Dead Zone
© Tony L. Bradford

I lay awake, alone in darkness. I always slept with the light on, but now, my room was pitch black. There must have been a power outage while I was sleeping--or at least I hoped there had been. I hoped I wasn't in Hell. Once, a mysterious stranger told me that Hell is a place of nothingness--of eternal darkness and solitude. I felt Hell closing in on me as I lay there motionless for hours, praying for the sunrise. At last, I could see the blackness of the sky slowly fading to a deep blue through a slit in my bedroom curtains. I sighed with relief and eventually fell back to sleep.

I left around ten in the morning, nearly an hour later than I'd planned. I hadn't thought to reset my alarm clock in my half-sleep state, so I was running a little late and would have to rush to get ready for Rob's funeral. Just the day before, I'd found out he was dead when I was turning through the local newspaper. The headline read, "Well-established Screenwriter Dies at Age 33.” The news of his death was a surprise to me. I hadn't seen him much since our high school years, but just the fact that I had known him--that we were friends around the same age--made me feel closer to death.

I walked out the door, got into my old Buick Regal and turned the key. The ignition turned over just once, then died out, and all I could hear was a rhythmic tick. The battery was dead. I got out and climbed into my Ford pickup truck and started it up. The truck had bad breaks, so I definitely couldn't drive it several states away to attend the funeral services. I used a set of jumper cables in the trunk of the Regal and used the truck to give it some juice. It cranked on the first try. I threw the cables back into the trunk and pulled off, heading for the highway.

Right before the entrance ramp to the highway was an old gas station I never went to. The gas there was absurdly cheap, so it was probably poor quality. I was running late though, and I wanted to make it into town the night before the funeral, so I decided to stop there and fill up the tank. I left the car running while I used my debit card at the pump to pay for the gas, then I pulled back out onto the road and drove onto the highway, heading east.

I drove through the morning hours and into the afternoon. At about four o‘clock, I stopped at a Taco Bell to pick up a bite to eat, then got back on the road. I continued to drive for several more hours, and before I knew it, night was beginning to fall. I had crossed over the state line some time ago, and the highway route had turned into a deserted country road in a backwoods county I can‘t recall the name of. The radio station I was listening to had lost its signal, so I tried to find another one. Apparently, no radio stations reached the area because wherever I tuned the digital dial, all I got was white noise. I was surrounded by miles of deep woods. It began to grow even darker on that road in those woods, and a dense fog was starting to settle. The fog quickly became thicker and thicker, and soon, I couldn't see very far ahead.

After a few more hours, the wretched fog was nearly impenetrable, and I had to drive extremely slow. As I cautiously made my way along the winding road, my car suddenly began to sputter, like it was choking. There was a violent jolt, then the engine cut off. I pressed down hard on the pedal, trying to feed fuel into the engine, but the car continued to decelerate. It slowed to a stop. I struggled with the damned thing, trying to restart the engine, but it was useless. The battery was dead, so I would need someone to give me a jump. The cheap gas I had bought must have made the engine cut off. I knew it wouldn't start after that. I hadn't seen a service station or a rest area for miles. I hadn't even seen a single car for hours. I grabbed my cell phone from the passenger seat to dial information and see if they could connect me to a tow truck service or police station in the area, but when I looked at the screen, it read "no service."

"Great," I said quietly to myself.

I decided to wait awhile to see if I could flag down a passing car. I had to get out of my own car so I'd be able to see if a pair of headlights was coming through the intense fog. Standing next to my car in that thick fog, surrounded by dense black forest, I felt uneasy, to say the least. My car was about all I could see from where I was standing, and beyond that was intruding darkness that seemed to cave in on me. I felt suffocated by it. I stood out there for nearly half an hour and not a single car drove by. I had no choice. I would have to walk until I could find some help.

‘Hopefully, there‘s a town up ahead,' I thought.

I locked my car door and headed out reluctantly into the moist, dense fog, walking along the deserted highway road. There was a bitter chill in the damp air, and I could feel the black trees looming on either side of the winding road, all around me, though I couldn't quite see them. They say that only children should be afraid of the dark, but I could not suppress the uneasiness and the inkling of fear that was rising within. People only pretend not to be afraid of the dark, as far as I'm concerned. Every human alive--man, woman, and child alike--is afraid of darkness. Children are just more honest than adults.

I longed to see the friendly headlights of an approaching car, or a service station or town--a sign of human life somewhere. There was nothing. Several minutes of walking slowly became an hour on that dreary road. I couldn't help but feel that I was walking further and further into an endless abyss--into oblivion. I thought of walking endlessly in Hell.

