I Live In A Small Town In Texas Called Sanderson, And I Can Tell Something Weird Is Going On

“Yeah?” he asked, interrupting my thought.

“Nothing. Nothing,” I said, walking past him this time. I went to my room and closed the door.

I waited until I knew for certain Daryl went back to bed when I finally snuck out of my room and down the hall. I held my boots in my arms, tip-toeing in my socks to keep from clunking on the hardwood floor. I quietly grabbed the car keys to the shitty old Chevy truck the three of us shared.

Screw it, I thought. The boys can walk to work for a few days. Fred’ll probably be more pissed than Daryl, he loves the truck. But they’ll get over it when I bring back a bunch of beer they’ve never had before.

I must’ve peered out that window to the truck for 10 damn minutes, wondering if whatever the hell that chased me home was still out there. After seeing a whole lot of nothing, I finally got up the nerve and stepped out on the porch. I put my boots on and headed to the Chevy. I got in the truck and put it in neutral, so I wouldn’t have to turn the loud-ass engine on. After I pushed the heavy bitch down the driveway, I got to the road and started her up. I sat there, idling for a second. I looked up at the house, about a quarter mile down. Waited to see a light go on, or one of the boys to come out of the house. Nothing. I smiled, gave her a little gas, and turned on the radio.

I’d been driving about 15 minutes or so along Highway 90, halfway through CCR’s “Lodi”. Damn fine tune. I was singing along with John Fogerty out loud, thinking about all the pretty girls I’d bet I’d see in Austin, when I heard a horrible high-pitched screech and the ripping of metal and rubber. The Chevy jerked to the right, and I couldn’t keep her on the road. I veered off into the emergency lane, and into the sand and dirt, sliding to a stop in a cloud of dust and smoke.

I got out, leaving the truck running. I figured I hit an animal, half hoping it was the same son of a bitch that chased me home. It was dark, but I didn’t see anything nearby in the road or to the side. I walked around to the right side of the truck. I nearly shit a brick when I saw the rear end. Four deep gashes ripped through the metal of the fender and right into the tire, ripping it to shreds on one side. There was no blood or hair on the meal, like you’d expect to see when you hit an animal. What I could only see were claw marks.

I wasn’t about to stand there any longer, so I hauled ass back into the truck. As soon as I closed the door, I heard that god-awful screech somewhere close in the darkness of the surrounding hill country. “Fuck it,” I cursed, and hit the gas, even with the flat tire. For a split second, I considered just continuing down Highway 90, but there wasn’t another town for hours, even after getting on to Interstate 10. I gunned the truck around, spraying sand and gravel, and turned around to head back to Sanderson.

As I drove like a madman, the thudding of the flat tire and the rushing of the wind was accompanied by that motherfucking screeching. From the sound of it, I couldn’t tell if it was shifting from both sides of the road, or if there was more than one and they were all around me. My heart beat in my ears and my hands were going numb from clutching the steering wheel so tight.