Route 491

The steady staccato of the windshield wipers lulled Emma into a false sense of fatigue and boredom. Sheets of rain pounded the car, decreasing visibility drastically. Since the downpour started over an hour ago, she’d slowed to thirty miles per hour. In regards to safety, she was pushing the limits, but she was in the southwest corner of Colorado, closing in on the Utah border and within 100 miles of her final destination.

It had been years since she’d last visited with the only best friend she’d ever known. In highschool, Cassie’s parents had gotten a divorce and her mother moved her out west to Utah, away from her ex-husband. Somehow, the girls’ friendship remained strong, through all the years, and through thousands of dollars in phone bills. Eight years had passed since Cassie had ventured back to New York to visit Emma. Now it was her turn, and like a fool, she’d opted to drive cross-country, thinking it would be an adventure. After nine days, she wasn’t sure what she’d call it.

Within that time, she’s experienced two flat tires, a rude truck driver shouting obscenities out the window at her, a woman in a café convinced she could convert Emma to whatever religion she was since ‘the end was nigh,’ and a plume of smoke pouring out from under the hood only the day before. Driving no longer seemed to be the best choice, and she was seriously considering abandoning her car, or trading it for a First Class airline ticket. Pampering was sounding better as each day passed.

In the darkness, she felt around on the seat next to her, searching for the bottle of Mountain Dew she’d purchased at the last rest area. Coffee was what she really needed, but she clearly remembered draining the cup before the rain started. She’d watched for the telltale neon lights of a highway convenience store and hadn’t run across one yet. Emma swore under her breath, cursing the rain and the lack of coffee. On the seat, she felt the unfolded map, her pack of Marlboros, and her purse hanging open, but no bottle. Settling for a cigarette, Emma’s eyes diverted for just a second to light it, and when she looked up to focus on driving again, she caught a glimpse of something at the edge of the road, swerved sharply left and stomped on the brakes, gliding on the puddle-soaked road.

Her breath caught in her throat and she eased her white-knuckle grip when the car finally stopped, it’s headlights facing back the way she’d come from. Emma thought she heard a thump about the time she passed whatever it was. A person? She prayed she hadn’t injured anyone. No one could possibly hold her responsible for manslaughter in these conditions, could they? She pulled her jacket up over her head, clutching it at the front to keep it there, so only her face could peer out. The headlight beams did little to penetrate the rain, but Emma didn’t see anyone. She hoped she imagined the form of a person out of an odd tree or even an animal, and walked along the side of the road, calling out, “Hello?”

After several minutes, she nearly gave up when she heard the slightest groan. She quickly turned in that direction. “Hello?” At the side of the road was a slight ditch. “Is someone down there?”

“Help me, please.”

Emma swore again. I just can’t seem to catch a break. I suppose now I’ll be rotting in prison for vehicular assault. She rolled her eyes at herself, wishing she could light a cigarette now to calm her nerves. Stumbling down the embankment, Emma asked, “Are you okay?”

“Help me, please.”

Mumbling about hearing the woman the first time, Emma slipped in the mud, landed on her butt and finally made it to the woman’s side. The headlights did little more than cast excess shadows into the ditch. “Are you bleeding? Can you stand? I’ll take you to a hospital. I’m so sorry this happened.”

The woman grasped Emma’s hand with icy, spindly fingers. After some struggling and nearly falling again, Emma managed to get the woman up the slope to examine her in the light. Once there, she noticed her victim was at least eight months pregnant, and nearly choked at the thought of being responsible for an infant’s murder, much less that of an adult. Amazingly, the woman was barely bleeding, and that was from a cut on her forehead. “I have some tissues in the car. I’ll clean that up, you can warm up, and I’ll take you to where you were headed.”

She complied obediently, but still didn’t speak, which worried Emma. She’s probably working out a way to sue me.

In the car, though not nearly the most sanitary method, Emma dabbed the tissue with saliva and covered the small wound, applying pressure. “What on earth are you doing out here?” she finally asked, figuring that if the woman was plotting a lawsuit, she’d let her know in her own subtle way that she had a defense to some degree.

“Driving,” she answered in a monotone voice.

Emma peered closer at the strange woman. She stared straight ahead, eyes as wide as saucers, and oddly blank. Actually, the woman’s whole face seemed void of emotion. Concussion? Curious, Emma prodded further. “Where’s your car? You were standing on the side of the road.”

“Driving,” she repeated.

“Do you have a name?” Other than Ding-Dong?

“Marcy.” Her hands clasped protectively over her belly.

“You’re due soon, by the looks of it.”

“Marcy.”

Emma’s brow arched. “Right. Marcy, where were you going?” Suddenly there was nothing more important than getting this woman out of her car, whether there’d be legal fees, charges, or whatever. Marcy radiated weirdness, and she gave Emma the heebie-jeebies. She waited for an answer, but it seemed Marcy no longer wanted to cooperate. She stared straight ahead, unaware of Emma snapping her fingers in front of her face and shouting her name. “Okay,” Emma finally relented, disgusted. “I’ll just keep going the way I was going and drop you off as soon as I find a place with a phone.” And other people.

