Why is it suddenly so dark? Damn, the headlights are off—what the hell . . . oh my God, the car is dead. Steer off the road!
What in the hell just happened? OK, calm down. Turn everything off, wait a sec, now start the car. Damn! Nothing. Totally dead. I can’t believe it! How could it die just like that, no warning?
Who can I call at this hour? Who isn’t at least thirty minutes away—like Linda? Country living. Do I have the Taylors’ number on my cell? They would understand—Mitch out of town, an emergency. Now where is that phone? Must have put it in the wrong pocket. No, not there, or there. Oh crap! I see it now. It’s plugged in, charging on the kitchen counter. I’ve left home late at night on a fool’s errand without my cell. Damn! Damn, damn, damn!
Okay: it’s about three miles ahead to the gas station; home’s about two behind. Maybe I should just stay put until daylight. That’s at least eight hours away. I could do it. Just push my seat back. Relax. Maybe a cop will come by. The doors are locked. I should keep a little blanket in the car; I’ll put one in tomorrow. I hope it doesn’t cool down too much. I should have worn a heavier jacket. But I wasn’t thinking of camping out tonight, was I? OK, quiet yourself. Relax. Tick tock, no clock.
What if it’s not a cop who taps on the window? Well, don’t open the door. But what if it’s a nut case, a “predator.” Will locked doors make a difference?
Stop it! What are the chances that a serial killer is going to come along on a road with this little traffic? You’ve been watching too much TV! Of course, it doesn’t have to be a serial killer. Could just be a thief seeing an opportunity to rob me. Or someone who makes me perform “sex acts,” as they say on TV.
Oh, good grief. This is ridiculous. I can’t take eight hours of this. It’s getting cold in here. If I walk I won’t be cold. I can get a real night’s sleep, in my bed, get the car taken care of in the morning. Two miles—I can do that in half an hour. Well, probably more in the dark. Where is that flashlight? Thank God, the batteries are still good. I should take all the junk I don’t need out of my pocketbook. Take the water bottle. Okay, I’m ready.
Zip up your coat, dingbat. I wish I’d worn sneakers. At least there’s a quarter moon—well, almost a quarter. How quiet it is. A bit nippy, but I’ll warm up as I walk. I should set the flashlight on dim unless I need more light. I wonder if it uses more energy to switch between dim and bright or to just leave it on bright. I’ll just set it on bright once in a while, look ahead as far as I can see, and then turn it down again.
I’m glad it’s cool out. Don’t have to worry about snakes. Now that would be scary. I might have had to stay in the car. But if it were hot, I’d have to open all the windows. Ha! Damn power windows—I’d have to open the doors! Thank goodness it’s not summer. I guess I’m lucky for this mild winter.
A car is coming. Should I flag it down for help? No! It could be that serial murderer or rapist or thief. Or, it could be someone friendly, maybe even a cop. I better get off the road—I wish there were a tree I could hide behind. I’m just going to squat down until I can see whether it’s a cop. If it’s a cop, he’ll probably pull over when he sees my car. He should be able to hear me if I shout. No, whoever it was drove right by. So not a cop.
Get yourself going, girl.
It’s funny how we feel safer being in an enclosed space like a car, or even a tent—a thin piece of fabric. Kind of like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand. But really, what is out in nature that is so threatening? It’s not like we have grizzly bears here. But what is here besides rattlesnakes, cactus, and fire ants? Maybe mountain lions. What is it you’re supposed to do if you see one? Don’t run? Look big? Play dead? No, that’s bears, silly! The chance that I’m going to meet a mountain lion out here tonight is probably less than the chance of meeting a serial killer.
That’s the point, though, isn’t it? That I have more to fear from other people than anything nonhuman I might run into out here in the dark.
Here comes another car. Flashlight off. Duck behind that tree; it’s big enough to block me. Damn, that was a cop. Too late now. He’s gone. I can’t even see my car anymore. I’m sure he’ll stop to check it out. I should have stood on the shoulder, waving. But I didn’t know. Those high beams blinded me.
Ooh! What was that on my foot! Light back on. There’s nothing there. I know I felt something. There’s something moving over there. Calm down. You’re fine. It was just a mouse. You’ll live. Come on. You’ve come at least a third of the way. You’re almost at the stone house.
Damn, here come those dogs. I sure hope that fence is sound. Pick up some rocks, just in case. That’s what Mitch would do. But he has such good aim. And, of course, he wouldn’t be out here in the first place. I’m going to cross the road. They won’t come across the road. Stupid, of course they will if they get out. You’d think their owners would be out here by now with the racket they’re making. They probably bark at everything that moves in the night. As mean as the humans they belong to. I’d certainly never knock on their door.
