An Occurrence on Buck Creek Road (standard:horror, 606 words)
Author: kendall thomas	Added: Oct 30 2002	Views/Reads: 3578/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A motorist stops to help a family change a flat tire.

 An Occurrence On Buck Creek Road By Twisted  Wabbit 

It was a cold, stormy night.  At times Mark had to pull off onto the
side of the road and wait for the downpour to subside before driving 
farther.  The windshield wipers did no good at such times.  No matter 
how quickly they swished back an forth on the screen, water remained a 
blurry, opaque film through which it was impossible to see. 

Mark drove slowly, hunched over the steering wheel, squinting, peering
ahead through the swirling, splattering, disfracted collage of light 
and shadow.  It was November and a slippery mass of fallen leaves lay 
across the road making driving that night even more hazardous. 

As he came to a curve, Mark slowed even more.  His headlights profiled
bare, black branches weaving  over a yellow warning sign and a metal 
guard rail.  And then he saw a car apparently stalled on the side of 
the curve.  The interior light was on and the tail lights were 
flashing.  A man with a flashlight stood to the rear of the vehicle and 
began waving it frantically as Mark approached.  The trunk was open and 
a tire had been lifted half out on the lip. 

Mark wanted to pass on by but the pathetic sight of the rain-soaked man
without coat or hat caused him a twinge of guilt.  He sighed and pulled 
off just in front of the car. 

As he got out and walked back, he could feel the cold rain seeping into
his wool sports coat.  There was a woman and a little girl in the front 
seat. 

“Can I help?” Mark asked as he came up to the man. 

“Name's Peterson,” the man said.  “Jim Peterson”.  He pointed the beam
of his flashlight back up the road.  Mark could see skid marks through 
a matting of leaves. 

“Had a flat coming round the curve.  Almost thought we'd bought it there
for a moment.  I started to change the tire but the spare's lost all 
its air too.” 

“No problem,” Mark said, “I've got a pump; fix you up in a minute.”  It
was cold, wet, miserable work, but soon the tire was changed. 

“I don't know how to thank you, mister,” Jim Peterson said, shaking
Mark's numbed hand.  “This road's not traveled much at night, 
especially in this kind of weather.  There's no telling how long we 
would have been stranded.” 

The woman, his wife, Mary, thanked him profusely also.  Their little
girl, Cindy, smiled at him shyly within the yellow glow of the interior 
light. 

Soaked and cold, but feeling good about himself, Mark climbed back into
his car and watched the Petersons drive off, honking horns.  He could 
see little Cindy's face pressed against the passenger's window and her 
little hand going up and down in a final farewell. 

A little while later Mark pulled off at a roadside diner. 

“Salesman, huh?” the attractive, redheaded waitress said. 

“Yeah,” Mark replied, sipping his coffee, while waiting for his burger
and fries. 

“You get wet in the rain?” 

“Yeah.  Stopped to help a family with a flat tire back a ways on Buck
Creek Road; I think that was the name.  Wasn't paying much attention.” 

“Really?,” the waitress said, after placing his order before him.  “
Several years ago there was a local family, the Petersons.  They had a 
flat, too, on that road, but their car skidded off a curve killing all 
of them.  They had such a cute little girl, too.  Her name was Cindy.  
So sad.” 

She frowned at the burger and fries.  “Not much of a Thanksgiving dinner
is it?” 

* * * 


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