Killer in the Backseat

The deserted road is pitch black and slippery with rain after the storm. All around is nothing but thick forest for miles. As I drive down the old highway, back from the city hospital, out of nowhere a bus drives up behind my car. I wave out the window for the driver to pass, but he inches closer, tailgating and flashing blinding high beams into my back window. I fight to keep my eyes on the road, panic rising.

What’s this guy’s problem? I slow down but he moves even closer to my bumper, nearly touching it, still flashing his lights at me. My breathing quickens with fear. Is he trying to run me off the road?

He rams my bumper hard and I nearly skid into the guardrail and down a steep ravine. Again, he flashes his lights on and off, blinding me. My knuckles turn white as I grip the wheel. My phone is in the bag which is backseat of the car, I never usually put it there—what was I thinking?

My tires screech and I slide on the slick road as I make a hard turn off the highway, almost losing control. The, the rest of the way home. I’m shaking like a leaf as I park in the driveway of my house. There are no lights on; my parents must still be out. driver holds down his horn but passes by, his taillights fading into the darkness. I drive slowly, carefully.

As I take off my seat-belt, I feel a tickle on the back of my neck, like fingers playing with my hair.

A low whisper makes me freeze.

“He was just trying to warn you.”

In the rear-vision mirror, I see a man in a ghost mask in the backseat, a sharp-knife flashing in his hand.