So what else, besides me and mountain lions, moves in the night? Skunks. Now that’s something I don’t want to bump into. I wonder if you can smell them even if they don’t spray? You sure do smell them when they’ve been run over. Raccoons are also night creatures. And armadillos. And possums. Do they all carry rabies? Can’t think about that.
I wonder why some animals come out only at night. Humans are definitely day animals—we do everything we can to avoid the dark. Most of us, anyway.
What’s that? I hear something moving. No, it’s gone. No, there it is again. I don’t see anything. It sounds like it’s following me. Would a coyote attack a person out alone? Would a pack of coyotes attack a person? I’m going to walk as if nothing is wrong and then swing around and turn on the bright beam. One, two, three. Nothing. It must have been my imagination. Here comes another car. Get back off the road; flashlight off. My, are they going fast!
Damn it! Lucky I didn’t poke my eye out. I didn’t even see that branch. God, I just want to get home. Just to our road, then I’m home free. Unless one of my neighbors is a serial killer.
Here comes that house set way back off the road. I’m going to cross now, just in case their dogs are out too. Maybe they won’t notice me. What was that? A grunt? A snort? I’ve heard there are wild pigs all over the place anymore. But that wasn’t a pig grunt. That car is slowing down. Do they see me? Get behind that tree. Oh, they’re turning into the driveway. Their horses! I’ve been hearing the horses.
“Hello! Hello! Hey!”
They don’t hear me.
“Hello! Hello! Help!”
Too late. Should I run down the driveway? They’re awake. They may think I’m a mad woman. They have such a long driveway. They could be in bed by time I reach the door. I don’t know. I don’t have much farther to go, maybe a half mile to our road, then just past the Taylors’ place. I’ve made it this far. They would wonder why I’m bothering them for a half-mile ride.
Ow! Ow, ow, ow! That hurts. Both palms. Not bleeding. At least I didn’t twist my ankle when I fell. I’m using the bright beam the rest of the way. And I’m going to think lovely thoughts. …
Finally! Just a little farther—shorter if I cut across the Taylors’ yard. It’s so quiet, so peaceful. Silly of me to be so frightened while—Oh! What! Dog poop! Disgusting! I should have stayed on the road. Maybe I can scrape it off as I walk. Wasn’t thinking about their dog.
Thank goodness I left the porch light on. Well, I’ll be damned, there’s Mitch’s truck. I bet he’s wondering where I’ve gone off to—maybe even called 911.
I better leave these poopy shoes out here.
“I didn’t expect—”
“Yes, I know I left my phone here, but—“
“Yes, I know you were worried, but —“
“I’ll be sure to take my phone next time I go for a midnight stroll. But now, I’m going to bed.
Crooked Hearts Press publishes forgotten, overlooked, and thus disappeared women writers over the age of 55, alongside veteran writers we recognize for their excellence.
In Barbara Allen’s Joy Falls, the most recent Crooked Hearts Press publication, a traumatized family has an elusive desire for normalcy that is found in lyrical moments and humorous problem-solving. The novel is filled with characters who have the stamina for the chaotic present even as their personal histories invade. Joy Falls helps us, not in a self-help way, but in the way fiction helps through storytelling, interesting characters, and laughter. It is about the profoundness of children, the importance of humor, and what happens when we show up for our own lives.
"Barbara Allen’s gorgeous debut novel, Joy Falls, is a true knockout. Allen has created a vibrating—more than vibrant!—world in this comic-tragedy of family madness and love. That she can be so laugh-out-loud funny and heart-breaking and wise all at once never ceases to amaze me. As soon as I finished the book, I had to read it again. I so look forward to more work from her in the future!” -- Elizabeth Evans, As Good As Dead
Go to the Crooked Hearts Press website to purchase Joy Falls and other Crooked Hearts books.
Eva Silverfine left New York City at age seventeen and settled in semi-rural Texas two decades later. A biologist by training, she copyedits for several academic presses. Her short fiction has appeared in a variety of e-zines, and two novels, How to Bury Your Dog and Ephemeral Wings, were recently published by Black Rose Writing.
Jennifer Pratt-Walter is a musician, poet, hobby photographer and proud Crone, age 64. She writes that she loves to explore the wonders of small or overlooked daily miracles. Jennifer uses she/her as her pronouns.
What a fascinating exploration of what safety and lack of safety does to us. Her story is sometimes humorous but always touching.