His
car veered to the right, frantically overtaking the other vehicles,
his tires gripping at the slick surface of the road.
He
was late for a date. Not just any date. This was the date. The
date where he was to be introduced to his girlfriends parents for the
first time. His palms had been sweating all day. Meeting the
parents for the first time was always nerve racking but when he
learned that his girlfriend's father was in the Marines, this sent
Nelson into a spin.
He
blasted his horn. “Come on, come on!” he shouted at the car in
front of him. “Move it! Some of us have places to be that are
more important than a freeway.”
Changing
gears, Nelson speed up, zipping around the car and flipping his
middle finger up at the driver. The other driver shouted a few
explicit words back as Nelson pulled in front of him.
His
turn off was coming up. He glanced quickly at his watch. He was
teetering on an hour. His girlfriend was going to kill him,
resurrect him and kill him again. If it hadn't been for that last
phone call, Nelson would have been out the door on time and wouldn't
be breaking the land speed record in order to arrive on time. Or
just arrive in general.
He
floored it, weaving through the traffic like a NASCAR driver. He knew
that due to the rain that they had he should be more careful, but
tardiness was not acceptable. Rounding the car up on two wheels,
Nelson made the turn off and slammed on the breaks. Sitting near the
off ramp, hidden by shrubs was the cops. The moment he saw them,
Nelson knew it was too late. He was doing well over 80 when he came
flying around that corner.
Their
sirens sounded, lights flashing, as they pulled him over. The
officer sauntered up to the window, rapping on it with his knuckles.
Nelson wound down the window, his Hollywood smile beaming brightly.
“Is something wrong, officer?” he asked, innocently.
The
policeman frown at him and began writing the ticket. He handed it
over to Nelson before departing back to his vehicle.
Staring
at the ticket in his hand, Nelson frowned. Late by an hour and a
$500 fine for speeding. He crumpled the ticket. Could this night
get any worse?
He
started his car and pulled out into traffic. He glanced up into his
rear view mirror. The cop car was right behind him. “Fuck,” he
muttered.
The
traffic was moving at a snails pace and Nelson was beginning to feel
more and more like Janet Leigh in Psycho. His eyes kept drifting
back to the mirror and sure enough, the cop car was right behind him.
He could almost feel the police officers eyes boring holes into him.
He
turned into Cherry Street. He had to drive over the Cherry Street
Bridge, make a left on Revello Drive then right onto Sunset Lane and
he was there. Nelson's eyes travelled back to the mirror. The cop
had gone straight on.
Nelson
breathed a sigh of relief and wiggled about in his seat, attempting
to find his phone in the pocket of his black pants.
He
took his eyes off the road for second as he felt his phone dislodge
from his pocket. When he looked back up, he let out a startled cry.
A
woman stood before him, centre of the road.
Nelson
slammed on the breaks for the second time that night. He turned the
steering wheel hard, hoping against all hope that he hadn't hit her.
The
car came to a stop on the bridge, taking up both lanes.
Nelson
was shaking as he opened the car door. He glanced up at the road,
rubbing his neck. The woman was gone. Nelson frantically searched
for her. There was no body.
“Maybe
she got a fright,” he said aloud. “Maybe she's perfectly safe.”
He
scanned the road one last time before turning back to his car.
“Aghhhhhh!”
Nelson
let out a scream. Certainly not one of his more manly moments.
The
woman stood next to his drivers side door. She was pale, drenched
from head to toe, her blush pink gown clinging to her body, her dark
hair hanging down around her face. Her dress had some mud stains on
it, bits of reeds attached, clinging to the fabric.
“Help
me,” she coughed, water dripping from her mouth.
Nelson
stared at her, his eyes widening. Her cheeks were caked in mud. The
smell took his breath away.
Shaking
his head, Nelson leapt into action. He removed his dinner jacket,
draping it over the young woman. She shivered at his touch. “I
have to get you to a hospital,” he told her, holding open the
passenger side door for her. She shook her head. “But, but,
you're injured,” he stammered. Again, she shook her head. Nelson
got down on his hunches and took her hand. “Where can I take you?”
he asked, mentally kicking himself for making it sound more
suggestive than it actually was.
“Home,”
she said weakly. “I want to go home. Please, take me home.”
“And
where is home?” he asked, gently moving a strand of her hair from
in front of her face. His finger lightly brushed against her chapped
lips.
“Hill
Road,” came her response.
Nelson
stood up and closed the door. Hill Road was the next street over
from his girlfriend's place. It was doable.
He
ran around the car and climbed into the drivers seat. He thought
about peeling out of there, but one look at his passenger made him
think twice. She looked like she already had been through enough.
Clearly she didn't need him acting like a hoon.
He
started the car and drive through the silent streets. He now and
then, he stole a glance at the young woman. Her eyes had closed as
she huddled in the seat, her body shaking from the cold. Nelson
turned on his car's heater in hopes it would warm her.
He
turned into Hill Road. “Which house?” he asked, sweat dripping
from his brow.
