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Timeline: 1957
Location: Somewhere in the Highlands, Scotland

“Well that`ll be the day, when you said goodbye, that`ll be the day when you made me cry”.

Keeping the beat with childish patty cake hand movements on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, you say your gonna leave me, you know that’s a lie, cause that´ll be the day yay yay when I die.

Der duh der dah noises filled the car as the sound of Buddy Holly faded from the radio to be replaced by an urgent newsflash.

“The Scottish Weather Centre has issued a storm warning for the North coast, gale force winds are predicted to reach land around 7am this morning……”
Lifting his right hand off the steering wheel, he switched off the radio and continued humming “That`ll be the day” while to tapping out the beat on the dashboard.
Along dimly lit highland lanes in the Scottish countryside, he was driving back from a late night party, and he was, let it be known –that happiest man in the world.
His brand new 57 black Morris minor, eating up the road as it over steered into the winding bends of theses narrow country lanes.

After years of dilly dallying, he had finally plucked up the courage to pop the question to his childhood sweetheart – with a little help from Pat Boone.

“Yes, I´ll marry you” she said to the sound of “Love letters In the sand” playing in the background, as they danced in each other’s embrace, the world stood still – nothing else seemed to matter, other than that moment in time.

The increasing radio interference was getting on his nerves, in an agitated fashion, he switched off the radio.

Driving along the narrow lanes, he felt more and more uneasy. Even though he was born and bred in the area and yet – it all seemed so strangely unfamiliar.
Almost as if he had never been here before, but no, it can`t be.

He was exuberant and tired, and not the most experienced of night drivers, hell his driving license was barely 3 weeks old!

“Get a grip” he said to himself, eyes firmly fixed on the road.

Strange though, no traffic at all on the roads?
Maybe it has to do with the storm warning? He though out loud and laughed.

But even so, this is a farming area and it takes more than the weather god’s wrath to keep the farmers from earning their livelihood.

Not a tractor in sight and come to think of it not even a bird sound?
It was still pitch black outside – unusually so for the time of day?
This was, after all summertime….it didn`t seem right?
An icy chill ran down his spine as a worrying thought suddenly struck him.

Rather than getting lighter, it was actually getting darker –something was wrong.

His sweaty palms were finding it hard to grip the black plastic steering wheeI.
Beads of sweat trickled down from his forehead, briefly nestling in his brow before running down into his eyes, making him squint in agony.

Try as he may, it was impossible for him to continue driving, he would have to pull over.

He hit the brakes hard, far too hard; his head thudded against the steering wheel with a sickening sound. The sudden pain, so sharp, so violent, making him giddy and nauseous. Hastily he flung open the car door and emptied the contents of his stomach by the roadside and hung halfway out of the car, bleeding, helpless- lost!
Still in a daze, he managed to pull himself back into the driver’s seat, in the rear view mirror, he could see the gash resulting from his impact with the steering wheel, it would need stitches but that was the last of his worries right now.

“Calm down –stay calm – have a cigarette and get your shit together” he repeated over and over as he reached for the packet of Players Senior Service cigarettes in the inside pocket of his blood stained jacket.

Its contents fared worse off than he did, crushed cigarettes fell from the mangled packet, Golden Virginia tobacco leaf cascading like an autumn shower on to his vomit stained trousers.

Salvaging one of them, he placed the sorry looking dimp between his lips, struck a match and inhaled its cancerous fumes for king and country, slamming the car door shut while doing so.

The giddiness was subsiding a little bit, he felt like death warmed up which was a vast improvement on how he felt a few minutes earlier. He reached out to wind the window down, the taste of vomit and Golden Virginia threatening to make him heave.

Hanging his head out of the car window, he heard a faint buzzing sound coming from above. Flinging open the car door, he glanced upwards into the dawn sky that was now as black as the devils heart.

Vomit trickled down his face, strings of saliva and mucous dangled from his lips, he could hardly breathe as his nostrils filled with bodily concoction, the smell overpowering him, to the point his stomach started to curdle yet again.

He convulsed with pain, his stomach contents decorating the Scottish landscape in Jackson Pollard fashion.

His suit of many colours would have outshone Josephs “Coat of many colours”, in both diversity and, not least smell.

Theses pangs of nausea quickly vanished when he seen what was unfolding in the sky above him.

Nausea had now given way to fear, he felt his breath boil as an uncontrollable shiver ran through his body……….this just can`t be real!!!

As fear gripped him, he felt compelled to get out of the car and seek shelter, safety …any fucking where!

He stumbled out of the car, slipping on moist, sticky and mucous covered grass, landing face down in some bracken.

Lying there, cold, shivering with fear he could hear a sound that was near, too near-as if coming from above him.

Pressing his face ever deeper into the bracken, he wished it would go away…subconsciously begging it to fuck off somewhere else.

The back of his neck started to feel warm, correction the back of his neck was getting warmer, in fact he was beginning to sweat.

A burning smell gradually filled the air; the bracken he cowered in was beginning to smoulder, as it did so it took on a strange yellow glow.

Suddenly he felt a cold sharp prod in the back, it hurt like mad briefly and then it stopped.

The smoke was getting thicker; indeed it had started to envelop him, that’s when it struck him.

“This isn`t smoke at all but a mist”, he whispered to himself.

Acrid smoke seeping between his lips, his nostrils flared and inflamed by its caustic qualities.

Like a dying man, somehow he managed to pluck up the strength all the way from his bootstraps to his fingertops, and he attempted to crawl from the mist. Digging his fingers deep into the grass and stomach contant that lay unseen before him, slowly he inched forward, eyes wincing with pain from this strange phenomenon that had singled him out that evening.

With every breath, no matter how small, his lungs filled with this shit, gasping for air uncontrollably he came to a halt after a few seconds and lay there motionless.

Energy was expended, tired, weak so weak, he buried his face into the ground, his eyes slowly shut and his crippled frame vanishing into the glowing mist.

To be continued
rbn bookmark


Set in the1950`s on a lonely country lane in the Highlands, the happiest evening in this mans life comes to a sudden stop. Dreams of marriage, family and children suddenly giveway for a nightmare, a nightmare where a mans life hangs in the balance and there is no "wake up call" this time. He was dead, his stained cloths testatmant to the harrowing events of that evening, so why is he here now -and who are these people....come to think of it, what are these people? Whether it be science fiction or even paranormal, you the reader decide for yourself, but please be sure of one thing- this not natural.

  • Author: RBN Bookmark
  • Published: 2016-01-20 12:20:06
  • Words: 1235
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