Haunted Highway

Rain hammered the windshield as Ramona gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ached. With her windshield wipers broken, she struggled to keep the car on course through the heavy downpour, which barely cleared the thick veil of water blurring her view. Thunder roared overhead, rattling the windows of her little Hyundai.

Beside her, O’Shay—the gentle-mannered Rhodesian Ridgeback—pressed against her arm on the center console, his body tense, ears pinned back, eyes wide with unease. She reached over and scratched behind his ears, the familiar motion steadying her as much as it soothed him.

“We’re almost there, boy…” Ramona whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm. “Just a little farther—and we can rest."

She was miles from the nearest town, the desert highway stretching endlessly. The sky had darkened too fast—quicker than any forecast had warned. Off-ramps were jammed, taillights flickered, but Ramona had no time to stop. She had to reach her daughter—somewhere safe, dry, and warm—before the hurricane swallowed everything.

Lightning cut through the sky, casting a stark glow over the road. It illuminated the lines, briefly guiding her—the missing wipers making visibility nearly impossible. She slowed, heart pounding.

Suddenly, a sharp crack split the air. The headlights caught a dark shape just in time—something or someone standing at the roadside. Ramona slammed on the brakes, tires skidding on wet asphalt. O’Shay barked furiously.

The figure idled. A man in a black trench coat, hair plastered to his face. Ramona held her breath. Was he stranded?

“Are you alright?” Ramona called out, voice trembling.

He stepped forward slowly, each movement seemingly cautious.

“Please,” he said, voice cracking, “you have to help me. She's coming.”

Ramona’s pulse quickened. She looked at the road around her, but the thick rain cloaked everything. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was approaching, just beyond her visual.

Before Ramona could press him for more, a sudden gust slammed into the car, causing it to jolt sharply. O’Shay growled low in his throat, the ridge along his back rising even higher in warning.

The wind and the rain had calmed enough for Ramona to hear a strange noise. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood erect, as something—or someone—was coming closer.

Ramona quickly dug into her pocket for her phone. Her heart sank. No signal.

“What do you mean—‘She's coming’?” Ramona demanded.

The man raised his hand, pointing into the creeping darkness. He whispered, “We are not alone.”

Ramona hurried back into the car and locked the doors, her eyes fixed on the man who had not yet moved. His gaze was focused on something in the distance.

She scanned her surroundings, trying to make out what he was pointing at. Nothing. Headlights grew closer, then disappeared with a screech of brakes—as if the driver had collided with what I could only assume was the 'her' he was talking about.

Ramona glanced at O’Shay, whose ears twitched toward the windows. He whimpered at the sight of the man, who was now walking away from the road.

She drove off, carefully veering into the lane. The rain had slowed, and the windshield cleared, no longer obstructing her view. Ramona turned up the radio, the soft hum of music filling the silence. O’Shay settled back into the passenger seat, his shoulders relaxing.

When Ramona stopped to gas up, she sent her brother a text, recounting the event. His reply came quickly: "Why did you have to get out?" and "Why are you driving without wiper blades?"

She had no real answers—none that would make sense, anyway.

So instead, she just replied with a grin: "For funsies!"