Don't Scream 2 Page 4

  "Fiiiine." He pulled away and have me a smile. "I'll just have to wait until you get old, then." He winked at me.

  I gave him an awkward smile back.

  "I should get back to work," he said, heading towards our home office. "But we'll go out to dinner tonight, okay?"

  I nodded.

  As soon as he'd left the room, I pulled the phone out again. Stared at the photo.

  It looked even worse than I remembered. As I brought it close to my face, I noticed a worm making its way through my hair. It had been nearly camouflaged against my brown hair. And my skin was mottled not with age spots, but actual holes.

  Then I realized.

  I can't be the only one.

  I pulled up a new tab and started searching. After wading through the various news articles on the app, I found a forum with a few users talking about it.

  Hey. When I did the FaceApp aging thing, instead of seeing an old person, I saw myself... like rotted and dead, and stuff. Did that happen to anyone else?

  A few replies indicated it had.

  Yeah, I look like some zombie, LOL

  I think it's a glitch. This is new software and they're still ironing everything out.

  I think they put it in there as a prank.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. But then, just as I was getting comfortable, my eyes fell on a fourth reply:

  I think there's something more to it. I don't want to scare you, but... my sister got the exact thing you described. Showed her all dead, like a zombie.

  She has terminal brain cancer.

  My heart stopped. I felt hot. Itchy. Dizzy. I stood up and swept a hand over my face, as if I expected to find the holes. The worm. Everything.

  I raced up, ran into the bathroom. Splashed water on my skin. The face looking back at me looked no different than it did yesterday. Or the day before.

  But the horrifying words now pulsed through my head.

  It didn't show me old...

  Because I'm not going to make it to old age.

  BLIND SPOT

  "It's the best car on the lot."

  The salesman gestured to the SUV in front of us. It was beautiful: sleek curves, iridescent red paint. All the edges and corners smoothed, lending resemblance to a bullet train.

  "It's a fantastic deal. A good five thousand below market price. It's even got all the safety features," Mr. Craggs said, as his hand trailed along the car's hood. "Lane departure, blind spot detection..."

  "But it's used, right?" my husband asked.

  "Yes, it's pre-owned," the salesman corrected. "Previous owner only had it a few weeks, though."

  My husband liked everything brand new. Out-of-the-box, untouched by man. He paced around the car, sipping his third cup of free coffee, a frown on his face. Then his eyes met Mr. Craggs's. "If it's such a great car, why did they get rid of it?"

  Mr. Craggs's face fell. He began to stutter. "They, uh... passed away. It was a lease, so the car reverted back to us."

  A thick silence fell over the three of us. I uncomfortably glanced from Luke to Mr. Craggs. "Was it something contagious? Like a disease, or —"

  Mr. Craggs shook his head, waved his hand dismissively. "No, nothing like that. I think it was a heart attack." The fake smile finally reformed on his face. "Would you like to see the inside?"

  I opened the door, climbed in... and fell in love. The leather-wrapped steering wheel. The ergonomic seat. The buttons and dials, shiny and black. When Luke stepped in, he scrunched his nose.

  "Smells terrible."

  I sniffed. It did smell off – rotten and putrid, mixed with the an acrid, chemical burn. As if someone had vomited, left it to sit for a few days, then cleaned it up with bleach. I knew that smell all too well, from my days as designated driver. But I shot Luke a smile and said innocently, "I don't smell anything."

  "You don't smell that? Really?"

  I shook my head.

  "I think we should just pick something else. Something new."

  "Are you kidding?" I pulled out my phone. "Look. He's not lying – market value for a car like this is twenty-five thousand. This is the deal of the century."

  "It's someone else's junk."

  Anger bubbled in my chest. I wanted to tell him everything – that I thought he was being picky. Spoiled. Unfair. Instead, I took a deep breath, and replied: "I know we're not used to buying used cars. But now, we're going to have to."

