Death Highway

by J C Walsh

  Me? I itch. I itch so bad I could scratch off my flesh and it’ll still be there. Sometimes it feels like burns. Other times it tingles. Sometimes there’s nothing, for months, and then it comes out of nowhere. Lately, it’s been more that usual. There’s a shimmer dancing in front of my eyes. I tell myself it’s from the heat coming off the grill. When I look at my family and friends they are back to normal again, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

  After everyone leaves and says their goodbyes, I put my little girl to bed. Thankfully, the day had exhausted her and she was already asleep as I carry her up the stairs to her room. I stand over her as she peacefully sleeps in her crib, lightly snoring.

  I listen to those soft sounds a few moments longer before I turn around. A fissure appears in the wall on the other side of my little girl’s crib, a red light bleeds from the crack. I don’t have the gift anymore, but when my mind collides with that other me, and I begin to itch, I feel the other. I feel the door. That’s when I walk through it. I go to the Red Plane.

  I walk across its desolated terrain, the ashen gray sand, and look upon mountains huge and writhing. The sky is bleeding red and plagued with infectious black clouds. I can see a city; it’s far down the landscape, but it’s there. It’s a sinister version of the city of Providence.

  Laura is sitting at the edge of a cliff; she’s waiting for me. She’s always waiting for me. Here I remember everything.

  The pain from that other life hits me like a strong wind, not the breeze of the life I am living now, and, every time I come here, I wonder why I’d put myself through such unwanted pain. This wind is strong and relentless. The pungent smell of death rides this breeze, and lingers in my nose for too long.

  But she’s here. My love. My firecracker. My red haired beauty is alone in a red haze world. I sit beside her.

  Every time I do, I am quiet. What can I say? So many things tumbling in my mind, like a car flipping over and over, the sound of twisted metal and shrieking. Forever tumbling. I can’t seem to get my thoughts together. My right side itches.

  “I miss you,” I finally say. I think I say this every time.

  “I know,” she answers back, always surprising me. Her voice always sounds like her own. I fear there will be a day her voice won’t belong to her, but to something else that lives in these forsaken lands. “I miss you, too. I am so alone here.”

  She looks just as I remember her. She’s in her leather jacket and blue jeans. I can smell her perfume; the sweet smell is powerful, over the smell of death of this place.

  “This is the way I am meant to be,” she says and smiles. Her eyes smile. But there’s sadness there. Her hand accidentally goes to her belly. She looks down. I take her hand.

  “Our daughter is doing really good,” I say, and smile. I, too, am full of sadness.

  This makes her happy. “I know. You tell me every time.”

  “I’m sorry. I forget when I leave this place.”

  “It’s ok. I like hearing it every time. I need to hear it.”

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “Where else am I supposed to be?” She asks like I should’ve known the answer all this time.

  “Did I do this?”

  Laura says nothing.

  I think of my parent’s death. The way they died in this life was exactly the same as in the other one. Why can’t I have my mother here with us? Why do I have to be stuck with knowledge of the same death in two different worlds? Is it always meant to be this way? Is Laura always meant to be in the Red Plane? In my current life, my memories are only ashes in the wind, except Laura. Laura is my only link to a place I am supposed to forget, to only experience in dreams.

  I stay a little longer; life is beautiful. There is beauty in such a sorrowful place, even in the charred and glistening buildings stretched out ahead of us. A storm is coming; I don’t want Laura to experience it alone. I draw in close and wrap my arm around her. We watch as chaos unfolds; the only thing we are missing is soda and popcorn.

  “ I closed the door.” I say, “I closed it to end the suffering.”

  “Yes,” Laura says, “But there are other doors that will open.”

  There’s a sun; there never was a sun in this world. It blinks. Something massive and writhing unfurls itself in the sky and descends upon the city below.

  The End

  Epilogue

  The sun shines bright overhead in the clear blue sky. It is warm on my skin, warm like the smile on my face. This is how my life is supposed to be. We are on my porch now; Cody hands me a beer. Alex and Will grab a beer and four of us cheers. We went through hell and back but we made it, together.

  Grandpa and Grandma arrive, moving slower up the porch steps now that they have gotten older. They too are still full of life, because life is what truly matters. My two-year old girl runs by me; her bright red curls bouncing. She squeals with excitement and runs right into Grandpa’s arms. He cradles her in his arms and says hello to the Slaters as they are next to arrive.

  John Slater shakes my Grandpa’s hand, playfully gives his hand a squeeze to still see if the old man still has his strength. Jack walks up to me by the grill with a big cooler in his hands. He tells me the steaks are in the cooler, I tell him it’s time to get those suckers on the grill.

