Alex pushed the end button on his battery-drained phone and placed it in its cradle. It laid there, the soft buzz of static fading as it powered down. He crossed the kitchen floor, careful to avoid the mass of sleeping fur splayed across the ground. The retriever woofed in its sleep, legs moving in quick circles.
Alex opened the refrigerator door and removed a small, half-frozen breakfast biscuit. He made his way back to the kitchen counter and popped open the microwave door, removing the biscuit from its wrapper and tossing it inside. He yawned as he dialed in the numbers on the machine's screen, absentmindedly rubbing at his scruffy chin with his other hand. The microwave burst to life. His dog jumped to attention, plump body wobbling on thin legs.
"You're on a diet, mister," Alex said, patting the animal's head.
The microwave stopped without a sound. The overhead lights died, leaving the house in semidarkness, lit only by the early morning sun as it filtered through the cluttered blinds.
"What the hell now?” Alex flicked the kitchen light up and down several times despite the obvious fact that it would do no good.
His dog stood still, turned away from the lukewarm biscuit, ears pricked up. Hair rose upon its back and its tale tucked in. It stared off into the distance, black eyes glistening in their pools. A growl rose from deep within its throat.
Alex rubbed his hands through his uncombed hair smoothing back the wild curls of brown. He opened the drawer and began digging for a lighter, his hands brushing over the assortment of kitchen utensils. He was in the midst of forcing a meat tenderizer aside when across his chest spilled a soft light. The dead phone blazed with the light of the 'on' screen.
"What the—?
The phone burst into a long ring. Alex stood staring at it, his hand buried in the cache of cutlery. The ring droned on and on. Whoever it was didn’t seem to take the hint. Alex reached across and plucked the phone from its cradle.
"Hello?"
"Alex, it's me, Rick. We need to talk."
Alex blinked stupidly, registering the voice of his older brother. "What's wrong?"
"There's been an accident..."
***
It was 8:30 am when Alex hit the black.
He pressed down on the gas pedal, inching the convertible to a speed a bit higher than that of the state limit. The top was down and the wind blew fast against his face.
Alex loved the breeze. Sometimes he'd spend hours searching for lonely stretches of highway on the days when he had no deadlines for work, hoping to experience a perfect balance of nature and speed, the average man's calamity, but today he took no pleasure in his drive. No pleasure in the open stretch of highway or the feel of the open air upon his skin.
The asphalt whizzed by, a bland sight in its wake. Every now and then the mangled carcass of a jackrabbit or possum would rush by. The road was not open country. Quite contrary, traffic signs littered the landscape, but no cars roamed the roadway. The highway was unusually barren, even considering the early hour.
Alex glanced in the mirror, checking his face. He'd dressed quickly, packed quickly, and hurried out the door just hours earlier. He was due for a long trip and a long ride, three states worth. His hands wrapped tight around to the steering wheel. He removed one and began digging through a carryon bag in the passenger's seat. He withdrew a silver cellular phone and punched in his home number. Christine answered on the second ring.
"Hey Chris, it's me."
"Hey you, I was wondering how long you’d take to call." Her voice spilled through the receiver. Alex felt his heartbeat slow under the comforting sound.
"Sorry I left in such a hurry. How's Max?"
"He's fine. He misses you already; poor boy hasn't eaten since you left.”
"I know. Look I'm just calling—"
"To make sure I'm okay? Shouldn't you be worrying about yourself?"
Alex sighed. His throat felt dry. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"
"I'm fine!" Alex said, more harshly than he'd intended.
The line was quiet. Alex cursed himself. Christine hadn’t done a thing to deserve it. He waited a moment and brought the phone back up. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it.”
Alex smiled and glanced up in the rearview mirror. "Jesus!" he screamed, jerking the wheel.
From behind him a black muscle car, one of those old Corvette Stingrays from the 70's, shot by, its horn shrieking as it swerved into the side lane. Alex dropped the phone into his lap and steadied the wheel. The Stingray slowed a bit as it inched ahead of the convertible. Its frame had begun to peel and flake, a once perfect coat now ravaged from age. Tinted windshields obscured the driver while duel mufflers buckled and exhaust spilled forth. A thin streak of red slid across the left side of the car tracing a random splash of color with no particular meaning, almost as if the car had been doused with paint. No other area bared that same design.
