"The Road" for Day 6 of the 7 Days of Halloween Challenge

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Illya Kuryakin was behind the wheel as the designated driver for Alexander Waverly’s sedan.  Solo sat in the front passenger seat, while the Old Man dozed off in the rear.

It had been a long trip after an even longer meeting and they were headed back to New York, hoping to make it to headquarters before dark. Not that it mattered as it was Halloween. April Dancer's annual party had been cancelled as she and her partner were on assignment in Paris.

It was dreary, overcast and the trees were beginning to fall from the trees, though there was still a bit of drab color left on their branches.

The car was being driven on Carlyle Road, a quiet and winding stretch of scenery roughly forty miles northwest of New York City.

It was in a quiet corner of northwest New Jersey, not far from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, but the road itself wasn’t near anything in particular. Houses were far and few between.

The motor pool at headquarters had supplied the map and plotted thiw route back to New York, deeming it sufficiently off the beaten path and safe from any sort of ambush.

Still the sedan was equipped with machine guns, several rocket launchers, bullet proof windows, not to mention the Command’s two best agents to escort Waverly home.

Solo fidgeted with the radio, hoping to tune in a news broadcast when it went dead, no static ...nothing, nada.

"Wasn't this car just overhauled?" He asked.

“Yes it was," Illya said. "Perhaps it is one of the weird occurrences known to happen on this particular stretch of road.”

“Weird? What exactly does that mean?” Napoleon asked.

“Oh, I did a little reading up on the location once we’d been given the route; the lands around it has gained notoriety over the years as an area rife with legends of paranormal occurrences such as sightings of ghosts, strange creatures, and gatherings of witches, Satanists, and even the Ku Lux Klan It is also rumored that professional killers dispose of bodies of their victims in the surrounding woods.”

Napoleon did a slow turn, staring incredulously at his partner.

“And you’re just telling me this now? How could such a route have been planned for Mister Waverly? It doesn’t sound exactly safe.”

“Only ten miles or so of the road are rumored be where these things take place. Of course none of it is true Napoleon, it is just superstition, urban folklore and nothing more.”

“Illya, Illya,” Napoleon clicked his tongue.”When are you going to accept that there are things that go bump in the night? Not that the KKK and professional killers are supernatural. Still, haven’t we had enough strange and inexplicable things happen to us over the years to make you believe?"”

“There was no reasonable explanation for those occurrences, I will admit. I am still a pragmatist, so until I…” For a millisecond Illya looked at his partner.

“Watch out!” Napoleon grabbed the steering wheel forcing the car to swerve while Illya instinctively hit the brakes.

There was a woman standing in the middle of the road, but it was too late, and the car went right into her.

There was no crash, no sudden thud of a body against metal.

Illya brought the car to a screeching halt, and both men turned to see...nothing. No one was there, no crumpled body lying in the road.

“Perhaps she was thrown?” Illya said.”I will look…”

“No,” Napoleon drew his weapon. “You stay behind the wheel and keep the car running. I’ll check in case it was some sort of ruse. And lock the door after me.”

He exited the car, waiting to move until he heard the lock click shut. Looking left and right, he saw nothing as he eyed the woods. Checking the front of the car, there was no damage, no sign of an accident. There was no sign of a an injured person anywhere.”

Napoleon turned and taking a little skip, he returned to the door, tapping on the window.

Once inside, his gun safely returned to its holster, “There was no one out there….Illya we did both see a woman in the road, didn’t we? She was pale, with long dark hair and wearing a blue checkered dress."

“To be honest, I saw nothing but a bit of mist. You grabbed the wheel on me so that was a bit distracting.”

Solo couldn’t help but snap at his partner. “So you’re denying it.”

“Denying what? I saw nothing.”

They heard a snort from the back seat, and suddenly remembered Waverly had been sleeping there. Oddly the Old Man, who never seemed to ever sleep, was sleeping rather soundly. So much so that the voices of the agents nor the screeching of the car to a halt, disturbed him at all.

“Lucky for us he’s a sound sleeper...when he sleeps,” this time Napoleon whispered.

Kuryakin rolled his eyes as he put the car into gear, continuing down the road again, moving slowly as a heavy fog had appeared out of nowhere.

Napoleon peered through the windshield, watching out for anything, and for a second he swore he saw a pair of glowing red eyes. As quickly as he thought he saw them, they were gone. He presumed it was just his imagination. The incident with the woman who wasn't there had him a bit jittery.

As the fog cleared, the radio suddenly came back to life, startling both men, but surprisingly Waverly remained undisturbed.

The channels kept changing as if an unseen had were turning the dial, and just as suddenly it went dead again.

“Must be a faulty wire,” Illya said. His attention was drawn to the rearview mirror. “We have company, and it is driving a little too close for comfort.”

Solo turned around, observing a black pickup truck with its headlights on tailgating the sedan.

“Speed up.” He ordered.

Illya gave it the gas and as the car accelerated, the pickup stayed right with them.

“Punch it!” Napoleon said.

“I am flooring it already! I recall there is a very dangerous part of the road coming up, called Dead Man’s Curve. Napoleon hang on, I am going to try something before we reach it.”

Kuryakin grabbed the hand brake, and at the same time he pinned the steering wheel, spinning the car around. It should have brought them facing the rear of the truck, but when Illya completed the maneuver the black pickup truck was nowhere to be seen.

“Chto, chyort voz'mi?” Illya swore in Russian. “Are we losing our minds?”

“Well at least this time we both saw it. Tovarisch, let’s get the hell out of here. The sooner we’re back in the city, the happier I’ll be.” Napoleon glanced at Waverly, checking to see that he was still breathing.

“Is he all right?” Illya asked.

Solo gave a shrug. “Apparently so, he's sleeping like a baby.”