  The steaks are sizzling on the grill, the beers are flowing, and the hot summer air is just right with a kiss of a light breeze. Life floats on this breeze, full and vibrant as the trees in my yard. Perfection. And yet, I still feel sadness.

  Everyone is here. Even Karen Blackwell, our secretary at the Auto Body shop stopped by to enjoy good food and good company. My smile betrays the overwhelming emptiness corroding my insides. There are two people in my life missing from this picturesque day, my mother and Laura.

  When all of this started in the other reality, I was in prison and the ceiling above my bed was blank of any pictures. There was a good reason for that. Look what happened with Laura. I tried my best to not allow the Red Plane to use my mind to betray me, and still I had to face the nightmare my sins had caused. Laura had a miscarriage because of me, and the Red Plane turned our unborn baby into a creature of the abyss.

  During the first convergence, when the wormhole had appeared in my garage and I barely escaped my bloodthirsty memories I saw my mother amongst them, staring at me from the window of my home while I was fighting off Chris’s army of creatures. It still hurts when I think about her somber face, pale like the monsters of the Red Plane. After she had died years ago in an accident, I used to picture her smiling face as a glowing sun in my mind, until the Red Plane tainted it.

  Even though I beat Death Highway and won, I still feel in some way I lost. I couldn’t change the fact that my mother still died in the car with my alcoholic abusive father. I couldn’t change the fact that I blamed myself because I wished for him to die and unfortunately, my mother died with him. My Grandparents adopted me and fought hard to give me a better life and the chance to grow up with a future. I learned how to fix cars from Grandpa, watching his every move. It helped keep my mind busy, and he added lifting weights as another means to help keep the anger at bay. Because no matter what, anger is always a stranger taking your hand; you need to stop before it becomes your friend.

  Picked on many times, I learned how to fight under my Grandpa’s training. The training helped greatly, and, day by day, year by year, I became more focused, more driven. Not wanting me to have to deal with the same kids I had fought in middle school and had to deal with their bullshit in freshman year, he had enrolled me into Votech classes to help further my interest in auto mechanics. During my years at this new school, I met the best of friends I could ever wish for. I graduated high school with a certificate in mechanics and a high school diploma. I went to college to better myself, just like Grandpa had asked of me. I still struggled sure; real life after high school wasn’t meant to be easy.

  I did my internship at Blackmore Auto Body and Repair. I worked with another high
school buddy of mine Jack Slater and his dad, John Slater. I provided the skills I had learned from Grandpa, from school and applied them at the shop. I gained a name for myself; became one of the top young mechanics and was fortunate to work at one of the best auto body shops in Blackmore, Rhode Island.

  Despite the success at my day job I still street raced at night. We were racing kings, just me and the boys. Our names carried on the wind between city buildings and on the roar of engines. We owned it; we were that good, and then I met Laura. She was a damn good racer as well and completed the crew. Sometimes days were tough at the shop, so I made extra money from the races. But the crew and I always knew it would end, especially after Chris died. Chris was our bookie, also a racer. He talked too much shit and challenged another racer. Chris lost control and struck the other car. His car became a fireball and both drivers died in the explosion. We swore to never step foot in underground racing ever again.

  This is my true reality.

  I look at my little girl smiling and laughing in my Grandpa’s arms. Two years. My little girl is already two years old. She looks like her mother, and I could only imagine how much more she’ll look like her as the years get lost on us. Two years since my wife passed giving birth. After we were done with the racing life, we learned Laura was with child. I asked her to marry me. We bought a house and made an amazing life together, short as it was, gone in a blink of an eye. I still see her on that day we met, getting out of her car after a race, taking off her helmet, shaking out her long red hair. It seems like forever. It seems like yesterday.

  Now she’s gone.

  I won Death Highway to change it all. I’ve done everything right with a few speed bumps in the road, and still I lost her. I try to fight back tears every time I think of her. Not now. I can’t cry now in front of everyone when we are having a great time.

  This is the life I am meant to have, but I still see evidence of that other life. Cody has that look in his eyes, and for a fearful moment I think they will burst into flames and he would change back into the monster he was. With Alex, I see the thick veins pulsating in his neck and the white foam coming out of his mouth like he’s suffering an overdose of heroin. Will, John and Jack are covered in their own blood from the multiple lacerations on their bodies. Grandma rubs at her chest as if she’s about to suffer a heart attack, and Grandpa just has a far away stare. I can feel his mind slipping away. I won’t dare look at what my two year old has become.

