Eyes on the road.

We’re six and a half hours into a nine-hour car trip. It’s about two in the morning. I’m dying for a coffee, and our last pee break was two hours back. There are four of us in the car.

As far as I know, I’m the last one left alive.

Keep your eyes on the road.

It took Michael first. It can’t have been pretty. At first, I thought he was just dicking around. He wouldn’t pass the Cheetos. I think he may have broken his own arm. There was certainly a lot of snapping. And a lot of screaming.

Eyes on the road, Steven.

Ted followed pretty quick after that. About thirty seconds after, actually. Nice guy, Ted. Plays the guitar. Played the guitar. He was quicker to go than Mike. Hopefully that means it was less painful, although honestly I can’t see how anything involving that quantity of yelling could be entirely painless.

Keep driving. Just keep driving.

Tyler lasted a good hour more. We thought it might have gone, when he wasn’t next. It was during his hour that we thought it might be... well, an it. I mean, sure, Michael and Ted might have spontaneously done... that... to themselves. But I think we both felt it. I’d call it- no, not malevolence. Curiosity. The kind of detached, unethical curiosity which you’d imagine a mad scientist to have.

Focus. Eyes on the road.

As for what actually happened to Tyler, I can only speculate. After that hour or so, he just stopped talking. I knew better than to hope he’d gone to sleep. I kept theorising. What was it? What did it want? Why was it making us do the things we did?

And why couldn’t I bring myself to look?

Just keep your eyes on the road.

And now there’s just us. Me, and it. I think we have an understanding. I take it to where it wants to go. And it kills me. As arrangements go, it’s not the best. But it’s let me in on a few things. Some really interesting statistics about deaths on roads. And why you should never put antifreeze in your radiator in case you get stranded somewhere. Or maybe that’s my delusional mind.

Drive, Steven.

So I keep on driving-

I don’t have a shape.

I don’t ha- wait, what?

Shapes are too slow.

It’s- no, hold on. That’s not what I was thinking. What’s-

I’m just a thought.

Who’s just a thought?

I’m the reason you’re still driving.

I’m the reason who’s still driving?

I’m the reason you can’t look back.

I’m the reason I can’t look back?

Or down at your hands.

Or down at- at my- Oh Jesus Christ. What did I- It’s in my head, it must be-

Eyes on the road, Steven. Eyes on the road.

---

This is a mashup of two distinct horror story nuggets I've had floating around for years. The first is 'how much horror can you fit in one car?', and the second is 'oh god my internal monologue is alive and murdering people'.

I'm not normally a huge fan of horror, but I really needed to get those two out of my head. So happy Halloween, I guess?