Carl pressed down hard on the accelerator pedal, smoothly changing from third to fifth gear. Tiny snowflakes drifting from the dark December sky whipped into a flurry as his Volkswagen Golf sped past a 30mph sign and into the sleepy Norfolk village. The VW engine echoed on deserted streets and Carl enjoyed thinking about disturbing the residents, tucked up in their posh houses. At this time of night, he was king of the road. Gangsta rap boomed from the stereo, and he cranked up the volume, tapping the steering wheel in time and chiming in with the phrases he knew. He reached over and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the passenger seat, wedging it under an armpit to crack the twist cap one-handed before raising it in a toast.
“Merry Christmas, losers!”
He’d swiped the bottle before quitting a naff Christmas Eve party he and Emma had gone to earlier that evening. Stupid cow had wanted to stay, so he’d been forced to show her the error of her ways.
Carl took a glug of vodka and swerved on a patch of ice. He cackled at the thrill of his car slipping under him.
A glimpse of blue flashing lights in the rear-view mirror killed his giddy mood.
“Shit!”
As the undercover police car’s siren wailed, Carl stomped on his accelerator pedal. By the time he whizzed past the next speed sign marking the village boundary he was doing seventy. But this was his domain. He knew every twist and turn of these roads and had no doubt he’d lose the copper easily. After all, he’d been chased in stolen cars loads of times. His chest still swelled with pride every time people referred to him by his old nickname – ‘Car-jacker Carl’.
Taking a sharp left, he headed along a lane towards the coast road. Edged with trees, it was dark and winding; perfect for his nippy motor but not so easy for the heavy 4x4 following him. Suddenly his headlights picked out a grey shape as it leapt out in front of him. He didn’t have time to brake – not that he would have anyway. Anything that crossed his path was fair game as far as Carl was concerned. Must have dodged his wheels though as there wasn’t the usual bump. He took another left, then a quick right and left again. He’d put some distance between his VW and the cop car, so he headed for the old cliff-top car park to hide out. The council had closed it years back because the cliff edge was eroding away. He punched his VW through the rotten wooden gate, handbrake turned and raced to the farthest corner near some overgrown bushes before killing the engine. The only sound in the still night air was ticking as it cooled down.
Carl craned his neck towards the car park entrance, grinning as his pursuer raced by. Flipping on the interior light, he reached into the glove box and pulled out a small tobacco tin. Might as well take the opportunity while he was parked up to roll a ciggie for the journey home. He popped the lid and pulled out a packet of rizlas. He’d sprinkled tobacco onto a cigarette paper and was about to lick the gummed edge when he saw a battered Volvo estate rattle into the car park through his rear-view mirror. Carl watched as it crawled towards his car, pulling up right next to him. Not even in the next parking space, but close enough to prevent him opening his door.
“What the..?”
Carl squinted into the Volvo but couldn’t make out the driver. Bristling with indignation, he twisted the ignition key and wound down his window.
“The whole car park, yet you’ve blocked me in… what’s your problem, pal?”
He glared at the Volvo driver’s motionless silhouette.
“Hey! I’m talking to you.”
Carl gave a sharp whistle, but the other driver continued to stare straight ahead, his car engine idling with a dull rumble.
The Volvo’s interior light snapped on.
Now bathed in bright white, it was evident that the other driver was an old man. Carl could clearly see a rotten hole in his cheek; yellowing teeth grinning through papery, brown-tinged flesh. The man creakily turned to face Carl, revealing that the right side of his forehead was caved in; a tar-like stickiness dotted with shards of lacerated bone filling the void. But the worst part was his right eyeball; attached to what remained of a smashed socket by crimson ribbons of muscle, dangling limply onto his swollen cheek.
Bile climbed Carl's throat as he stared into the other eye, which although remaining in its socket had a milky white glaze over it. The old man continued to gaze sightlessly at Carl, but his Volvo suddenly screeched backwards, spinning around and racing out of the car park, smoke belching from its exhaust.
Carl’s heart raced as he attempted to process what he’d just seen. Perhaps the poor old git had some kind of flesh-eating disease?
But the eyeball...
Or maybe he was dressed up for a Halloween party?
In December..?
With shaking hands, he took another slug of vodka then pulled the bottle away from his lips and stared at it intently. Could it be spiked with something?
He flipped down the sun-visor, leaning close to check his own eyes in the small vanity mirror. His pupils looked normal.
As he sat back, he glimpsed the reflection of something behind him. Black and writhing, like a tangle of eels. He whipped his head around, but the back seat was empty, save a few empty beer cans and his crumpled jacket.
A quick check in the vanity mirror as he closed the visor confirmed that whatever he’d imagined being there had disappeared.
Taking a deep breath, he picked up his baccy tin with trembling hands. He could really do with something to steady his nerves now.
He’d just finished rolling and his heart rate was slowing, when the tinkle of smashing glass close by jangled his nerves. Switching on his car headlights, he peered into the thicket of overgrown bushes where the noise had come from. Nothing.
A chill ran up Carl's spine.
“Sod this for a laugh.”
Abandoning his cigarette on the passenger seat, Carl started his car engine. He knocked the gearstick into reverse and released the handbrake, but before he could continue, his car was violently pulled backwards. Whipping his head around, he half expected to see the old man’s Volvo towing him, but all he saw was the rickety wooden fence that bordered the crumbling cliff edge, which his car was now reversing towards.