  A few weeks ago, Luke had been laid off from Beagle & O'Marr, Attorneys at Law. He got a new job at some dinky little firm in rural Michigan; I found work online. We packed up our bags and moved out of the city — trading skyscrapers for sprawling forest, concert halls for coffee shops, movie stars for starry skies.

  "We could get a new sedan, instead," he said. "That'd be the same price."

  "And how do you think we'll survive the winter?"

  In the city, the roads were plowed with alacrity. Not so out here, in the middle of East Jabib. It was only November, and we'd already gotten snowed in twice.

  "Fine. We'll do it." He gulped down the last dregs of coffee, wincing at the taste.

  It took us ten minutes to sign the papers. Then we were sitting in the car – our car – feeling the seats warm under us. The engine hummed softly; the stereo cut through the air, crisp and clear. It rode like a dream — dipping smoothly over the potholes, over the cracked asphalt.

  As we neared the house, we got our first taste of the safety features.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  "That's the blind spot detection! See the little orange light, on my mirror? Someone's passing us."

  "They got some nerve," Luke replied, gripping the steering wheel. "I'm going forty-five. And these lanes are awfully narrow."

  We waited for the car to pass.

  It never came.

  Confused, I glanced back. The road was empty. Not a single pair of headlights, even in the distance. Just the dark, country road, snaking back into the shadows of the pines.

  "There's no one there. It must be broken."

  Luke snickered under his breath. "That's what you get for buying a used car."

  The anger flared again, but I held my tongue. When we got home, I stole inside without a word. When I opened the door, the smell hit me like a wave: garbage, must, firewood. And it was so cold. The chill breezed through the door, crept in through cracks in the wall.

  "It's cold in here," Luke said, reaching for the thermostat.

  I turned around and shot him a glare. "We're trying to keep the electricity bill down, remember? Suck it up and grab a sweater."

  Unlike Luke, I was used to this. I grew up in a manufactured home on the outskirts of Detroit, with barely enough food to feed the five of us. The heat was often shut off entirely, dipping the temperature into the 40s.

  He pulled a fleece over his head and sat down beside me. "Is it always going to be like this?" His tone wasn't angry. It was desperate.

  I reached out and squeezed his hand. "No," I said. "It won't."

  I hoped that was the truth.

  ***

  "What do we have for dinner? Any chicken left?"

  The nightly conversation about dinner. It almost always ended in a fight, as Luke would propose eating out, I'd suggest eating in, and we'd both argue about it for an hour. Growing hungrier, and in turn, angrier. A vicious cycle.

  "No, just the tomato soup," I said, for the second time that evening.

  "That's not enough. I'm starving."

  "Well, that's all we got."

  "Then let's go out someplace." He must've seen the scowl on my face, because he quickly followed up with: "it doesn't have to be expensive. We can just do fast food."

  "Okay. Fine."

  We walked out the back door. The sun had already slipped beneath the tall, black pines, and the temperature was quickly dropping. Pink and gold streaked across the sky, as if applied by a paintbrush. Deep, blue shadows crept along the brown grass, the leftover bits of snow.

  I turned the corner — and
stopped dead in my tracks.

  The car's headlights were on.

  "You left the headlights on?" I snapped, turning to Luke. "That'll run the battery down! Then we'll have to get someone out here, and –"

  "I didn't leave them on," he replied.

  "Oh, come on."

  "I didn't, Katy."

  I stepped towards the car. Luke stretched his hand out in front of me. "Wait. Let me go first." He took a step forward. "Hello?" he called, approaching the car.

  No reply.

  "You think someone's there?" I whispered to him.

  "No. It's just... I'm sure I turned those headlights off."

  We crept closer to the car. In the blinding light, I could barely make out the car, let alone the inside. For all I knew, someone was sitting in the car. Waiting for us.

  Luke walked over to the driver's side door. The lights flicked off; he gave me a thumbs-up.

  We climbed inside. "Maybe the car is haunted," I joked, pulling the seatbelt across my lap.

  He laughed as the engine sputtered to life. "Oh, right. I forgot about that."

