A Spooky Tale (Title Suggestions?) - Part 1

            For hours Nelson had driven bent over the steering wheel, eyes darting frantically at the mirror, searching for pursuing light. Though it had been many miles since headlights last shone their incriminate gaze upon him, he felt hunched and oppressed, as if a large hand were pressing him deep into the cabin of the automobile, and smothering him. Beside him sat Clint, his partner in crime, with the revolver dangling loosely in his hand; he glanced now and again over his shoulder at Nelson's frantic urging.

"No one's coming for us; we left 'em in the dust," said Clint, crossing his arms and sitting back in his seat.

"Maybe they've set up a alarm at the next town. They'll catch us, I know!"

"No, they won't, Nelson. Calm yer horses. All we gotta focus on is drivin' to the next town, finding us a place to duck down for a few days, and then we'll drive straight on down to Mexico. They'll never catch us there."

"We shot a girl, Clint," cried Nelson, his eyes near tears. The roadster jerked, tipping slightly on its narrow wheels. "She--She's dead!"

"She ain't dead," snapped Clint, "ya don't know that. 'Sides, you helped her up yourself. She was breathin'."

"Barely," thought Nelson with dismay. On his palms he could feel the tackiness of dried blood moistened with sweat. His hands clung to the wheel, bound to his inexorable fate. "What if she didn't make it - then we'll really hang! We shouldn'ta shot that girl, Clint. That's not what I signed up for."

"Well, it happened," said Clint, "Sides, she had it comin'."

Nelson peeled his right hand off the wheel. It stung, his knuckles stiff and sore, clenched in a death grip. With his dusty sleeve he wiped his nose roughly. "I'm no murderer Clint. I'm not."

"Ok, Nelson. You're not."

"I'm just a thief - thievin's not so bad, right? Man's gotta live."

"The only way we're gonna live through this heist is if you quit cryin' get us to some cover! We got twenty grand in the backseat, enough to buy us a ranch out in Mexico. Don't let her sacrifice go to waste." Clint slapped a firm hand on Nelson's shoulder. "Cheer up," he said, "Soon there'll be Senorita's aplenty, an' you'll forget all about the blondie at the bank."

"Yeah," said Nelson in a wavering voice. "You're right. I gotta keep my head straight. Can't start panicking now."

"Atta boy," said Clint. "Whereabouts are we?"

"Not sure," said Nelson, peering into the coming darkness. One either side of the muddy highway, trees began to grow closer and darker. On their long, swaying limbs hung tendrils of moss, which reached out toward the men, grazing their faces like little ghostly fingers. "I think we're comin' in close to Shreveport."

"Don't get too close to town. Let's stay out a ways in the country," said Clint, tension rising slightly in his throat. He regretted his unfamiliarity with the county; wherever they drove now was at Nelson's discretion. This was the one job Clint had kept him for, but as he watched Nelson's exhausted face and the manic fear in his eyes, Clint began to wonder if he had made the wrong choice. Perhaps he would have been better off on his own.

"I'll turn off here," said Nelson. "We'll find somethin', or we can park out in the woods."

The car veered off to the right, down a narrow lane through the trees. Night had fallen now, and only the dim headlights flashed on the tree trunks as the jalopy jumped and rattled over branches and stones. Exhaustion was settling over Nelson, now that the sun had gone away; the dark hung on him, whispering unpleasant thoughts in his ear. It seemed the deeper into the woods he drove, the more dread he felt in his heart, and though he swallowed deep and hard, thoughts of the dying girl came to mind. As he pondered miserably her pale, flickering face, Clint cried out, "There! Over there!" and pointed vigorously through the trees. There, in the headlights, was a small, overgrown driveway, invisible to eyes less desperate. With a sharp turn Nelson bolted down the driveway. They had found sanctuary at last! He could ease his pounding head and find peace, perhaps, in the merciful fog of sleep.

The lane was dense with saplings which snapped and scraped against the car, claw-like branches clinging. Soon the men emerged into a clearing. A half-moon shone dimly on the blue-green grass, which waved in a night-time breeze. On either side stood gnarled, black trees, like sentinels who, standing guard for many years, grew bent and wicked. They leered at Nelson as they drove past, and he shrank under their gaze; Clint, however, was giddy with relief.

"I knew I could count on you!" he laughed. Already in his mind he was gleefully counting his money, there were not trees but cacti, and women beat their silken fans over him, swishing their skirts.

Still the trees leered at Nelson, the knots in their trunks like unblinking eyes. Something about the place creeped upon his mind. Maybe it was the glint of moonlight through the branches, or the manic laughter he felt brushing just behind his teeth, the breathy fear he struggled to contain. Or maybe it was the bank teller's dimming eyes...

Suddenly, in the corner of his eye Nelson saw a pale shape peering in the window. He jumped with such fear that the car rocked, and he stepped hard on the pedal, throwing Clint against his seat.

"Jesus!" cried Nelson, shaking all over. Tears stung in his eyes. "D'you see that?"

"I sure do!" said Clint with enthusiasm. "She's perfect! Dammit, Nelson, you really are one surprise after another!"

At that Nelson wrenched his eyes from the side window and looked in front of him. Far down the end of the lane stood a rotted house, leaning in the moonlight. Its windows were shattered and dark, the veranda crumbling in places. And at the back end of the house, facing the moonlight, was a large bay window, reaching out from the second storey. All at once his memory poured over him.

"It can't be," whispered Nelson. "The Maycott Estate!"

"You're shittin' me?" asked Clint. "As in the Maycott Murder?"

Nelson nodded dumbly in response. “Albert Maycott...”

All the while the house loomed larger and larger, oppressing Nelson utterly as the truth become impossible to deny. Some cruel fate had caused him to return here, led by the traitorous homing instinct!

To Be Continued...