By the time she got the car turned back around and was back up to speed, the rain had eased, which thankfully meant she could go a little faster. Emma scanned the sides of the highway for road signs reporting how many miles to the next small town. Mile after mile slipped by with Marcy remaining rigid and staring, and Emma getting more and more frantic for the next town. She started to believe she’d stumbled into some sort of alternate universe where there were no more towns to be found, when a small green sign bounced back the reflection of her lights up ahead. Monticello was twelve miles ahead, right at the junction where Emma had to turn south again.

The rain’s heavy drumbeat on the roof of the car no longer filled the awkward silence between Emma and the seemingly catatonic woman. She tried a couple more times to get Marcy’s attention, to no avail. No one was home. Emma clicked on the radio, for some sort of background noise, daring a glance at her guest every few seconds.

Marcy couldn’t be any older than Emma’s thirty-two years. Other than the small cut on her head and her wide-eyed stare, she seemed normal enough, until she started repeating herself out of context. Emma couldn’t help wonder what the father of the baby was like. Hopefully, the child would inherit some normalcy and not get all his or her traits from the mother. A small smirk at her secret thoughts decorated her lips as she stole another glance at Marcy.

Out of the clear blue, Marcy shrieked, “Pull over! Pull over!”

Emma jumped, startled. They were still four miles from Monticello. “We’ll be stopping shortly if you can hold on,” she chanced.

“Pull over! Pull over!” This time, following the request, the woman began wailing like a banshee.

She literally howled, and the sound was so agonizing, it was all Emma could do to keep her hands on the wheel to guide the car safely to the side of the road before covering her ears from the intrusive noise.

When she stopped, the woman leapt out of the car and continued wailing at the side of the road, leaning on Emma’s car. Realizing what might be happening, Emma jumped out and circled the car. “Are you in labor?”

The woman was hysterical and sobbing. “David! Oh, David!”

Just go, Emma’s selfish half begged. Leave her. She’s mental.  She pulled Marcy’s long hair away from her face and up over her shoulder. “Who’s David?”

“David!” Marcy continued sobbing, the name breaking off into lower syllables mixed with her sobs. Then, just as suddenly as the hysterics started, they ceased. She turned to Emma and demanded sharply, “Get in your car and leave this place. Don’t look back.”

Marcy’s words frightened her so, Emma stumbled backwards and did exactly as she was told. Perhaps it was the tone of her voice, perhaps the wild glint of fury in her eyes.

Four miles up the road, Emma found a Texaco landmarking the intersection of Highway 491 and 191 in Monticello. An overweight blonde woman with a nametag reading Helen stood behind the counter popping gum and reading the Inquirer. “You’re out mighty late,” she said, greeting Emma.

Emma’s hands were still trembling, her mind still reeling, over the experience she’d had. At the counter, she fumbled with the lid of a large coffee until Helen offered to assist her. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf, honey. You seen a ghost or something?”

“I’m not sure what I saw,” Emma said, cackling nervously.

Helen eyed her knowingly, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “You had a run in with ole Marcy, huh?”

“How did you know that?”

Helen shook her head. “Marcy walks the Highway on rainy nights. I might’ve known she’d spook someone tonight.”

“Well, what’s her deal? How can someone mess with people’s heads like that?”

“Hon, she doesn’t know she’s doing it.” Helen paused dramatically, wondering if the traveler could take the news. She looked like a real spitfire, so she told her the truth. “Marcy’s a ghost. She warns of impending doom out there on rainy nights.”

Emma snickered. “Oh, come on. A ghost walking the highway?” She’d never truly considered the possibility of whether or not ghosts were real and couldn’t help but scoff. Marcy wasn’t a vapor or a mist. She sat in Emma’s car, and Emma had the crushed cigarette pack to prove it.

“Ever since a similar rainstorm took her and her husband in 1994. She was pregnant – had gone into labor, as a matter of fact, and something happened out there on that road, just four miles from town. Marcy, her husband David, and their unborn little one all died that night.” Helen nodded, as if that provided proof that she spoke the truth.

Emma’s eyes lowered in thoughtfulness. She supposed it was possible for spirits to walk, for ghosts to exist. Stranger things had happened. “That’s really a sad story, but it had to be an accident caused by the rain or an animal or something, right? Maybe they hydro-planed and it just couldn’t be helped.”

Helen laughed a thick, deep chuckle. “Heavens no, Girl. Something dark walks the Highway as well. It’s cursed. And it took Marcy’s whole family. With her dying breath, she swore to protect others from being victims. She saved your life tonight.”

“How do you know that?”

“Before 2003, Highway 491 was Highway 666. The Devil’s Highway, and if Marcy came for you, you can darn sure bet Death himself wanted to claim you tonight.”