‘No,’ he moaned. ‘It can’t be. Leave me alone. I’m begging you. Leave me the fuck alone. How did you get here? I checked. The road was empty.’
He threw his face violently into his hands, then pushed his head back on the seat, gripping the cloth with his fists in frustration. He glanced again; the road was empty. A second ago, the old lady was crawling along the road, lying on her stomach, pulling herself along the ground like a wounded animal, slowly making its way towards him.
He turned the key and switched the car lights off, then stepped out onto the road. His hands were shaking as he lifted the phone, turning on the torch and checking the area around where he stood.
He paused, aware of his breathing, controlling it as best he could. He remained motionless for a couple of minutes.
Once he was sure he was alone, he glided the torch from his phone to the front of the car, then back and into the woods. The tall trees stood like soldiers, side by side, compacted, ready to march forward. Mist crept through the trees towards where he stood, writhing like a snake as it worked around the trunks. Stephen backed away, watching as the fluid coalesced. Enlarging. He swiped the phone torch along the path once more.
‘Right. I’m out of here. You’re on your own. I don’t need this shit. I saw you, crawling behind the car a minute ago and now you’re gone. If you don’t want my help, then stay here. I don’t care anymore. I’m not playing your games. You’re dead. I can live with this. I can live with it, you hear me?’
Stephen got into the car, started the engine and turned on the lights.
The old woman was standing at the bonnet, her face bloody and sinister, staring at him.
‘No!’ he moaned. ‘I killed you. I ran you over. You’re dead. You can’t be here.’
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Stephen reached for the phone as the car lights went off and the engine died. He hadn’t turned the key. He sat in darkness, whimpering, stamping his feet on the floor of the car, shuffling on the seat, waiting as the minutes slowly ticked. He had to drive away from here, away from the woods.
Once he gained the courage, he focused on the front window, manoeuvring himself with his hands against the seat, like a gymnast on a pommel horse.
He turned the key, the lights came back on, ahead of him was an empty road. The old woman had gone.
Tap.
Tap.
He looked at the message.
I’M SAT BESIDE YOU.
Stephen was numb; his body felt temporarily paralysed. He fought the terror as he sat in the darkness, but sheer dread had exhausted his body. At this moment, he had never experienced such horror.
He saw his body as if he was viewing it from above, like he was hanging in the air, floating, looking down on himself. The car was spinning, a broken parachute that had got tangled around the person jumping. The car continued turning, revolving.
He slowly reached his hand towards the ignition; the air in the car had turned from fresh to stale in an instant. A stagnant, putrid, rusty odour as if blood had leaked onto the seats. The stench seeped into his lungs, poisoning them.
Stephen heard someone arranging themselves on the passenger seat, shuffling, getting comfortable. His hand touched the key, feeling it swing. Again, the engine went dead. He edged forward, holding his breath, and turned the key to summon the engine. The lights sprang to life, lighting the road ahead.
Stephen turned his body sharply.
The passenger seat was empty.
He pressed the accelerator and drove.
Stephen woke in his flat and lifted the alarm clock from the floor. It was just gone 10am. He’d slept lightly, waking every hour or so.
He’d left the woods after the woman had disappeared from the passenger seat. He reached for his phone, opening the messages. The last one he’d received was still Gareth’s. He hadn’t contacted Stephen this morning. He wondered if his friend had made it to his lecture; if he’d told anyone what Stephen had done.
He sat up in the bed, stretching his arms above his head. He looked at the bedside cabinet, pressed against the door. He remembered last night, going back to the woods; the messages on his phone; the old lady crawling behind the car, making her way towards him.
His head was a mass of confusion. Had she been real, or was it his imagination running wild?
He threw the blanket back, stepped onto the cold floor and went to the window. The curtains were closed, and as he pulled them back, he expected to see her face.
The sun shone, causing him to shade his eyes. The sky was clear blue with only a light haze. Despite what happened last night, he felt good, alive. Then the guilt set in. He had driven from the scene of an accident. Stephen was the lowest of the low.
In the shower he turned on the water and stood. It felt like his body was melting; his sins discharging into the plughole.
He spent the rest of the day indoors, lounging on the sofa. He didn’t have the confidence to face anyone. He flicked through his social media, liking posts, comments, pictures.
He ate at lunchtime, two pieces of toast, lightly buttered and a cheese single slammed on top of each one. He continually listened for the buzzer, a noise in the communal hallway. Anytime someone passed his flat, he sat up on the sofa, pushing to the edge of the seat, holding his breath.
He kept the radio on in the background, listening for news bulletins.
There was nothing reported about the woman he had run over in the woods.
Gareth sat in the lecture theatre, watching Dr Norris drawing numbers on the board, stabbing the piece of chalk for effect and discussing a recent law case which had made the news. His droning voice was monotonous and uninspiring. His lecture was a long, tedious waffle that Gareth had no interest in processing. In any case, his mind was preoccupied. The events of last night were taking their toll; his concentration was non-existent.
Gareth closed his eyes; the tiredness was now taking over, his mind closing down. The information the lecturer provided was slamming into a brick wall. There was no way into Gareth’s head. There was no room.
‘Gareth! Are you still with us?’
He opened his eyes, found his head resting against the desk. ‘Sorry, I’m not feeling well. I think it’s something I ate.’ Gareth waited, knowing the lecturer didn’t like him.
He sat through the torrent of abuse, taking it all in like a large sponge. Dr Norris didn’t need an excuse; he tore into Gareth for the simplest of things.
‘You’ll flunk the test papers. You wait, young man. You haven’t a cat’s arse in hell of passing. You sit there with your glazed expression, unwilling to take my course seriously but you’ll be the loser in the end. I still get paid.’
Gareth was seething inside. He turned his head to the right, seeing the piercing eyes, the disgust on the faces of his classmates. Marette Donoghue, Simon Johnson, Paul Gates. They stared with revulsion at him: another interruption causing a sidetrack in their education.
Gareth stood. He was fuming. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’ Amid tuts and quiet sneers he left the lecture theatre.
He stood in the car park. He was unable to drive and too distracted, so he opened the door of his battered dark blue Volkswagen Golf and lay on the back seat.
Gareth woke. It was late. He sat up, forgetting where he was.