Alex felt a chill travel down his spine. Something tugged in the back of his mind, poking and prodding his senses. He shook the feeling and retrieved the phone from his lap. Christine's voice, stained with worry, met his ears.
"Alex! Alex, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Some stupid son of a bitch nearly ran me off the road," Alex replied.
"But you're okay?"
He laughed. "I'm fine. Look, I'm coming up on a tunnel, gotta go. I want to have two free hands in case the jerk tries something else."
"Alright, give me a call in a few hours," she said.
"Stop worrying, babe, I'll be fine. I love you."
"I love you too."
Alex punched the end button and the line died. He tossed the phone back in the bag and drove on. A large tunnel stood ahead. No lights graced its insides. Perfect dark lay within. He couldn't see the other side.
"Great.”.
The Corvette kept accelerating as it neared the archway. Alex observed the tunnel as it grew closer. The sun shone brightly yet its rays seemed to die as they touched the entrance.
Passageway? It's just a tunnel.
The structure stood at least thirty feet tall, Alex guessed, yet it cast no shadows. He lifted his foot from the gas.
The Stingray continued on. Its owner didn't bother to flip on his lights. The car passed into the darkness and was gone. Alex realized he’d slowed to a roll.
"It's just heading through the tunnel. Just put your foot back on the gas and go. Just go."
Alex breathed out and pushed down. He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he was inside. The black surrounded him, enveloped him. He drove on. Like a silent cancer, the darkness became more and more absolute. Alex's eyes did not adjust as he continued driving. The tunnel did not seem to be light or dark, it seemed black. Empty and desolate. Black.
Alex switched on his headlights. The beams pierced the darkness a few feet but revealed no road beneath. The light seemed swallowed by the gloom, eaten and preyed upon by a savage beast in the form of night. As he drove, the light seemed to fade. Alex flipped the switch a second time. His brights flashed on. They blazed for a moment, then died. They didn't fade into nothingness. It was as if something had shattered the bulbs within. They blinked and were gone.
Alex pressed harder on the gas. He could tell his car was gaining momentum, but his engine gave no sound. His top was down but he could neither feel nor hear the wind. He could not hear the Stingray ahead of him. Eventually he could not even hear his own breath. His heart beat against his temples. His nails dug into the rough leather of the wheel, hard enough to crack beneath the pressure. Alex did not feel the pain.
From the darkness there came a sound, the only sound, a whisper of unknown words. A second joined and the two merged as their tongues grew louder. Alex shoved the gas pedal as far down as it could go.
The convertible sped along with silent fury. The words intertwined into piercing shrieks. Alex screamed with them. A blink of light arose ahead. The exit. The exit from the black. The car's engine roared as the haven grew close. His headlights flashed back to life. The blinding light hit its peak as his car broke through the exit and onto the highway.
Alex slammed on the brake, tires squealing against pavement, and sat there, body drenched in cold sweat, his breaths coming to him in harsh rhythms. He looked down the endless road. The Stingray was nowhere to be found. It hadn't been moving fast enough to go beyond his sight. It had vanished in the black.
Alex laughed, knowing it was crazy but true. The Stingray had never exited the tunnel. The black had swallowed it. He needed to help the driver. He placed his hand against the door handle and stopped.
The black would try and take him.
No, it’s just a tunnel.
The black would take him if he approached it.
No. It couldn't.
But it would.
Alex pushed the door open and stepped out onto the hot concrete. The shrieking voices swam in his mind still. The wind chilled his skin. He finally turned back to face the tunnel, looking upon the darkness, and screamed.
From the top of the structure a frayed rope extended. A man hung from its end, his limp body swinging with the slow breeze. His eyes bulged in their sockets. His tongue, bloated and purple, stuck out from his wide mouth, face stained a shade of dark violet, morphed in death. Excrement left behind in the final moments stained his pants.