  "Do you think he died here? Right in the car?"

  "It's possible. That would certainly explain the smell. He died in here, but they didn't find his body for a week —"

  "Ew! Luke!" I smacked him across the arm. "Don't tell me that!"

  He snickered.

  We drove in silence for a few minutes, watching the sun sink below the horizon. A few flakes of snow danced in the headlights; I smiled, knowing we were safe in our four-wheel drive.

  We picked up speed on Highland Avenue. That's when the blind spot detector went off.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  The orange light flashed in my sideview mirror. I glanced back – but, just like yesterday, the road was empty behind us. Stretching back into the forest, cutting pines like a ribbon of smoke.

  "Someone passing us?" Luke asked.

  "Nope." I sighed. "Maybe you're right. Haunted or not, this thing is a piece of junk."

  "It's not that bad." He shot me a smile. "Doesn't even smell much anymore. Or, maybe, I've just gotten used to it."

  "Yeah, I think it still —"

  My breath caught in my throat.

  There was a car behind us.

  It wasn't there a second ago. But there it was, now—a sleek, black sedan, hovering right in the passenger-side blind spot. Despite the gathering darkness, its headlights were off. When the streetlamps fell away, it melted into the shadows.

  I couldn’t see it in my sideview mirror. Or the rearview. It was invisible in every single mirror—but when I turned around, there it was.

  "There's someone trying to pass us."

  "I thought you said —"

  "I must've missed it the first time."

  "Alright, I'll let them go." Luke applied the brakes. We slowed.

  Almost immediately, the black car slowed, too. Like it was trying to stay exactly in our blind spot.

  "It's not passing us."

  "Roll down your window, then, and wave them on."

  I rolled down the window. The icy air gust into the car, slapping at my face. Cringing, I waved it on.

  It didn't budge.

  The car just hovered there, right in our blind spot. Matching our speed perfectly. That's when I noticed something was wrong with it.

  The windshield was tinted glass, completely obscuring the driver inside. All I could see were the reflections of the sunset, the pines, the clouds scrolling across the glass.

  "They've got a tinted windshield. Isn't that against the law?"

  "I think so."

  My mind reeled with the possibilities. What if they're drug dealer? A getaway car? There was no good reason to have tinted glass, to hide from the world.

  Beep, beep, beep. The blind spot detector went off again. A warning.

  "I don't like this. It makes me nervous, how they're just following us like that."

  "Yeah. Agreed. Let's see if we can get them to pass." Luke hit the brakes again. This time, we slowed to a crawl. Route 207 had a speed limit of 45 miles per hour; we were now going 20.

  The seconds ticked by. 1, 2, 3...

  Whrrrrrm.

  The car whizzed past us. I let out a sigh of relief and watched it fade into the darkness. "That was so weird," I said, leaning back in my seat.

  "Bet they're high, or something."

  "Do you think we should report it?"

  "Did you get a look at the license plate?"

  "No."

  "Then, there's not much we can do."

  The engine roared under our feet as we reached the speed limit again, and we fell into silence. I watched the pines scroll past the window, the hills of snow rise and fall with each second. The fire of sunset had now faded, replaced with deep hues of purple. My cheek fell against the cool glass; my body relaxed against the seat. My eyes fluttered closed.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  I jolted up.

  It was back. Hovering right in my blind spot. Closer now — just a foot or two from our car. Headlights off, barely more than a silhouette.

  "It's back," I said, my voice quavering.

  "What — the car?" Luke glanced over his shoulder. "No. There's no way it could've passed us, turned around, and caught up with us again."

  "It has to be. It looks the same. Tinted windows. Headlights off." My heart pounded; fear thrummed through me. I glanced ahead of us, then behind.

  We were the only two cars on the road.

  "Okay. If that's how he wants to play this, fine." Luke's brows furrowed, and he pursed his lips. "Hold tight."

  The engine hummed, then roared.

