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The Mist (standard:science fiction, 744 words)
Author: Michael Lance KerstingAdded: Jun 05 2009Views/Reads: 1616/945Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A mist on a lonely highway changed my view on the supernatural.
 



For Stanley 

My name is Vincent O Hara and I am a Professor Of Physics at the local
University . I always like to think myself as a rational guy and shun 
everything that couldn't be proven scientifically as nonexistent. The 
story you are about to read changed all that. 

I was driving home late one night on a lonely highway in Memphis,
Tennessee ,when I saw a thick, green luminous mist forming before me. I 
was a bit puzzled at it's appearance to say the least, however, I 
continued driving and heard loud of crackling sounds as I drove through 
it. I must admit, I became scared. 

In what seems a lifetime, I finally emerged from it a bit shook up but
continued driving then the car shuddered to a stop. I had ran out of 
gas. Cursing all creation, I got out, went around to the trunk, and 
took out a jerry can hoping to bum a lift to the nearest gas station. 

After a short while, a small truck pulled up and the driver, a young man
with a slick of hair on his forehead asked me where I was heading in a 
slow Southern drawl. He somehow looked familiar but I couldn't placed 
his features. I told him to the nearest gas station and explained the 
situation.. 

‘Okay, sir, hop in.”He said politely. 

I got in, resting the can between my knees. 

After a short while he asked,” Do you like country music ,sir?”, 

“Yes,” I replied, “My favourite singer is Charlie Pride,the black 

singer.” 

“Charlie Pride? wal, I never heard of ‘im, sir, ” said the young man. 

“Well. I have to admit, it's a bit unusual for a black person singing
country music. We more associate blacks with rhythm and blues, jazz, 
etc." 

“Yeah, I guess.”said the young man evenly, “but I never heard of him.” 

Eventually ,we pulled into a gas station. I got out and filled  the can
at the pump, then we went into the little convenience store attached to 
the station to pay for it. Inside, the young man asked what I was 
having to drink. I told him a Coke would be fine. He nodded and went 
over to the coke machine as I looked around. Curiously,the whole décor 
was set in the fifties. 

There was a Wurlitzer juke box blaring a Hank Williams tune,”Cold, Cold
Heart”. with it's plaintive melody filling the air. The noisy crowd 
were mostly men dressed in western gears, chatting. 

I went over to a vacant booth and sat down. 

“Now, that there is the grand daddy singing.” said the young man
smiling, returning with the Cokes in his hands. He sat down opposite 
me. 

“Yeah, he was great artist .” I said sipping the drink. 

“Was, sir,? Why, he‘s having a show at the Grand Ole Orpy tonight.” 

An eerie feeling washed over me. I couldn't explain it but I felt that 

something was wrong,terribly wrong. 

‘You've got to be kidding me, son, Hank died fifty years ago!” 

He looked at me straight in the eye as if I was crazy or something. 

“No,he ain't,sir “ he got up,a puzzled look on his face and went. across
to a newspaper stand with some news papers on it.He shuffled the papers 
around a bit, and returned to the table and sat down. 



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