Her
eyes opened as she weakly gestured with her right hand. “The last
house on the left,” she said, before closing her eyes again.
Nelson
speed up a little, worried about the state of the young woman. He
knew he should have taken her to see a doctor. Instead, Nelson found
himself pulling up in her driveway.
Nelson
climbed out of the car, and opened the passenger side door. “You
wait here, and I'll ring the doorbell,” he said. The woman nodded
and watched with sunken eyes as Nelson ran up the front steps. The
front porch was lit by a single lantern hanging near the front door,
illuminating a plaque. The Crawford Residence. Nelson wiped his
hands on his pants before ringing the bell.
He
rocked back and forth on his heels until an elderly woman opened the
door. Nelson looked down at her, and smiled. “Excuse me, ma'am,”
he greeted. “I found a young woman-” The elderly woman held up
her hand to silence him.
“You
found Annie,” she said, knowingly. “Yes, every year on this day
she tries to make her way home.” The woman held open the door,
ushering him inside. Nelson turned, pointing to the car.
The
young woman was gone.
Inside
the elderly woman's home was quaint and cosy. Nelson sat down on the
floral couch, stretching his legs out, unsure of what to make of all
of this.
The
woman sat down beside him, a photo in hand. “Annie was my
daughter,” she said softly.
“Was?”
Nelson shook his head. “She was sitting in my car. I touched
her. I held her hand.”
The
woman nodded, her eyes filled with sympathy. “I know,” she said,
reaching out to touch his hand. She handed him the photo. “Annie
and her boyfriend were driving back from the prom fifty-six years ago
when her boyfriend lost control of the car on Cherry Street Bridge.
Their car spun out, crashing through the guard rails and plummeting
into the icy waters below. The coroner said that Annie died
instantly, but no one was really sure of how Kevin lost control of
the car.”
Nelson
looked down at the photo in his hand. Smiling back at him, in a pale
pink prom dress, was Annie Crawford. Her dark hair was pulled into a
neat ponytail, her eyes full of warmth and her smile was big and
bright.
Nelson
shook his head. “I don't understand,” he told the elderly woman.
“Your daughter's dead. How did I see her? How did I touch her?”
Mrs.
Crawford smiled and patted Nelson's knee. “This night, every year,
Annie finds a nice young man who resembles Kevin to bring her home.
She never does make it.” Mrs. Crawford handed him another picture.
This one was of Annie with a handsome young man, not much younger
than Nelson.
Nelson
felt faint as he handed back the photos. The elderly woman patted
his knee. “That's why I leave the light on near the front door,”
she explained. “In hopes that one day Annie will return home.”
“But
why me?” Nelson wasn't too sure he fully understood what had
happened.
Mrs.
Crawford just smiled lovingly. “It was your year,” she said
simply.
*
* * * *
Nelson
sat in his car. He had arrived at his girlfriend's place and was
sitting in the driveway trying to make sense of everything that had
happened.
He
looked over at the passenger seat. A damp spot stared back at him.
Nelson reached over, running his hand across the seat, feeling the
moisture left behind.
He
started the car again, peeling out of the driveway and tearing down
the street. He didn't really have a plan, but he had to know if that
woman was telling him the truth.
The
car pulled up outside the cemetery. Nelson got out and walked
through the hefty iron gates. As he walked through rows and rows of
tombs, Nelson kept his eyes open for anything with the surname
'Crawford.'
Tucked
away in the far corner was a grave, neatly kept, fresh flowers
resting against the tombstone. Nelson stopped cold. Even from a
distance he knew whose grave it was. It wasn't that he could read
the inscription of Anne Louise Crawford. Nor could he read her birth
date, date of death or 'May Be Gone, But Not Forgotten.'
Nelson's
blood ran cold.
Resting
on the top of the tombstone, still damp from the icy water from under
Cherry Street Bridge, was his jacket.
I have goosebumps running up and down my arms. A little creepy. Nicely done, Rei.
ReplyDeleteAnd I love how you used Nelson as your character's name. After Nelson Aspen by any chance? :-P Great job!
Chills down my spine. Great story. Which urban legend was this based on? I don't know of one involving a bridge.
ReplyDeleteEerie. Very eerie.
ReplyDeleteLoved it! Rhiannon Irons knows how to scare us with ghost stories. This was great!
ReplyDeleteVery chilling. Is it based on the urban legend The Hitch-hiker? You know a girl is trying to get home on the anniversary of her death?
ReplyDeleteWhatever the inspiration, this was well done!
Ghost stories rock! Rhiannon Irons rocks!
ReplyDeleteLoved it! I have heard the tale of the hitch-hiker before, but never like this. Fun story. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteDo we honestly expect anything less from Rhiannon Irons. She delivers the chills and thrills we're longing for and does it all with her own personal flare. Fantastic ghost story. Can just see this being told around a campfire.
ReplyDeleteFantastic ghost story. Printing it out so I can tell it when my fam and I go camping this weekend. Thanks Rhiannon!
ReplyDelete