V. H. King's Ink

When I happened upon this image whole scrolling through the interwebs one day, I immediately thought it would make for an excellent writing prompt. Nearly six months later, I have a story to share with you. I hope you enjoy!

Image Description: A yellow diamond road sign that says “Vengeful Ghost Area Next 5 Miles” in black text. Beneath is a yellow rectangle with the warning “Do not pick up hitchhikers” in black text.

The box truck is the only vehicle on the road as far as can be seen in either direction.  It’ll stay like that for the next ten.  How much can happen between two signs on a lonely stretch of highway? Depends on who you ask. 

It’s not quite sundown.  Burst scarlet bleeds across the rearview sky.  Indigo ahead. 

It could be worse. 

And it could be better. 

This little box on wheels carts supplies to modest towns just over the ridge.  Thing about those towns is that the roads getting in or out aren’t average.  Blacktop and white lines, sure, but the signs are something else.  And I’m not talking about ads. 

We pass the first one.  Yellow diamond, black caps.  I don’t say anything about it.  Yet.

“Did you pick this route?” Kite asked, pulling out his earbuds and sitting up straight.

“This is my route.  I drive it.”

“I know, but like—did Boss assign you to it?  Or did you want this one?”

With a sigh, I switch off the radio, which has been mostly static for the past mile, and slouch in my seat.  Trying to get comfortable, even with Kite riding shotgun.  I don’t mind Kite.  I just mind that he’s here—in my truck, on my route. 

“Been doing this for six years, easy.”  I shrug.  “Boss tossed me a steno pad that was more tape than paper. Told me to see what I could make of it, and if I didn’t walk away after a week, I was good.”

Kite leaned against the door, watching me and thinking it over.  I want to tell him to pay attention to the road and not me—but then again, there are all kinds of ways to learn something.  I decide to keep my mouth shut.  Boss said I had to train Kite on my route and didn’t give me a choice about it.  Something about a contingency plan, if anything happened to me. 

The jack that was supposed to train me fell off the face of the earth just before my first day of work.  Maybe he thinks something like that will happen to me.  Less of a backup plan, more like thinking ahead. 

“So you just stuck with it?” Kite asked.  “You never tried anything else?”

“Told Boss I was better than good, when it came to this.”

“That makes sense.”

I don’t ask what he means by that.  The jacks talk.  About everything and everyone.  I’d expect nothing less than them trying to give him an idea of who he’s riding with, even if they can’t say much about the actual route. 

I merge into the middle lane—something I would have done before the first sign, but am only doing as we come up on the second.  Yellow rectangle.  Black letters.  Red flashing lights, winking left and right. I decide to finally ask.

“Did you see the sign?”

I don’t like telling people much of what I know.  I like asking questions to see what they know—to understand their line of thinking.  Better to match what I say so it makes sense to them, rather than waste words.  Besides, most people can find their own answers if you ask the right questions.

“Which one?” Kite asks, looking at the crumbling right shoulder. 

“Whichever one you think sticks out the most.”

I ease my foot off the gas as we take a curve.  The reflection in the side mirror ripples.  A scatter of leaves, or the fluttering of wings.  Or something else entirely.  Kite shrugs into his hoodie, tugging up the zipper.  When he reaches for the climate controls, I smack his hand away. 

“Am I supposed to say it out loud?” he asks.  “Or is there a rule that if you say the words, it invites trouble?”

“Good thinking.”

It wasn’t a bad rule to follow, except for when you told someone not to do something, the first impulse was to do exactly that.  Maybe the effect wasn’t as strong, if you were talking to yourself.  These miles, you had to hold certain things in your mind. 

“No one told me anything about this route. They just gave me a weird look and said, oh.”

“I won’t waste time with a lecture.”

“Boss said the same thing.” Kite nibbled on the wire of one of his earbuds, eyeing me again.  “He said you were the best, too.”

The engine drops in pitch—nearly growling.  Kite glances out the windshield, sitting up when he notices something in the side mirror. 

“Uhm—are there supposed to be sparks behind us?”

“You feel anything drop?” I ask.  “Hear anything?”

Kite frowned, looking between the hood and the haul.  Listening.  I keep my foot off the gas, even though we’re coming up on a hill.  The box truck slows, and the engine kicks back into its normal rhythm.  Somewhere between a drone and a whine, there is something in the air.  Like a far-away air horn, followed by a pop.

And then the sparks.

They’re gorgeous.  White-green tipped in blue.  Pink with orange tails.  I don’t look at them. 

“Yo—those are—“

Kite goes stiff.  The earbud wire drops from his open mouth.  His teeth glow luminescent green, ever-so-faintly, in the early evening light.  I bend my ankle, resting the tip of my boot on the rubber floor mat.

Drive! 

My muscles twitch, heel slanting to the side.  I keep my foot pointed down, staving off whatever reflexes Kite tries to impose on my body.  Except it’s not Kite, and I know it.

Why aren’t you driving?  Go faster!

In the passenger seat, Kite’s eyes burn copper.  Wisps of smoke curl from his scalp.  The skin at his neck starts to stubble, stipple, scale over. I keep my sights through the windshield.  Relax my grip on the wheel.

FASTER!!!

We’re only halfway up the grade, the box-truck seconds away from stalling.  The engine winds down to a sleepy rumble.  I sigh, slowly counting to thirteen.  The hook of gravity reaches under the chassis.  Before it can latch, in the exact moment the truck reaches a peculiar equilibrium, I rest both feet flat on the floor. 

If you have me, you will not find your peace. 

The box-truck shudders. 

Give me this one. 

I can neither give nor take what is not mine. 

Then what shall you give me?

Another deep breath. 

All the rage within me.

My foot itches to rest on the gas, but I force myself to wait.  Beside me, Kite’s face has stretched gaunt across his cheekbones and chin.  His shoulders aren’t moving, and I can’t hear him breathing.  I keep my eyes out the windshield and keep waiting. 

Do not starve me.  And if you do not teach this one well, it will be your own undoing. 

The stasis breaks, and I punch the gas to the floor.