The artificial breeze kept me awake along the empty stretch of road. It was cold, and my jacket was packed away in the back seat, but without the chill, the recurrent rush of fields would have lulled me to sleep. I didn’t know exactly where I was anymore. Long ago, the signal to my GPS had cut out, leaving me only with a vague idea of a plot on the massive graph of rural Iowa. Retracing the steps of my pioneer ancestors, I followed the unmoving stars – and the straight line I didn’t dare to stray from – East. I stared ahead; the constant passing of wheat meshed into a single fluid motion. The mountains which had been painted a majestic collage of violet, rose, and marigold a few hours prior had been removed from existence, shrouded by the impenetrable wall of night. My eyes shifted to the fiery clock suspended just above the title of a song which was coming to a close. 12:24 a.m.
In the distance, a pair of dim headlights peeked from behind the veil of darkness. I could see them for at least a mile out, yellow eyes stalking me, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. They grew quickly. I checked my speed and slowed down a bit; I tended to let my foot ease onto the gas when I was drowsy, forgetting my own control. It raced by in a maelstrom of roaring honks and flashing lights.
Odd, I thought. The people out here sure are strange.
I turned back to the minimal view just beyond my headlights. The fading dotted white lines, which seemed to pass by faster and faster, the shimmering gold of wheat reflected in my headlights and swaying in the November breeze. Further, I caressed the silhouette of a mountain with my eyes. A second later, it registered. There was light beyond! The quickening lines, beginning to round out along a curve, mirrored my pulse.
Yesterday, I passed through a town whose name eludes me. I had stopped in a run down diner and had half of what was possibly the most mediocre burger of my life. The diner was grungy and had a greasy miasma and, at the time, I couldn’t wait to finish. The people were drab, but busy. That was a Tuesday. I hadn’t filled up on gas, but it wasn’t much of an issue. I was still running on… three eighths of a tank. But it was the right call, I would’ve stopped in this upcoming town no matter what. A full day of isolation made me a tad desperate for human contact.
My mind focused again on the road, then promptly began to wander beyond. The wheat fields had given way to an abyss. The shoulder of dying grass – the only thing left illuminated by my headlights – began to falter as an army of yellow soldiers broke through its defensive line. Just behind, a battalion of purple cavalry galloped gloriously from the darkness. They merged on the road’s curve, and I saw the full force of an endless army, harmoniously bouncing in the chilled air. And then, it all fell off together. It was just me and the beacon of light, which had rotated to be dead ahead. We were outside of time and space, floating. A weathered green sign, similar in color to oxidized copper, quickly faded in from the right. It read: Welcome to Harthaw!
The light emitted by the town was dim, allowing for a perfectly clear sky above. I was confused by its ostensible ability to cast a shadow over the back of the mountain, or perhaps just tired. Harthaw was small. The highway was the only paved road in the whole of it, with a few gravel offshoots teeming to silent, old houses. I heard the strum of an acoustic guitar through my car’s speakers; a melancholy series of chords that sent me back in time. Fading images of a lively, pristine diner and traditional children playing in dusty fields danced through my mind – images from Harthaw’s history. There was no one in front or behind me, so I slowed to a halt in the middle of the road, an odd sensation in my gut compelling me. Although it was certainly a part of the highway, it seemed… disjointed. Like it was built leading up to the town, skipped over, and continued in ignorance. Harthaw’s original road, now cracked and lined with potholes, remained just barely intact.
I flipped my headlights off, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding me. After a moment, I could make out the buildings lining the main road. It was the only habitat for industry; a bank, town hall, general store, toy store, and a schoolhouse that looked to be from the 50’s sat in front of me. The buildings all appeared to be made from solid brick, stereotypical and red, save the worn diner perched on a distant corner, its chipped turquoise paint beckoning me. On benches underneath a combination of tearing cloth and wooden awnings sat the silhouettes of statues, the kind you pose with for a picture. Though their features were shadowed, I knew them to be over-exaggerated and horrid. In my mirror, I could make out the cross perched atop a steeple. The church was derelict, its feeble wood exterior crumbling at the jaws of termites and fungus. On the other side of the street sat a gas station. I backed into its empty lot and pulled beside the rusted pumps. Knowing I had no other avenue – much like Harthaw – I softly groaned at the extra effort my engine would have to put in to compensate for the less than premium gas. Oddly, the overhead lights strung beneath the gas station’s wooden shade glowed brighter than the rest of the town.