Having walked too far to turn back at this point, I trudged onward, trying to suppress an ominous feeling. There was a dank, musty scent in the air--the sort of smell that comes after it rains and the trees are wet. It must have been from the thick moisture of the fog. The strange sounds coming from the forest around me were as ominous as the darkness. Aside from the threatening, low pitched hoot of an owl here and there, the other animal noises were disturbingly foreign to me. They were unwelcoming sounds that seemed to say "turn back." Another half an hour passed by--then an hour. I looked again at my cell phone to check for a signal. I was still in a dead zone. With the endless fog and expanse of road and dark trees, I felt as though I was fated to walk for all eternity.

I was rather surprised when the enshrouding fog gradually became lighter and I could see further ahead. This somewhat lifted the heavy burden of dread I felt had been weighing down on me, and I quickened my pace slightly. After several minutes more of plowing on, I noticed a road leading off the highway on the right. Thinking it must lead to something nearby, I decided to turn down it. The fog was still lighter here, and I could see lights from a town up ahead. Once I came closer, I realized that the lights came from a diner and a couple of shops facing the road on both sides. The sight energized me, and I started jogging toward the town, certain that I'd find someone who could assist me.

Thankfully, as I came nearer, I saw a figure standing by the road in front of the diner. I let out a sigh of relief, happy to finally reach civilization after hours of walking in darkness. I approached the man to ask him for directions to the nearest police station, but as I came closer to him, I had to stop dead in my tracks. He was standing still and was somewhat hunched over, facing the ground. It was as if he was asleep--but he was standing. His body wavered slowly, like it was managing to hold itself up while the mind was unconscious. Forgetting about my own predicament for a brief moment, I wondered if this man was in need of help.

"Uh . . . excuse me . . . sir?" I said to him questioningly. At the sound of my voice, the man's body stiffened, jerking itself upward into an erect position with violent force. The lights from the diner shone down on him, revealing his face as he looked up. The eyes, which had been closed, popped open wide. My heart felt like it dropped from my chest as I started back at the awful sight. The irises of his eyes were black as death, and so were what should have been the whites around them. It looked like two empty sockets in his face. I staggered backwards, taken aback with fear as the eyes bore directly at me. From his mouth came the most horrible hissing sound I believe I've ever heard, like a serpent was in his throat. It made my skin crawl. I was stiff with fear. Before I could react, the man charged for me. He pounced, hissing from somewhere in his throat and spewing saliva into my face. I was forced to the ground. I struggled with the deranged man as he clawed at my face.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I yelled as I fought with him.

He wrapped his hands around my neck, pressing his fingers hard into my throat.

"Jonathan!"

I was horrified at the sound of my own name spoken from his lips. It was a voice not of this world--a voice that seemed suitable only for a nightmare.

"I know your fears, Jonathan!" he said, digging deeper into my throat.

I was overcome with fear as the life was being strangled from me. I managed to get my hands around the man's wrists, and with the strength of my rushing adrenaline, I released his hold on my throat and rolled him off of me. Quickly pulling myself to my feet, I ran as hard as I could into the town, screaming for someone to help me. The hissing man got up to his feet and ran after me. I reached the end of the road and rounded the corner. A woman stood on the sidewalk near a lamp post. I looked into the woman's face and was again horrified. She had the same black eyes as the man. She reached her arm out to me and spoke.

"Jonathan! I can ease your fears. I can make them go away."

It was the same demonic voice--the same voice that seemed to speak with several voices at once. That inhuman voice--it sounded as if it echoed inside of my head.

I ran past the woman, shoving her out of the way. She fell to the ground, hissing even worse than the man had. I looked back as I ran. He was still after me, and the woman got up and came after me too. I ran out into the middle of the street, and there I realized that a whole crowd of people was coming toward me from all sides. It was almost like they had appeared out of thin air. They all had the same black eyes--the same horrific voice. They were all speaking.

"Jonathan! Don't you want to live forever?"

The ghastly figures spoke the words, not at once, but of their own accord, though the voice was the same. They spoke through those terrible, nightmarish hissing sounds. I continued to run as the crowd of voices closed in on me. That one frightening voice coming from the mouth of each person became jumbled together in a mass of words. I could no longer understand what they were saying.

As they drew closer, I grabbed onto a railing near the stairs of one of the shops on the street. I yanked on the railing frantically in a frenzy of panic as the crowd was about to engulf me. At last, I tore a metal rod from the railing. Now, they were upon me. I swung the metal rod in a rage of violence and fear, smashing it against heads, faces, shoulders--whatever I could hit--and I pushed through them. I could feel their fingernails clawing at me, scratching my skin away while I fought my way through. Finally, I made an opening, freeing myself from the deranged mob. I headed straight for the dark woods behind the row of stores. They followed, still calling for me in that terrible voice, which had become enraged.

