We decided to go for a drive in the countryside one Saturday morning. I’m the type of person who usually plans everything, leaving nothing to chance. I’m not spontaneous at all and it gets on my wife’s nerves. This was going to be different. It was all my idea and I assured Tammy we were just going to ‘wing it’. She rolled her eyes. She knows me. She realizes even my ‘spontaneous’ excursions are planned, somehow.
The truth is, it bothers me to not have a game plan. I’m usually the one driving on these rogue adventures and I have to decide to turn left or right if there’s no predetermined path or destination. I hate doing that with a passion but I wanted to prove to her I could drive without advance research or scouting. Inside it was going to kill me, but I had to pretend to be ok with it. You know how couples can get. I had to prove her ‘wrong’.
We loaded up the car with a couple of bottles of water and snacks before steering toward the rural part of the state. In the beginning, I’d been to parts of the area, but the longer we drove, the further I left behind my comfort zone. Tammy was loving it. I’d glance over at her occasionally and she’d have this genuine glow of contentment from the random drive. I sincerely think part of the enjoyment was relishing in my discomfort, but I wasn’t about to let on. Regardless, I wasn’t much of an actor and we both knew I was a bundle of knots inside.
Every few miles we’d see an old farmhouse or weathered barn with cows in the pasture. The scenery was lush and picturesque. The weather itself was beautiful too. All in all, for a random drive in the country being officiated by an obsessive planner, it was pretty darn enjoyable. I didn’t feel the crippling apprehension which usually came over me when I was trying to find a specific location in the dark. It was easier to be ‘lost’ in the daylight, with no set agenda. You might even say I was adjacent to enjoying myself.
The deeper Tammy and I drove into ‘Nowheresville’, the more we started noticing some odd little things. There were weird symbols painted on the side of the houses and barns visible from the old county road. They weren’t anything either of us was familiar with, but clearly they meant something to the locals. The first few didn’t register as anything to take note of, but eventually it became an obvious thing which stood out, in an otherwise idyllic country drive. I found myself anticipating them with each new home we approached. All of the symbols were somewhat different in ‘character’ formation, but they were similar enough to be related.
Neither of us spoke about them at the time but those strange markings troubled us, deeply. It was definitely on our minds when we stopped at a small country store for supplies, and to use the bathroom. As is usually the case with folks in the countryside, the store owners were very friendly. We must’ve stood out like sore thumbs, because they asked where we were from. We bought food and drinks for the road, and yukked it up with them for a couple minutes.
That is, until I summoned the courage to ask what the symbols on the buildings meant. Immediately their whole demeanor changed. It was night and day. Tammy noticed it too. She looked at me with a side-eyed glance as their mood darkened. To their credit, they didn’t try to change the subject. That would’ve been too obvious; but they did look down the aisles first to make sure there were no other customers within earshot, before answering. That definitely raised our hackles. It was creepy as hell. The truth was apparently something ‘outsiders’ like us weren’t supposed to know.
Suddenly it felt like we were about to be sucked into the middle of a rural conspiracy. They leaned over and whispered: “You folks seem real nice. Please don’t ask anyone else about them. It’s for ‘protection’, and for heaven’s sake, don’t be around here once the sun goes down. There’s a full moon tonight and they prefer the dark.”
I looked at Tammy’s mortified face. Her reaction was probably the same as my own. The suspense widened. We kept waiting for them to burst out laughing about winding up the big city folks, but the grins never came. They just handed us our receipt and told us to have a safe trip back home. There was a strong emphasis on us leaving soon. Like a couple of traumatized school kids, we thanked them for their prior hospitality and walked out. It was already dusk, and we were halfway across the state. We’d been seeing those bizarre markers for fifty miles or more.
Was it some secret sect? Tammy dared to take a photo of one of the ‘protection markers’ with her phone as we drove back toward home but the internet service in the boonies was spotty, at best. Since it was some deeply held rural secret, she hoped an image search would tell us what they meant. The country store proprietors acted like it was blood painted on the door of their homes to signal for the Biblical Angel of Death to pass them by.
Night fell quickly, with us still being in the middle of ‘Nowheresville’. We were definitely spooked and needed fuel for the car. Predictably, there were no stations around and the needle was below ‘E’. My OCD nerves were kicking way in. I was tempted to lash-out about why THIS is the reason I didn’t like to be spontaneous, but I held my tongue. It wouldn’t have helped. The image lookup netted very little helpful information. The only thing she could find was that it was somehow tied to ‘a secretive society of occult Freemasons’.