  Me? I itch. I itch so bad I could scratch off my flesh and it’ll still be there. Sometimes it feels like burns. Other times it tingles. Sometimes there’s nothing, for months, and then it comes out of nowhere. Lately, it’s been more that usual. There’s a shimmer dancing in front of my eyes. I tell myself it’s from the heat coming off the grill. When I look at my family and friends they are back to normal again, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

  After everyone leaves and says their goodbyes, I put my little girl to bed. Thankfully, the day had exhausted her and she was already asleep as I carry her up the stairs to her room. I stand over her as she peacefully sleeps in her crib, lightly snoring.

  I listen to those soft sounds a few moments longer before I turn around. A fissure appears in the wall on the other side of my little girl’s crib, a red light bleeds from the crack. I don’t have the gift anymore, but when my mind collides with that other me, and I begin to itch, I feel the other. I feel the door. That’s when I walk through it. I go to the Red Plane.

  I walk across its desolated terrain, the ashen gray sand, and look upon mountains huge and writhing. The sky is bleeding red and plagued with infectious black clouds. I can see a city; it’s far down the landscape, but it’s there. It’s a sinister version of the city of Providence.

  Laura is sitting at the edge of a cliff; she’s waiting for me. She’s always waiting for me. Here I remember everything.

  The pain from that other life hits me like a strong wind, not the breeze of the life I am living now, and, every time I come here, I wonder why I’d put myself through such unwanted pain. This wind is strong and relentless. The pungent smell of death rides this breeze, and lingers in my nose for too long.

  But she’s here. My love. My firecracker. My red haired beauty is alone in a red haze world. I sit beside her.

  Every time I do, I am quiet. What can I say? So many things tumbling in my mind, like a car flipping over and over, the sound of twisted metal and shrieking. Forever tumbling. I can’t seem to get my thoughts together. My right side itches.

  “I miss you,” I finally say. I think I say this every time.

  “I know,” she answers back, always surprising me. Her voice always sounds like her own. I fear there will be a day her voice won’t belong to her, but to something else that lives in these forsaken lands. “I miss you, too. I am so alone here.”

  She looks just as I remember her. She’s in her leather jacket and blue jeans. I can smell her perfume; the sweet smell is powerful, over the smell of death of this place.

  “This is the way I am meant to be,” she says and smiles. Her eyes smile. But there’s sadness there. Her hand accidentally goes to her belly. She looks down. I take her hand.

  “Our daughter is doing really good,” I say, and smile. I, too, am full of sadness.

  This makes her happy. “I know. You tell me every time.”

  “I’m sorry. I forget when I leave this place.”

  “It’s ok. I like hearing it every time. I need to hear it.”

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “Where else am I supposed to be?” She asks like I should’ve known the answer all this time.

  “Did I do this?”

  Laura says nothing.

  I think of my parent’s death. The way they died in this life was exactly the same as in the other one. Why can’t I have my mother here with us? Why do I have to be stuck with knowledge of the same death in two different worlds? Is it always meant to be this way? Is Laura always meant to be in the Red Plane? In my current life, my memories are only ashes in the wind, except Laura. Laura is my only link to a place I am supposed to forget, to only experience in dreams.

  I stay a little longer; life is beautiful. There is beauty in such a sorrowful place, even in the charred and glistening buildings stretched out ahead of us. A storm is coming; I don’t want Laura to experience it alone. I draw in close and wrap my arm around her. We watch as chaos unfolds; the only thing we are missing is soda and popcorn.

  “ I closed the door.” I say, “I closed it to end the suffering.”

  “Yes,” Laura says, “But there are other doors that will open.”

  There’s a sun; there never was a sun in this world. It blinks. Something massive and writhing unfurls itself in the sky and descends upon the city below.

  About the Author

  J.C. Walsh is a Rhode Island native now living in Philadelphia. As the saying goes, you can take the man out of Rhode Island, but he’s going to take his monsters with him. A fan of Lovecraftian and cosmic horror, he plans to unleash his madness in the city of brotherly love, and gleefully watch as it spreads beyond.

  Having a love for horror movies, J.C. wrote articles about the genre for Scars Magazine, and then ventured on to self-published Blood Born Magazine that he and a friend created together. Now the things from beyond want to him focus on his writing, they want him to tell their story. If his supporting wife has survived the horrors for several years, maybe you will too after reading them. Maybe.

  www.facebook.com/jcwalshauthor

  www.twitter.com/jcwhorrorwriter

  www.instagram.com/jcwalsh81

 

 

 
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