Diversion

Initially, my journey had gone to plan. It wasn’t until I was instructed by the GPS to turn off the highway onto a narrow country road that the problems started. Just as my tires crunched onto the dirt road, the clouds, threatening all day, finally released their snow. I checked the GPS and saw I had about fifty miles to go. I decided I could make it, as long as the snow didn’t get worse.

It got worse.

I found myself crawling along at about ten miles an hour. The snow was settling and the going was slippery. I had neglected to put on my winter tires and could feel the car losing traction and sliding dangerously towards the ditch. I slowed to a crawl, worried I might lose control. The wind buffeted my car, making the going even more unsteady. It didn’t take me long to notice my GPS had malfunctioned, it was showing I was still on the highway. My cell phone had no bars. I realized I had no idea where I was going. The road was too narrow to turn round. I decided to keep going, to try to find a house where I could ask for directions.

“Why the hell didn’t he just agree to meet me at the office?”

I already knew the answer; rich clients expected their architects to come to them, not the other way round. I had to drive out of the city to meet my newest potential customer at his country estate. He didn’t care if it was February or if snow was forecast; the planning meeting was scheduled for today. If I refused to attend; well, there were plenty of other eager, young architects happy to step into my shoes.

The road started to incline. I floored the accelerator to keep my momentum up. My car wasn’t four-wheel drive. I reached the top, just.

As I crested the hill, there was a four-way stop. There was a police cruiser parked up and a cop standing beside it, wearing a high visibility jacket. I lowered my window, feeling the biting cold of the wind for the first time.

“Is there a problem?”

“The road is closed. Please turn left and follow the diversion.”

His voice was strangely flat. I guessed he was bored.

“Thank you!”

There was no response.

I turned left and headed down the hill. A sign told me a place called the Witch’s Gorge was two miles away. As I drove, an idea dawned on me. I nearly slapped myself. I should have asked the cop where I was and how to get to my destination. Luckily, this road was a bit wider, so I could turn the car round, albeit with some difficulty, and head back up the hill. As I arrived at the top, I saw him still standing by the police cruiser.

“Do you know how to get to the Croxley house from here?”

“The road is closed. Please turn left and follow the diversion.”

“I know, you just told me. I just want some directions. I’m lost.’

“The road is closed. Please turn left and follow the diversion.”

“You just said that. Are you okay?”

I got out my car, thinking he was suffering from hypothermia or something. As I got closer I realized something was definitely wrong. The figure was lumpy and misshapen. Instinctively, I put my hand out. My hand encountered something that felt like straw. I used my cell phone to illuminate the face. A pair of very human eyes stared out at me from a mass of dried grass, topped by a police officer’s cap. The eyes were alive, full of pain and despair.

“The road is closed. Please turn left and follow the diversion.”

There was no mouth.

The next few moments were a blur. I vaguely remember running through the snow, jumping into my car and hitting the accelerator. The next memory was reaching the highway. I made it home in record time. I never did get to meet my rich client.

No-one believed me. I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. It took a few days for the news to emerge, but then it hit all the main outlets. Five abandoned cars, including a police cruiser, had been found near the Witch’s Gorge, stuck in deep snow. There was no sign of the occupants. The assumption was they’d left their vehicles and wandered off into the snowy wilderness. The authorities termed the search a ‘recovery operation’, meaning they were looking for bodies. I suspected they wouldn’t be found and I was right.

The road hadn’t really been closed. Something had set up the terrifying straw effigy, something that was smart enough to understand the prey it sought. Something had taken the eyes and the vocal cords from one of the victims and crafted a facsimile; something that was close enough to pass for a cop. Something that could fool us. The victims were sent down towards the gorge, and God alone what happened to them then.

I was grateful I’d escaped, but it was pure, unadulterated luck. What still keeps me from sleeping is the sure and certain knowledge that whatever killed those folks is, without a doubt, still out there.

∼ RJ Meldrum