The light inside of the little shop was off, and a figure rose from a rocking chair among the shadows. Slowly, strenuously, he hobbled to my car, and subsequently into the light. His wrinkled skin sagged at the weight of an unkempt white beard, tugging at his withered eyes. He held up a shaky hand and motioned for me to roll my window down. I obliged and silenced the music, which had transitioned into an upbeat samba, horns roaring wildly.
“It’s awfully late, son,” he said, going through the motions of filling my tank. “Why dontcha stay at th’ motel up th’ road?”
“I’ll be fine, sir, thanks.”
“How long ya been on th’ road?” Rancid breath leaked from behind his stained teeth.
“About four days now.”
Crickets chirped uproariously from the overgrown fields.
“Ya know, you folk think yer more capable than ya really are.”
“And what type of ‘folk’ is that?”
I listened to the subtle filling of my tank while the conversation lulled once more. He smiled at me.
“You get many customers out here?”
“No, not many.”
The soft golden bulbs emitted a low hum. His bony hands came to rest on my windowsill. Slowly, the pour came to a drip, then stopped. He turned away and fixed the pump back in its slot.
“Like I said, son,” he started, “motel up th’ road should do ya nicely.”
“I really think I’m alright, thank you.”
He stared at me blindly.
“What do I owe you?”
“Oh, dontcha worry. This one’s on th’ house.”
I watched as he turned away, dragging his skeletal frame back to the rocking chair. He turned to face me. He didn’t make any attempt to sit. Unsettled, I started to drive off. One last glance in my mirror showed the hanging lights had diminished greatly since I pulled in.
There was a brighter light up the road, across from the diner at the end of town. I went slowly, studying the statues as I passed. They were ominously realistic, no hyperbole. As much as I hated the typical exaggerations, I yearned for them.
I made an effort not to turn the music back up. I cruised in silence save for the running of my engine. I had foreseen the struggle it would have to endure, but it was more than I had accounted for. The sputtering started. I turned into the parking lot of the building which glowed the same effervescent hue as the station’s bulbs had initially burned. I looked up. Motel. The M was just barely clinging onto its body, tilted at a sharp 50 degree angle.
Leaving my car as a problem for the morning, I pushed through the lobby’s door. Both windows’ blinds were drawn and a woman behind the reception desk sat facing the wall. At once, she turned to greet me.
“Hi son, how are ya?” she asked in a familiar unhurried cadence. Her gray hair was undone and her cracked makeup seemed long overdue for a change.
“I’m fine,” I sighed. “How much for a room?”
“Car stopped workin’?”
“Sorry?”
“Yer car. It havin’ some issues?”
“Uh, yeah. How’d you know?”
The clock on the wall’s hand sat unmoving. Its lack of a tick resonated in the room. She sat with a crooked smile, as if she hadn’t heard me.
“Listen, I just need a room. How much is it?”
“Oh, dontcha worry. This one’s on th’ house.”
I studied her face. It sat, unchanging; not even a blink. Her eyes were glazed over and hung at my chest.
“Four days of travel’s a lot, ain’t it?”
I moved to the right a couple paces. Her head didn’t follow me.
“Lady, you alright?” I asked, snapping my fingers. “Ma’am?”
“This one’s on th’ house. Any room ya like.”
“How the hell did you know my car had problems? How the hell did you know I’ve been out here for four days? Why won’t you look at me?” I was shouting. Claps had replaced the snaps. I was frantic. I slowed down and took a deep breath.
I backed out of the door, flaking with paint, my eyes never moving from hers, though I could tell they were hollow. I made a quick dash to my car, unlocking it from a distance. As I pulled myself in, I prayed – despite my lack of faith – that I could get a few miles out, maybe even to the next town over.