He grabbed the steering wheel, but it twisted itself away from his grasp, as if an invisible force had control over it. Carl stamped on the footbrake, but nothing happened. Another quick glance behind him confirmed that the cliff edge and being dashed on the rocks below was seconds away, so he decided to bail. He fumbled with the door release, but it was jammed shut.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
Carl cowered, waiting for the inevitable plunge backwards, but at the last possible moment the steering wheel turned sharply, and his car spun, screeching to a halt facing out to sea.
His head smacked the side window with a thud, and he passed out.
Moments later, Carl groaned back to consciousness. He touched his right temple; his eyes swimming in and out of focus as he tried to make sense of the slippery scarlet coating his fingertips. He gradually became aware that his car had stopped feet away from the cliff edge, its engine still running.
As if mocking him, it revved twice.
He went to turn off the ignition but pulled his hand back sharpish; the key was red hot. He jumped as something thudded onto the car roof. Down onto the windscreen slunk a black cat, leaving bloodied paw-prints on the glass as it headed towards the bonnet. Then a smaller thump, and two more in quick succession. A rabbit hopped into sight, its neck twisted at an impossible angle, followed by a couple of pigeons. Sweat pricked Carl's brow. One of the birds didn’t have a head.
He must be dreaming, right? He was probably tucked up in bed fast asleep. Maybe if he made a racket the creepy animals would piss off? He leant on the car horn. As it blared out into the still night, the black cat turned to face him and hissed. His car rolled forward, towards the cliff edge.
Maybe he should just let it go over with him inside? After all, it was all probably just a nightmare.
Probably.
At the back of his mind, he remembered hearing if you dream that you’re falling and hit the ground before you wake up, you die in real life. Maybe a load of bollocks... but was it worth the risk?
As soon as he removed his palm from the horn, the car stopped inching forward and its engine died with a shudder. The animals became wisps of grey smoke, curling up into the night sky.
Carl rubbed the back of his neck. What was happening to him? Had he gone insane? With trembling hands, he picked up the cigarette he’d hastily discarded earlier and pulled a lighter from his jeans pocket, flicking the wheel with his thumb. Sparks momentarily illuminated his face. He tried again, this time catching sight of the rear-view mirror where something large and hunched over sat in the middle of the back seat. Sweat beaded his brow as he considered whether to try once more. He shook the lighter and spun the wheel, his nicotine craving overpowering his fear.
The lighter’s weak yellow flame sucked towards the end of his cigarette as he took a deep drag. Plumes of smoke curled around him as the flame died, but not before he’d checked the rear-view mirror again. Whatever was in the back seat reminded Carl of the genie from Disney’s Aladdin—if it was reddish-orange and evil.
The demonic entity grinned at him, its slick tongue snaking through pointed teeth; blood dripping from the tip.
Thrust back into the dark, Carl continued staring at the mirror, his eyes bulging. The only light was a low glow from his cigarette tip; the only sounds, his ragged breath and a deep growl from whatever was behind him.
He suddenly remembered something. His phone! He could call Emma for help! His hopes were instantly crushed on remembering that his phone was in in jacket.
On the back seat.
A shiver crept up his neck on hearing a low chuckle directly behind his left ear.
Stubbing out his cigarette on the console, Carl screwed his eyes shut and sobbed; tears of self-pity squeezing from usually emotionless lids.
He felt a cold hand resting on his left shoulder, and hardly dared look, but peeked sideways to see –
“Emma?”
His girlfriend sat in the passenger seat, smiling, despite her red-rimmed, mascara-smudged eyes.
“But I thought you were... didn’t I..?”
She spat out a tinkling laugh.
“Yes, you reversed into me and left me for dead in the road, you rascal.” She pinched his cheek playfully.
Her hands were ice cold.
“Never any good at controlling your temper, were you, Carl?”
His brows knitted. He also struggled to take criticism.
“It was your fault... Why did you want to stay at that pathetic party, anyway? I’m not stupid... I can tell you fancy Liam.”
Emma grinned.
“You’re right... I do like Liam. He’s... kind. I’m at the hospital right now in a coma, but the doctors say I’ll be right as rain in a few days. And then I’ll give him a call.”
She held up a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. Carl went to snatch it, but she pulled her hand away.
“Makes no odds now, Carl. We’ll never see each other again, not where you’re going.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean... you’ve chosen your path and there’s no turning back now.”
She looked him up and down, really taking him in, then sighed.
“To think I actually used to love you.”
Carl reached out to grab her neck, but his hand slammed into the head rest. Emma faded away, waving one hand as she went.
The sight of Emma had emboldened Carl and he spun around to face his demon, but like her, it had disappeared. He took the opportunity to grab his jacket from the back seat and rifled through it for his phone. He turned it on, but there was no service. He threw it onto the passenger seat with a roar.
“Christ’s sake... why me?!”
He tried to open his door again, but it was still jammed. He was leaning over to try the passenger door when a torch light shone through the side window. He shielded his eyes and peered up to see a young policeman. Relief flooded his mind.
“Thank God you’re here! I’ve had a hell of a night.”
The policeman shone his torch into the rear seat and spoke into his radio.
“Yeah... found him, Sarge.”
Carl tugged at the passenger door latch, but that was also stuck.
“Can you open it from the outside, mate? It’s jammed.”
The policeman ignored him.
“Looks like he drove himself off the cliff... Yeah, he’s a goner for sure.”
“What do you mean? I’m right here talking to you, prick!”
“Probably felt guilty for mowing down his girlfriend in a fit of rage earlier... good riddance I say.”
Carl felt a deep coldness seep into his bones. Flipping down the vanity mirror he looked at his reflection for the final time; one milky dead eye staring back at him; the other dangling out of its socket onto a waxen yellow cheek.
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