Page 1 of 1
Sebastian Michaels
Cosmic Horror & Folklore Author
by Unknown
Chapter 2
The road has been chewing at my hours, grinding them down to a fine blur that clings behind the eyes. The cab hums like a wasp nest someone stapled to my skull, steady, restless, alive. Those yellow lines do not behave tonight. They curl at the ends, stretch thin, quiver as if tasting the heat. I watch them tilt toward a glow far ahead, a distant bruise of light pressed against the horizon. The radio gave up a few miles back though it still clicks sometimes, like teeth chattering in a cold room. I talk to it anyway. Silence grows strange when you let it sit too long. Signs drift past with their faces warped, letters bending, arrows bending, everything bending as if the night wants to fold itself shut. I tell myself it is nothing but the soft tremble of exhaustion, yet the shapes hold steady longer than they should. That glow ahead refuses to change size. I have been chasing it since dusk or maybe since yesterday. Time pools in the corners of the windshield, thick and slow, the way oil clings to water. The lines guide me. I do not question it. They slither outward, pointed, eager, alive, dragging the road beneath my wheels toward whatever waits in that pale smear of light. I should stop. I know that. But the steering column warms under my grip as if it prefers motion to rest, as if it remembers a destination that I never learned. So I keep going, heavy eyed, weary hearted, following a glow that never grows nearer, wondering whether I am driving toward it or whether it is holding still and letting me circle, mile after mile, like a tired animal searching for the edge of its own cage.