  We shot forward. The highway flit by beneath us. The intermittent streetlamps flashed across our car faster and faster, like strobe lights. The pines smudged into lines of black and gray against the purple sky.

  I glanced at the speedometer. Eighty-five, ninety...

  A roar pierced the silence behind us. I turned around. The car was gaining fast. Like a panther chasing its prey.

  "Luke, stop!"

  The car was upon us, now. Hovering in our blind spot. Then, with a screech of tires, the gap between their hood and my door started to close.

  They were swerving right into us.

  "No!" I reached over and grabbed the steering wheel from Luke. I yanked it left. The car swerved madly underneath us.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  "It's still there. Oh, God, it's still —"

  I turned back. I could see the silhouette of a person, vaguely outlined in the darkness, underneath the tinted glass. Whether male or female, young or old, I couldn't tell.

  I screamed as the gap closed.

  Crunch.

  My door crumpled on impact. My body tossed wildly to the left, like a rag doll.

  "Katy!" Luke jerked at the steering wheel; the car swerved.

  It was too late.

  Crack!

  Metal punched metal. This time, the door caved in. Cold winter air swept in. The car reeled against the black road. The world whipped together outside — forest with road, sky with snow, all sucked into a vortex of color and shadow.

  I heard Luke call my name.

  Then there was only darkness.

  ***

  My eyes fluttered open.

  Our car stood in the center of the empty road. The passenger side was destroyed—the buckled door cut my space in half, and the window was shattered, scattering bits of safety glass everywhere. Skidding tire tracks spiraled around the car.

  I glanced over to the driver’s side. Luke was slumped against the wheel. “Luke! Luke, are you okay?!”

  “I think I am,” he groaned, slowly pulling himself up.

  “We need to call the police.” I bent over and groped for my phone on the floor. My hands only hit shards of glass. “Dammit! Do you have your phone?”

  “No—I don’t think so.” He felt his pockets.

  “Shit,” I whispered, hands brushing across the carpet. “Where the hell is it
?! It’s got to be here somewh—”

  Beep, beep, beep.

  The orange light flashed.

  I slowly turned around. Behind me, lurking in the shadows, was the black car. Headlights off, it crawled forward. “He’s… he’s behind us,” I whispered.

  Luke twisted the key. The engine sputtered, then quickly died away. The black car stopped a few feet behind us.

  Then the door opened.

  I watched in horror as a male figure stepped out. A black shadow, advancing towards us in the sideview mirror. I clicked the locks. As if that would help — my entire window was gone.

  Click, click, click.

  His footsteps sounded on the damp pavement.

  “Luke! He’s coming towards us!” I shouted. Luke turned the ignition, tried to start the car again. It sputtered again.

  I turned my head away from the window. I couldn't look. Couldn't watch. But a few seconds later, the cold wind that swept across my neck suddenly died away. A shadow fell over my face. Warm air fell against my ear, acrid and rotten.

  He was standing right outside my window.

  "No, no, no," I sobbed, under my breath. "Please, no —"

  Rrrrrmm.

  The roar of an engine cut through the air.

  We lurched forward. Luke stared straight ahead as he mashed down on the pedal. Our car shot through the darkness, the right headlight flickering madly.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  The left sideview mirror lit up.

  "Shut up!" Luke screamed at it. "Shut up, shut up!"

  Neither of us turned around. We knew what was hovering in our blind spot, ready to crash into us at any moment.

  An sign flashed in our headlights. CULLEN ROAD. “Pull off!” I shouted.

  He jerked the wheel. The car swerved off the road at the last second. We shot through the turn, and found ourselves in a small town. I whipped around. There was no sign of the black car.

  “I see a sign for a hospital,” Luke said. “Don’t know what else is around here.”

  We made a few turns, and then we were in the hospital parking lot.

  We climbed out of the car and hobbled into the emergency room. "We've just been in an accident!" Luke called to the receptionist, as he guided me into a seat.

  "I'm so sorry," he whispered, bloody arms wrapped tightly around me. "For everything. I love you."