A Turn for the Worse

Two-lane blacktops are usually open domain for public transportation, which applies to 99-percent of all U.S. roads, whether be highways or byways, routes or interstates, overpasses or underpasses. Freedom road is free for all. The one-percenters, however, are territories owned by their keepers Those who trespass do so upon their own volition.

Such goes the story of three siblings at a diner off Highway 18...

...They are seated at a booth fifteen feet away from the bar and twenty feet from the restrooms. They're typical twenty-something no-good-doers: traveler's whose stay shares the same brevity as flies that splatter on a windshield of a vehicle clocking 65.

The blonde-haired one stabs at her plate, grimacing. “You call this shit eggplant Parmesan? Need a fucking laser to cut through this frostbitten slab!”

Her brother banters. “PMS-ing much, Sis? Why so over-dramatic? Expect to win an asshole of the year award?”

She flips him off, “You beat me to the punch, Dickface!”

The other brother, fiddling at his smartphone, raises his voice, “Will you two shut the hell up!!!”

A man at the bar, in his sixties, fishing cap on head, turns from his mug of steaming joe. "Watch your language."

The girl shouts, “Mind your own business, Gramps! What are you, TM-fucking-Z?”

The old man scrunches his nose, turns back to his coffee.

“Lacy and Jake… You too really gotta cool it… It’s like you both are on a cross-country crusade for being America’s biggest jerks.”

Jake takes out a pack of smokes and lights one. “Just having a little fun, Randy…”

Randy recognizes the ‘no smoking’ sign perched above the jukebox, and feels the waitress’s eyes glare at him from behind the bar.

"Kicking it up a notch..." Jake flicks ashes in his open-faced potato. "Look what they did to my potatoes! I should get a refund.”

Randy urges. “Jake. Don’t.”

“Hey, Hot Cakes!”

Lacy bites her lower lip in a grin as her twin brother, Jake, eyes the sheepish waitress. Jake notices her nametag. “Gloria. Talking to you, Ten-Dollar-Special!” Jake looks her squarely in the eyes. “Get…” He signals with both fingers propping the cigarette, “over here. Now.” and raises both eyebrows, “Or, do I have to call management?”

Randy begs. "Jake. Please. Just ask for the bill.”

Gloria approaches them. “May I help you?”

Jake eyes her up and down. “You tell me, Sexy.”

Smiling, she says, “Excuse me?”

Jake articulates, “I’m at a predicament. Me, my bro and sis... we wanted to get a feel for countryside of this great nation we live in. Figured we could stop by one of those maw 'n paw dives you see on the tube. Get what I’m saying?”

Gloria replies, “I suppose…”

Jake takes a drag. Blows smoke in her face. She coughs. “Good. We’re on the same level, then. Me and you. Modern Bonnie and Clyde.” He lets out a laugh. “You know, Gloria. I took you for a sharp-minded chick.” He flicks ash onto his plate, positions himself. “So, I wanted to get a real taste for the country living. Ordered a potato. A…” He lifts the menu to read aloud: “‘Gram-Mama’s Specialty Open-Faced Potato’! Family recipe?”

Gloria smiles more out of fear than anything.

Randy wants to deck Jake a hard one across the jaw, but doesn’t have a death wish.

Lacy is eating it up.

Jake continues. “So, Gloria… I can see by this here establishment that your ‘Gram-Mama’ knows all about the ins-and-outs of cooking. So we come here, confident that we will be receiving a quality dinner from one of the finest restaurants in this great state. Am I right?”

“I guess, so?” Tears ring her eyes.

Jake observes. “That doesn’t sound too confident…” He stabs the teeth of the fork in his potatoes. “You better work on that, because any competitor this side of Missouri will eat your heart out and leave your entrails for the raccoons to devour. Get my drift?” He made sure to speak loud enough for others to hear. “You have nothing to worry about. Do you?” He pokes at the potatoes. “What's this?” He lifts up a clump. “Ashes? But this is a 'non-smoking' establishment… Saw the sign.” He takes a drag of the cigarette. “Funny I wasn't confronted. Why should I be? Ashes all over my food… Now, I know Gram-Mama’s secret ingredient… Heh… There’s probably have some fatty, chain-smoking in the kitchen, coughing up bile all over the joint.”

Randy sees Gloria looking about for help of some sort, but the rest of the crowd feigns distraction.

Jake continues, “Maybe I should report you guys to the Better Business Bureau.”

“You wouldn’t!” Gloria hesitates.

Jake smothers his cigarette into the potato. “Will you look at that? Some assface smooshed a cigarette butt in my dinner…”

Gloria lets out a breath of desperation, “What do you want?”

“Your number.” Jake utters without a beat.

“Wh-what?” Gloria flushes.

“Take that pen from your apron. Jot down your phone number on that napkin. And skadoodle your tail back to the kitchen, where you belong. Or else...”

Frantic, Gloria does as instructed, and runs off in tears.

Randy is horrified to see the sadistic gleam in Jake’s and Lucy’s eyes as they laugh. “Let’s go. We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Jake salutes, “As you say ‘O’ Captain, My Captain!’”

“You can be such assholes…” Randy decided to pay with the little money he had left to his savings.

At the register, a balding man in flannel shirt takes the cash and states, "I don't know what's up with travelers. You all charge here like you own this place. Harrass locals... I don't want your kind here anymore."

Jake confronts him, "That right?" There were no further words the sweating man could muster. Jake walks off, flipping him off, "Screw yourself in the ear."