“If that were the case, he would have woken, would he not?”

“No, they say babies experience a very deep and restful sleep,” Napoleon said.

“I find that hard to believe that an infant, much less an adult man could sleep through what just happened."

“Okay, so he slept like a...log. Okay?"

“Napoleon, a log is an inanimate object and incapable of slumber.”

“Will you give it a rest?” Napoleon moaned.

The Russian chuckled, knowing he had annoyed his partner as usual, while feigning ignorance.

“BOOM!” That sound reverberated through the car, followed by a whooshing, and finally a repeated flapping noise.

Illya struggled to control the wheel as he brought the car to a stop.

“Damn!” It was Napoleon’s turn to swear. “Of all places to have a blowout.”

Both men got out of the car and indeed verified that one of the tires had indeed blown. It was as flat as a pancake.

Illya volunteered to do the dirty work while Napoleon stood guard.

“Should we wake him?” Kuryakin pointed to their boss.

“Nah, if he slept through that, the man can sleep through anything. I guess sleeping like this is why he never needs to nod off at headquarters?”

Illya merely shrugged and went on about the business of changing the tire. He opened the trunk, removing the spare as well as the lug wrench and the jack.

The car had come to a stop on a stone bridge that crossed over a small body of water. It was a shallow brook; Napoleon felt there was no danger of any sort of watercraft sneaking up on them, much less a black pickup truck.

Solo leaned against the railing, enabling him to look left and right along the road, keeping an eye out as best he could. Still, he kept his Special at the ready, just in case.

Kuryakin hustled to change the tire, as he was feeling just as uneasy as his partner and quickly had the car up on the jack and removed the flat in record time.

Napoleon, for a split second turned to face the water and that’s when he felt it. Something struck him in the face.

“Illya!”

The Russian dashed around the car with his weapon drawn, and both men ducked down before peeking over the bridge railing.

Below in the water, a pair of hands reached upwards in a plea for help.

“Someone’s drowning...stay here, I’ll go!”Solo shouted.

He scrambled down to the water’s edge, but when he got there, he saw nothing. Could the person have gone under?  Upon closer examination, the water was too shallow. He followed the current as it flowed beneath the bridge, still there was no sign of a body but he spotted something disturbing. It was a white mask lying on one of the rocks.

That gave him the willies, and he immediately headed back to the car, relieved to see that Illya was still there, as was Waverly; both safe and sound.

“Too late?” Kuryakin asked.

“No one was there, but I did see a creepy white...well it looked like a death mask lying beneath the bridge.”

“PING!”

Owww!” Something struck Solo again on the side of the head, but this time it bounced onto to the road. It was a penny, a very old, wet penny.

“What the hell?” He looked out over the water but saw nothing.

Another coin struck Kuryakin on the forehead. “If you do not stop, I have a gun and I will use it!” He shouted.

A coin pelted the door of the car, followed by another.

Quickly the two agents finished with the tire and climbed back into the car, started it and took off. An hour later they were in the secure parking garage at headquarters in New York.

“Sir, Mr. Waverly,” Napoleon called as he opened the rear door, leaning into the back and tapping the man on the shoulder.

“Wot...oh beg pardon, I must have dozed off. Are we at headquarters?”

“Yes sir,”Illya answered.

“Excellent driving Mr.Kuryakin, a smooth ride all the way.”

The agents looked each other in the eye, each fighting back a smile.
.

The next morning Illya was walking down the corridor, heading to his office, as usual with his nose buried in a file.

The pneumatic doors opened with a quiet whoosh. “Oh you are here, good.” He spoke Napoleon who was seated at his desk, thumbing through his little black book.

“I did some research on that Carlyle Road and apparently the things that happened to us are well documented in the local folklore, more than I expected. The woman in the road, the mysterious fog, the phantom truck and the bridge...apparently is called ‘the ghost boy bridge. Supposedly a young boy drowned in the water. The lore is that he throws coins at people on the bridge, or recovers coins left between the lane lines at midnight, or on some days the spirit has been known to push people in the water.’ These incidents are among a plethora of happenings in that ten mile stretch of road."

“Now you believe me tovarisch?”Napoleon smiled. “Here you have proof, some of which you experienced yourself.”

“I still withhold judgement until there are hard facts to prove otherwise.”

“One of these days something is going to happen to scare the bejesus out of you, and you’ll believe.”

“Napoleon what is the meaning of this ‘bejesus’?”

“Really? You’ve never heard that before?”

“No.”

Solo pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers as he shook his head.

“You know what...never mind.”

,

A/N: inspired by the legends of “Clinton Road, in West Mlford NJ. Supposedly the most haunted road in America, involving ghosts, the Jersey Devil, druids, the KKK, a ghost truck, a red eyed man, cannibals...the list goes on and on. All this taking place in only a 10 mile stretch.

Comments

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

A good Ghost Tunnel ride, and Mr Waverly's sleeping was a nice touch. A fairly earned compliment, too; as he knew he was safe with the partners to guard him.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much. Glad you enjoyed the story. It's based on a creepy road here in the northwest part of the state in which I live...though I've never been to it, nor do I care to ever go there. There's enough spooky things right around where I live like ghost lights in the local cemetery, haunted houses.

There's even a ghost in the pub where I play in my Irish music sessions...a former resident when it was just a house. She reminds us she's there every once in a while. She does like the music though.

The other night she blew open the French doors right beside me and my friend....guess the ghost wanted some fresh air. :F

PS, More Halloween humor to post in about 11 minutes. "D

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Oh, this is brilliant. The fact that all that happened while Mr Waverly simply slept through it is the icing on the spooky cake :-D

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you! What makes it really creepy for me is that this was based on an actual road here in NJ, though I've never been to it. I know people to have. Very Spooky. :F