall thomas||Added: Oct 30 2002||Views/Reads: 2156/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A motorist stops to help a family change a flat tire.|
An Occurrence On Buck Creek Road By Twisted Wabbit It was a cold, stormy night. At times Mark had to pull off onto the side of the road and wait for the downpour to subside before driving farther. The windshield wipers did no good at such times. No matter how quickly they swished back an forth on the screen, water remained a blurry, opaque film through which it was impossible to see. Mark drove slowly, hunched over the steering wheel, squinting, peering ahead through the swirling, splattering, disfracted collage of light and shadow. It was November and a slippery mass of fallen leaves lay across the road making driving that night even more hazardous. As he came to a curve, Mark slowed even more. His headlights profiled bare, black branches weaving over a yellow warning sign and a metal guard rail. And then he saw a car apparently stalled on the side of the curve. The interior light was on and the tail lights were flashing. A man with a flashlight stood to the rear of the vehicle and began waving it frantically as Mark approached. The trunk was open and a tire had been lifted half out on the lip. Mark wanted to pass on by but the pathetic sight of the rain-soaked man without coat or hat caused him a twinge of guilt. He sighed and pulled off just in front of the car. As he got out and walked back, he could feel the cold rain seeping into his wool sports coat. There was a woman and a little girl in the front seat. “Can I help?” Mark asked as he came up to the man. “Name's Peterson,” the man said. “Jim Peterson”. He pointed the beam of his flashlight back up the road. Mark could see skid marks through a matting of leaves. “Had a flat coming round the curve. Almost thought we'd bought it there for a moment. I started to change the tire but the spare's lost all its air too.” “No problem,” Mark said, “I've got a pump; fix you up in a minute.” It was cold, wet, miserable work, but soon the tire was changed. “I don't know how to thank you, mister,” Jim Peterson said, shaking Mark's numbed hand. “This road's not traveled much at night, especially in this kind of weather. There's no telling how long we would have been stranded.” The woman, his wife, Mary, thanked him profusely also. Their little girl, Cindy, smiled at him shyly within the yellow glow of the interior light. Soaked and cold, but feeling good about himself, Mark climbed back into his car and watched the Petersons drive off, honking horns. He could see little Cindy's face pressed against the passenger's window and her little hand going up and down in a final farewell. A little while later Mark pulled off at a roadside diner. “Salesman, huh?” the attractive, redheaded waitress said. “Yeah,” Mark replied, sipping his coffee, while waiting for his burger and fries. “You get wet in the rain?” “Yeah. Stopped to help a family with a flat tire back a ways on Buck Creek Road; I think that was the name. Wasn't paying much attention.” “Really?,” the waitress said, after placing his order before him. “ Several years ago there was a local family, the Petersons. They had a flat, too, on that road, but their car skidded off a curve killing all of them. They had such a cute little girl, too. Her name was Cindy. So sad.” She frowned at the burger and fries. “Not much of a Thanksgiving dinner is it?” * * * Tweet
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