Jake twirls keys to the convertible parked out front. He balls up the napkin with Gloria’s phone number. Tosses it aside on the gravel lot. “You disappoint me, Randy.”

“What was with that scene back there? You ripped that poor girl’s heart out!”

Lacy busts up laughing. “Lighten up, Randy! Prison really made you a tightwad. They shoulda kept your ass there for another four years for jailbaiting that seventeen-year-old, Pervert.”

“Gimme a break, Lacy. I was twenty at the time.” Randy switches on the navigation app as Jake cranks the engine and pulls out of the lot.

Randy speculates, “There’ll be a road two-hundred yards up that’ll end into Route 25. We’ll save at least forty minutes.”

Jake calls back, “What’s the name of the road we’re looking for?”

Randy looks quizzically, “That’s odd... Doesn’t have a name… But it snakes off to the right.” He points. “Up there!”

Jake peels off the highway to take the backroad.

Randy looks about the trees zipping by. There is something ominous about it. He can’t put his finger on it, but it feels like something doesn’t want them there. He dismisses the thought.

Jake says, “So I figure we should be in the next town about an hour after sunset. We get a place for the night, then leave early at 6 am. That’ll give us enough time to make it to Mom’s before noontime.”

Lacy adds, “That’s if she’s home… God knows where she crawls around these days…”

Randy is tempted to inquire, “Crawls around?”

Lacy feigns a gasp. “Oh! You didn’t know…”

“Know what?” Randy eyes them both.

Jake instructs Lacy. “Tell him. He has a right to know.”

“I’d hate to break it to you, Jake, but Mom went over the deep end when you went to the Big House.”

“You mean… back on crystal?” Randy felt his heart muscle tighten.

“Big time.” Lucy said. “We haven’t seen her for weeks… Until we got a call to pick you up from the slammer… She’s normally roaming the streets like a hellhound… You can actually hear her howls for meth in the night… Ow… Wooo!!!!” Lacy and Jake laugh.

“You two are sick. Pull over. I’m walking.”

Jake refutes, “No way, Buddy. I’m driving the Paddy Wagon… Mom’s safe, sound, and eight-years sober at home. I promised her I’d get you; I’m dragging your ass to see her. Dead or alive. Well… Alive, obviously… Don’t think she prefers you dead…”

Lacy adds, “...until you bone another girl scout!” They both laugh raucously.

Jake was about to punch his older sister in the arm, when something catches his sight.

A beat up Camaro is stalled beside the road. The flash of a skull, screaming in frozen terror, is pressed on the driver’s side window. Thin, skeletal fingers cling to the glass like a ghoulish suction doll.

“You saw that?!” Randy panics. “That car back there!”

Jake scans the rearview mirror. Nothing. “Negatory, Roger. Over-and-out!”

Lacy rolls her eyes, “Lame way to try and get us back for that scene at the diner, Randy. Pretty rusty in the old scare department.”

“But, I saw--” Randy’s sight locks on another scene that lurches past the convertible at a yielding pace, it’s as if time slowed down, frame by pressing frame.

Two vehicles.

A jeep with the driver slunked down. A cloaked maniac drives a knife deep into the driver’s neck. A spray of gore paints the black felt robe red.

The hooded individual swings toward Randy and notices him. It’s the face of a skull with an evil grin--a mask with fiery eyes.

In a fury, the killer pushes back the lifeless driver and storms toward the blood red Trans Am parked behind the jeep.

Randy braces Jake’s arms. “Gun it!”

In stark surprise, Jake swerves the wheel right and left.

They nearly lose control before Jake evens out. He pelts Randy twice in the mouth.

“Dude! Not cool! You almost had us fucking killed!”

Randy tastes copper.

Lacy looks back. A Trans AM hones in on them. “Listen to Randy!"

Randy looks in the rearview mirror. Nothing but empty road


BOOM!!!


the three jolt forward from a heavy impact on the backside of the convertible, as something rams into the bumper. Tires screech. Jake mashes his foot on the accelerator.

The Trans Am revs up. Rams into the car.

Jake feels every bone in his body quake. “What the fuck is this!?” He kicks it to 85 mph.

Randy studies the navigation. “In a quarter of a mile, we’ll meet with Route 25! Take a sharp right!”

The car jostles forward from a hard force.

Randy calls. “Just 20 feet! 15 feet!”

“Where!?” shouts Jake.

Randy looks ahead to see the same straight, tree aligned road, then looks back at the app to see Route 25 disappearing; the road they follow morphs into a straight line.

Jake yells, “Where’s Route 25!?”

Lacy points rightward. “Look!”

All three gasp to see the car Randy saw miles behind… Same Camaro. Skeleton frozen behind window in plea.

It’s as if they’re in a loop.

Shortly after lies the same jeep, the lifeless driver slunked down into the seat.

The convertible's front tires blow.

Jake loses control. The car flies off the road at 90.

They scream as the engine rams into a tree, engulfing Jake and Lucy in flames by impact. They kick and plea for help. Their cries die under a ravenous fire.

Randy tries to squirm, but can’t. A piercing pain throbs out of his right leg, out of which a snapped and bloodied legbone protrudes.

His heartbeat elevates.

A strong scent of burning hair and flesh smothers his lungs.

Through the waves of heat and smoke, Randy sees the killer rise out of the unblemished Trans Am, inching toward him, wielding a knife.

Drive with caution. Such is the saying for the one-percenter two-lane blacktops, travelers be wary for such roads. Oftentimes avoid them. One never knows what trouble creeps or how territorial the roads may be. Some fewer roads still, as in the case of the siblings, may claim unwanted trespassers as one of its own.