What? There were too many of them for it to be an ‘inside joke on city folks exploring the backroads’. We wouldn’t have thought there would be anything other that devout religious people living in that isolated section of the county. Not only that, but what did the shop owner’s vague statement mean? ‘They prefer the dark’? They made it sound like there were bloodthirsty werewolves roaming the woods. As laughable as it sounded, they weren’t laughing when they said it, and they didn’t appear to be kidding either.
They warned us to be completely out of the area before nightfall, and yet here we were, running on fumes and hoping to find a gas station before we were stranded like sitting ducks. The wind picked up until it blew our little car around like a sailboat in a churning sea. If there was any good from our unplanned misadventure, it was that all the dust we’d picked up from the long drive would hopefully be blown off the car.
It was barely 9pm on a Saturday night but every house we passed was as dark as could be. Not a single light shone in any of their windows. Either they went to bed early in the country, or they didn’t want to invite strangers to their doors after dark. Intellectually I knew rural folk were known to sleep early, but I couldn’t help but hear the shopkeepers conspiratorial words echo again in my ears. I couldn’t see Tammy’s face well but I know her. She was dwelling on it too. Under the circumstances it would’ve been impossible to ignore.
As growing nightmares tend to do, the car began to shudder. It was choking on its last few ounces of fuel left in the line. I wanted to shake the steering wheel in terrified frustration but it’s an inanimate object. I’m the damn fool goaded into ‘proving how unprepared I could be’. This was my ‘reward’. I was going to have to walk in the dark with a gas can until I found the next house. Then I was going to have to beat on their front door and hope they would take mercy on us. It was the perfect checkbox list of ‘NO!’ for me.
Walk alone in the dark. The FULL MOON dark.
Traverse a rural two lane blacktop where I didn’t know a single soul.
Ask for help from total strangers that could have been avoided if I’d just used my damn head in the first place.
And the ‘piece de resistance’:
Be on the lookout for ‘werewolves’ or Moses’ Angel of Death sent to kill the firstborn sons.
My own anger generated a certain level of false bravado which I needed to ‘get it done’. I cursed myself for not having gas already in the fuel can in the trunk but the truth is, I would’ve been afraid it was an explosion risk. It’s hell being an over-thinker. Tammy had the audacity to ask where I was going. I just turned toward her with a disgruntled scowl. She didn’t mean it the way it came out. It was obvious I had to go for help. She just didn’t want to be alone in the car. I think she felt bad for all of her past attempts to ‘loosen me up’ about over-planning things. Perhaps on the eve of our mutual doom, I might’ve won one. Ah, the bittersweet irony.
The two of us held hands. We’d started the journey together and we’d finish it together. Whatever that meant. Like a gentleman, I placed her away from the roadway but it was mostly a symbolic gesture. There were no other cars driving by. She was the first to notice how quiet it was as we walked. There was only the sound of our shoes clacking the pavement. In a place with all manner of wild animals living in nature, it was deathly silent. She gripped my hand tightly. It seemed like we’d walked a long way but the truth is, we were relatively lucky. The nearest farmhouse was less than a mile from our stranded vehicle.
Like the rest, it had one of those arcane symbols painted right on the front door. Also like the others, there wasn’t a single light shining in their windows but the driveway had three cars. They were definitely home but I had my doubts they would answer us. We didn’t want to be shot for startling them so we tried to make some unsubtle noises on the doorstep to announce our benevolent presence. Country folks like their twelve gauge shotguns. I hoped they would realize we were harmless and in need of help.
We both heard sounds of lamentation coming from inside. If anything, they were more frightened than we were. I’d characterize it as terrified. I spoke up in my friendliest voice to reassure them.
“Hello there. We’re terribly sorry to bother you folks so late at night. We’re just passing through from out of town and our car ran out of gas. Do you happen to have some? We’d be happy to reimburse you. I’ve got a hundred dollar bill. I can slide it under your door as compensation.”
A man on the other side spoke up. There was a noticeable tremor in his voice. He appeared to be trying very hard to balance his innate sense of politeness and hospitality, with a crumbling wall of courage. It didn’t bode well to reassure either of us.
