THE PASSENGER BY Pauline Ramsey and mark sladeA Story by mark slade
Great, she thought as she pushed her way through downtown traffic. Absolutely wonderful! Carrie Dessarault could feel the sarcasm seething through her body. She was going to be late " again. Often times, she felt just like Lewis Carroll's White Rabbit; always pressed for time and never able to do all that she needed. She just hoped that James, her husband, wouldn't be a surly mood. As of late, he'd been extremely irritable. It had even gotten to the point where she felt like she was always walking on eggshells when around him.
Carrie pulled in front of the white Renault and heard and a screeching horn bellow. She turned and mimed at the car, "I'm sorry." When she turned to see where her Ford Focus was going, a man in a dingy trench coat had stepped out in the traffic. There was no time for her to stop. The look on the man's face was ghastly. As he turned to face Carrie, the front end of her car hit the man with such force, he was thrown several inches backwards toward the line of cars ahead, stuck in gridlock. Carrie screamed, immediately threw her hands to her gaping mouth. "Oh, my God," She repeated over and over. She closed her eyes, just for a second. She reopened them to find the man she'd just hit with her car, sitting in the passenger side.
She felt her ragged breath hitch in her throat violently, almost as if she had a bubble of air caught within her throat. She stared with disbelieving eyes at the man next to her. How did he get in my car? She thought to herself as she observed her newly acquired passenger. From this close of a proximity, she could see that the strange man's face was white. In fact, it wasn't really white. It was more of a gaunt, light-gray ashen pallor. Momentarily, she thought it was the color of death. Yet, she knew that the man who now sat beside her was not dead, nor did he appear injured
smiled at Carrie, sniggered. "I do believe I have the right
She looked at her passenger in disbelief. How is this happening? Carrie thought as she clenched her hands around the steering wheel. The knuckles of her fingers turned white beneath the hard pressure. “Who are you?” she asked the man next to her. Faintly, she noticed a smell that was unfamiliar and obtrusive. She couldn't quite place what it was, but something nagged at her that she should recognize it. “Oh, knowing who I am won't change what you've done. There isn't anything you can do to escape that little incident.” the man chuckled. His voice was low and rough; his laugh reminding of her of sandpaper grating against wood.
The man then reached over and placed a hand on Carrie's shoulder. She was too afraid to scream. A slight gurgle came from her dry throat. The man dug deep into her flesh, his hand disappearing inside her. Her shoulder opened wider, dividing like the parting of the red sea. Carrie's eyes rolled into the back her head as she lost consciousness. Before completely blanking out, she saw that the man had placed the left half of his body into hers, and was going to follow with the right half. Before long he would be apart of her.
Carrie was sitting up in her hospital bed. The room had been occupied
by another patient had left this world last night unbeknownst to
Carrie. The room was small and cramped and as dreary as the sky
outside the window. There was a knock at the door.
© 2011 mark slade
Abouta writer of horror and dark fantasy http://bloodydreadful.blogspot.com/ more..