"Jonathan, you fool! You can't escape from your death! Join me in eternity!"

It sounded like a horde of raging demons.

I ran as hard as I could, gasping for breath. My heart felt like it would burst at any moment. I stumbled into the woods and fled into the midst of the black trees. The voices were behind me--calling for me still. I would run forever if I had to. I ran and ran, trying to get away from the awful sound of the voice. The forest was pitch black, and as I struggled to keep running, I tripped over a vine and slammed into the ground, badly twisting my ankle. Grunting in pain, I turned to see if the pursuers were still behind me. I could see them in the distance, black shadows amongst the black trees. They were getting closer. I tried to stand, but the pain from placing my weight on my ankle made me buckle to the ground again. Exhausted, I began to drag myself along. Dead leaves and twigs rustled as my tired body slid across the clammy forest floor. I managed to reach the hollow of a tree and crawled inside. I waited there, frightened, watching as those black shadows came closer and closer.

'Dear God!' I thought fearfully. 'I must be in Hell!'

I waited, cowering in fear, subjected to my fate. Soon, they would be upon me. I couldn't run any longer.
As they came closer, I could hear the voice again. It was calling my name.

"Jonathan! . . . Jonathan!"

I covered my head like a frightened child, closing my eyes as I listened to the voices and the hundreds of footsteps marching closer and closer.

'They will find me! I'm going to die!'

The footsteps stopped. I waited in silence, dreading what was about to happen. Waiting . . . waiting. Nothing happened.

Slowly, I raised my head, opening my eyes to look. A thin ray of light shone through the canopy of the thick trees, touching the floor of the forest.

It was dawn.

I saw the murderous crowd, the closest of them standing only about ten yards away. Their eyes were no longer like death. They were all . . . human.

There were grunts of wonder as they looked around at each other, some of them scratching their heads. Then, without speaking a word to each other, they all turned away and headed back toward the town. I waited for a long time in fear and must have passed out from exhaustion or shock soon after.

When I awoke, it was midday. I leapt up immediately in fright and warily crept out of the tree hollow. Everyone was gone. I hobbled down the path, heading in the opposite direction of the town. After just a short distance, I came to a road. I imagined it was the same road I had walked along for hours the night before. As I stepped onto the pavement, I saw an old pickup truck approaching from a distance. At last, I was saved. I waved my arms as the truck came closer. The driver slowed down, stopping in front of me. He was wearing an old, faded flannel shirt and a worn-out cap that partially covered his face.

"What seems to be the problem, stranger?" He asked in a friendly voice. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I . . . my car broke down, some miles down the road here. I was hoping to find some help up this way . . . but . . ."

"Well, hop on in," the driver said. I opened the door on the passenger side and pulled myself into the truck.

"You alright?" he asked, looking over at me with concern. The moment I saw the man's face under the brim of his cap, I was too terrified to scream.

It was the man from the night before--the man I had seen in front of the diner--the man who had wrapped his hands around my throat--who had spoken with the voice of evil itself. Now, his voice was normal, full of genuine concern. I was speechless; dumbfounded; confused; baffled. What words could possibly describe what I felt at that instant? He wore a large bandage on his forehead, and I immediately realized that I must have struck him with the metal rod as I was fighting my way through the swarming mob. I looked down to see that I still clutched the weapon tightly in my scratched and dirty hand. The man followed my gaze, looking at the object I held in my grasp--then he quickly looked away.

We drove along for several miles in silence. Eventually, I recognized my abandoned car on the side of the road up ahead.

"This you?" he asked, looking over at me. I was unable to speak. He stopped the truck and climbed out, turning back to look at me.

"Go 'head. See if you can start 'er up."

Still confused, I obeyed the man, stumbling out of the door and onto the road. I limped over to my car and mechanically got into the driver's seat as he opened the hood. Putting the key into the ignition, I turned it over. The car didn't make a sound, other than the ticking noise it had made before. I was suddenly reminded of the horrible hissing sound the man had made, and I quickly jerked my hand away.

"Yep. Sounds like the battery's dead," he said from under the hood. "I'll just go 'head and give you a jump."

I could only stare at the man, unable to look away.

" . . . It's the least I can do," he said in a strange, heartfelt tone. He grabbed a battery charger from his truck bed and hooked it up to my car battery.

"Alright. Give 'er a try," he said. I turned the key over and the car started up, almost with a sense of urgency.

"There you go," he said, smiling. I was still speechless, staring at him as he got back into his truck. He pulled up next to me, his driver's side door next to mine.

"You take care 'a yourself, mister," the man said with sincerity. I gave a slight nod as I stared at him, still in shock. There seemed to be a look of hidden sadness in his eyes. He turned away and drove off down the winding road.