“I’m terribly sorry for your trouble mister, but there’s something very evil lurking in these parts you don’t want to encounter. They come out at night time and for that precise reason, we don’t dare open the front door, for anyone. I’d be happy to siphon some of my own gas for you; but I won’t set foot out there until daylight. I have to protect myself and my family. I hope you understand. Now, run back to your car and lock the doors. Quickly! Cover up the windows and take this and put it on the hood of your vehicle in a conspicuous place. It’ll save your lives.”
In the unnatural quietness of the night air, I heard the electronic whirl of an inkjet printer running inside their home. A piece of letter-sized paper slid under the door jamb. It contained one of those strange symbols.
“Leave your fuel can on the porch. I’ll bring some gas, first light. I promise. If they come for you, do not look them in the eye. Go!”
We did exactly as instructed. To the letter. I gotta tell ya, the missus and I would’ve been ‘husband and wife, three-legged race’ winners if we’d entered such a competition. Both of us sprinted at a pace I hardly thought possible. I could barely keep up with her. Then I scrambled to get the keys to open the door. It might’ve been comical if we weren’t racing for our lives. Inside, we located a sun-visor and blankets to block off the windows as best we could. An old paper road map and catalogs from the glove compartment served to complete the job, in record time.
We were almost in the clear when I realized the most important part of the plan wasn’t in place. The protection sign was still in the car with us! I didn’t have any masking tape so there was no way to secure it to the window or hood. Using a rock as a paperweight would’ve blocked it from being visible. In a flash of invention I had an idea. The SUV was so dusty from the county roads that I scrawled the symbol as large as I could into the dirt of the windshield, hood and trunk with my fingers. I hoped that would suffice to spare us from the fury of whatever frightening creatures roamed the hillsides during the full moon.
I jumped back inside just in time. First the smell hit us. It was positively rank and the source of the stench was very, very large. We could feel ‘them’ walking around the car inspecting it. There were tiny voids in our hasty wallpapering of the windows but I didn’t dare look through the cracks. I was too scared I’d make eye contact. We heard them pulling on the door handles to see if they were unlocked. I have absolutely no doubt anything that huge could’ve simply ripped them open but that apparently wasn’t the point. They were checking to see if we’d taken the precaution of locking them.
Tammy had to stifle a scream as the whole vehicle shook back and forth violently. I thought the intent was to flip it upside down. She looked at me in wide-eyed terror. I’d love to suggest she drew strength from my calm masculinity but that would be a bold-faced lie. It was all I could do to keep from squealing like a toddler myself. The things on the other side of the car were definitely not natural. That much was clear to us. Then one of them spoke with a ‘voice’, not of this earth.
“You drew our sacred sigil of mercy on your vehicle, incorrectly. You have parts of the character backwards but we have decided to forgive your ignorance, this time. Leave our home and never return again. Our patience is limited.”
“Thank you!”; We both cried out in unison. Without response, they finally left us, but we dared not leave the impotent ‘safety’ of the car to confirm their departure; even to use the bathroom. Leftover drink cups temporarily served that purpose.
In the morning, the farmer came just as he’d promised. He brought us fuel and something to eat. Not that either of us had an appetite. He saw the evidence of our nocturnal visitors and remarked how fortunate we were, especially with my botched depiction of the ‘sigil’, as they had referred to them. We thanked the man again and we’re on our way. Neither of us breathed a sign of relief until we reached the suburbs.
I drove through an automated car wash to blast off the layers of dirt from our terrifying ordeal, but it didn’t do anything about the savage claw marks and unnatural dents to the sheet metal. I told my coworkers it was from a grizzly bear attack. That would’ve been horrific enough story, but the truth was infinitely worse. These so-called ‘grizzly bears’ could speak, read, and took considerable umbrage to my poorly drawn protection sigils.
My insurance agent demanded to inspect the damage first. He asked me where it occurred. I told him and he adopted the same pale demeanor change as the country store owners. He knew what we faced that night. Obviously there had been other claims like ours over the years. Without acknowledging what we both knew, he said: “You two are lucky to be alive. Don’t go back there again. Your claim will be covered in full. And one more thing, that sigil should look like this.”
He pointed to the clean area of the windshield where I had drawn it. Despite it being washed, you could still see the remnants of my ‘artwork’ on the glass. He took his finger and reversed one of the vertical marks in the middle. Now I know the correct way to draw it. More importantly, Tammy doesn’t try to stop me from planning out all the details of our trips anymore. She finally sees the benefit of NOT being spontaneous. Win-win.
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