The battle was loud and grand, but the engine simply would not turn over. I was stranded in Harthaw with no signal and a dying battery. Still feeling tired, but completely averse to the motel, I fretfully decided to pass the night in my car. I pushed back in my seat, ensuring my doors were locked and windows sealed, and came to rest upon the pile of luggage lounging about in the back. I was uncomfortable and wary. I tried to sleep, but my gut, in the same style that had halted me earlier, urged me otherwise.
I made a quick sweep with my eyes, searching for any people I would need to avoid. Carefully, I pushed my door open, and followed with a single foot. I took in a deep breath of the chilled breeze.
Turning back to reality, I glanced around. The diner seemed to be populated. It was the only building with any lights on now; the light above the motel had faded and wasn’t replaced. I approached the chrome and teal building, watching my reflection take mirrored steps towards myself. The blinds were drawn, but I could see light from inside and shadows moving about, voices echoing from behind twin doors. I pushed them open gently, peering inside to find a dank mess. The booths were torn and had growths of fungi sprouting from their seams. Tables were overturned and spoilt food was spread across the whole dining space, yet no rodents or insects had made their home among the filth. I felt queasy, and caught myself on what was once a host stand. I looked at nothing but the floor, trying desperately to focus on the checkered pattern of tile.
Murmurs floated through the air. They circled me, taunted me, and whenever I would recoil or look up to find them, they dissipated altogether. Lights danced above my head, flickering on and off when I would look up. I felt as if I were spinning and stumbled backwards through the chromium doors, landing on my back.
I gazed up into the cosmos, who didn’t offer any solace; their endless spirals of lilacs and bluebells gave an uncertain wave. I desperately grasped at the seams of the world, trying to ground my sanity. Was I going mad? The conversations in the motel or the gas station couldn’t have really happened. The lights, seeming to guide me; surely it was a hallucination. Or a dream! Yes, it had to be a dream. I had fallen asleep at the wheel, which meant I was careening towards my death, uncontrolled. I wrestled myself to my knees, then my feet. I pinched and slapped myself. I jumped in an attempt to get my blood flowing. I screamed. The darkness cast a vacuum back. I was still standing in the middle of the road, shops silently watching me alongside those horrid statues. Except… where had they gone? Their benches sat barren, untouched for decades. Decades? No, that couldn’t be right. I steadied myself again. I was tired, or dreaming, or something.
I pressed on, starting down one of the few gravel offshoots leading to a row of decrepit houses. They laughed at me, teasing the American Dream. White paint peeled off of picket fences. Tattered flags toting the stars and stripes hung from every peak of the line of identical roofs. The once green lawns sat in brown misfortune, but their flowers sprouted brighter than ever before. The light had returned, emanating from the flora. There was a greater light beyond the row. I crept through a side yard, catching a glimpse into the house’s backyard. Its pool was low and green, moss flourishing around the chipped blue tile.
Lying restlessly on the sprouting cracks of concrete, his hollow sockets bore into my own. He was nothing more than bones now, donning a tattered striped t-shirt and shorts. His size told me all I needed to know. He couldn’t have been any older than 12, and yet he laid here in this yard, undisturbed. Instinctively, I recoiled, stumbling backwards into an open field. The light now shrouded the sky, severing our connection. I crept to my knees and stared at the large blossom erupting from the middle, flaunting its buds ostentatiously. It pulsed with life and determination. Its luminous blue hue engulfed me, and the light decomposed itself into thousands of pollen grains, replacing the stars. I had one second of calm to connect with myself and the dirt one last time as they hung in the air, a mobile of ethereal beauty. They swarmed me at once, a ravenous horde of insects, weaseling and burrowing into any orifice they could manage. A trickle of blood crept down my philtrum; my head went dull. Scent went first in an explosive cascade of red. Then went taste, leaving only a thick coat in my mouth. My eyes gave out next; the light, more intense than ever, my last sight. The crickets stopped, the whole world, silent. All that was left of my humanity was the crunch of dead grass against my skin. I stood up, against my volition.
I feel my legs roam, yet I do not know where they travel. I feel my mouth move, my vocal chords rumble, yet I know of no sound that emits. Sometimes, I sit for what feels like years on end. And all that remains is a warm breeze across my skin.