From beneath the tangled hair, Alex could recognize the face. He tried to tell himself it wasn't real, that it couldn't be. That his father, who’d hung himself from the second floor rafter of his retirement home three days ago, was not hanging before him. That he wasn't here, instead waiting for him in a funeral home two hundred miles down the road. Alex ran his hands through his hair, screaming in silence.
From beyond the hanging man, from deep within the black, the whispers rose. Within the shadows came the flutter of movement.
A set of set of massive hands the size of rakes jutted forth. Their fingers, abnormally long and scabbed over, the color of skin burned with fire, flexed outward, uncurling with cracking pops. The wrists and arms, pale and bony, curved in impossible angles, too heavy to support. They wrapped themselves around the hanging body and caressed the dead man.
Alex wanted to look away as the creature's face emerged, but could not. Slick sheets of skin slung over its scalp, with neither ears nor hair. Long sets of black stitching sewn its eyes and mouth shut. Its nostrils flared as if it were sniffing the air, searching for Alex's scent. The creature glanced in his direction and began to pull his father away into darkness. Its mouth stretched wide as it tore at the stitches, black blood spilling down its lips.
"There's been an accident," it shrieked, mocking his brother’s voice.
From within the black more creatures emerged. They stepped out into the fading light towards Alex, unafraid of whatever force had once protected the man.
Alex turned to flee, but the darkness surrounded him. His breathing faded into silence. The roar of his car's engine died. The wind ceased to blow. The black swallowed him. Alex shut his eyes and prayed.
***
"He's awake, the guy’s awake!"
Alex opened his eyes, the glare of the sun momentarily blinding him. He lay on his back. He tried to sit up but a man dressed in white appeared and pushed him back down. His hair was the brightest shade of blonde, shimmering gold.
"Lie down, Mr. Samson. Lie still now," the man said, turning to the second paramedic, "let's get him out of here."
Alex felt himself lifted from the asphalt and onto the wheeled stretcher. The restraints snapped around his chest. He watched the clouds move above as the men pulled him into the back of the ambulance.
He lay there in silence, lost in the rhythmic beat of the heart monitor beside him. The engine of the ambulance roared to life. They were moving.
A portable TV stood on a shelf beside Alex’s head. Alex stared at it for some time. The second paramedic glanced back. "Looks like our passenger wants to watch the news," he said, following the remark with an exaggerated laugh.
"Turn it on then.”
The man reached over Alex, his slender, tanned finger pressing down on the power button. "Enjoy."
A news reporter holding a set of papers spoke without words. She pointed at the side screen where an overhead view of a car crash appeared, shot by chopper cam.
"There's no sound, can you turn it up?" Alex croaked, his throat burning with the effort.
The paramedics did not reply.
"I said, can you—"
Alex stopped. His breath caught in his chest. On screen a close up of the wreckage came into focus. A blue convertible stood in ruin, crumpled like a tin can. Buried in its side was a black Stingray. A splash of red spread across the passenger's side. An arm poked out through the driver's side window, twisted and broken.
"It wasn't paint..." Alex whispered. He began to shake.
The sound of the ambulance siren faded. The TV camera zoomed in for a closer view of the totaled convertible. A victim laid within its frame, body mangled beyond recognition.
"No.”
"Sounds like he's seen enough, switch it off," the first paramedic said, eyes locked upon the road.
Alex rocked back and forth, his body tied down against the stretcher. The paramedic leaned across him and switched off the TV, his once tanned and slender hand now burned and misshapen.
The creature let the paramedic’s hat fall away as it hovered over Alex. Its mouth stretched against its stitches as it spoke. Blood spilled down its lips to cover the victim’s chest. "We wouldn't want you to miss the show."
Alex shook his head, fighting against his restraints. Shining tears spilled down his cheeks. "No. No God. No. Please God, don't let it be!"
A deep gash opened across his brow, blood spilled down his face, the first bones began to break. He screamed, but there was no sound. The ambulance continued along its journey, travelling down the empty road. It passed under the archway of the tunnel and vanished into the black.
