“So, uh, route 80 goes into… into wherever this is, I guess,” Stanley mumbled to himself, squinting at the map and tightening his one-handed grip on the steering wheel. Shoving the map into the seat beside him, he slowed to a stop along the side of the road.
“Ahh, Ghost Lake, at last we meet,” Stan announced, cranking down his window. His fingers slipped between the sticky space between seat and door, tugging at the lever. The seat shot up in two jerking motions. Straightening his back like a model student, he spit out a large wad of saliva-disintegrated gum. “How’s it going being a lake and, uh, a ghost at the same time?”
He kicked open the door, digging his heels into the leaf litter and dirt. He reached behind him for his pack and in one fluid motion, pulled out a cigarette with his mouth.
“Ugh, where’s the damn lighter?” Stan twisted around, digging his hands between the seats before catching sight of it on the floor. “Quit giving me shit, fireguy.”
Stan let out a smoky sigh, staring out over the lake. Trees bent toward the water and once in awhile, a leaf would twirl down and, like an expert dancer, dip below the surface.
A mist rolled off the lake in waves, columns of cold air twisted into eerily human shapes.
He narrowed his eyes, following the motions of a vaguely woman-shaped coil of mist. An unruly mop of hair swirled around her head as her hips swayed to the cacophony of crickets, frogs, loons. He thought he heard a muffled tapping somewhere in that non-music music.
“Carla Hotpants McCorkle,” he breathed, shakily blowing a ring of smoke toward her. He remembered unashamedly winking and blushing and blowing kisses at that stupid girl with the flower in her hair. “Miss ya, babe.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Geez-louise,” a voice grumbled from the other side of the car. “Hey, dope, you wanna let me in?”
Stan twisted his head around to look out the passenger’s side window. A woman with tangled black hair pounded her fist into the window, speaking loudly and incessantly.
“Whaddya want, lady?” Stan snapped, flopping down onto the seat to look at her upside-down. He laughed but quickly sobered, pulling himself up into his seat and slamming the door shut. He laid his pack of cigarettes and his lighter on the half-seat thing in between the driver’s and passenger’s seats.
“Hey! Gimme a ride!” the woman shouted, nervously looking over her shoulder. “I just wanna ride outta here!”
“Ugh, y’know what, fine,” Stan groused, leaning over to unlock the door. “Sure, get in. But only because I’m such a great guy.”
“Gee, thanks.” She pulled open the door and threw herself down, crossing her arms.
“I’m Stan Pines and I’ll be your, uh, your gracious host tonight, taking you to, um, well wherever,” Stan said as he started the car, taking a not-so surreptitious look over at the fellow traveller. The dress is a bit out of style, but who is he to judge. She’s probably down on her luck too. Trapped in some awful little town in Nowhere, New Jersey. “And you are?”
The woman crossed her legs and let out a sigh, “Let’s just go.”
“Alright, alright, Antisocial Pants.” Stan started along the road, going perhaps a little faster than he normally wood. He imagined that she had a gun on her, in her little denim bag. One of those murder-hitchhikers, looking for some sucker.
“Hey, don’t go so fast,” she complained, waving a hand at him. “And gimme a cigarette.”
“Get it yourself. But you only get one,” he added quickly, giving her a firm glare.
“Fine, fine.” The seat squeaked as she moved. Smoke hung around their heads and stank up the car.
“You got any good stories,” Stan asked, forcing himself to relax into his seat. “Nothin’ personal, if you don’t wanna. Just, uh, a story.”
“Well, ya see, I killed my husband,” she explained blandly.
“Ha ha, good one. M-marriage is terrible, right?” Stan laughed nervously, eyes flicking from the road to the woman in the seat beside him.
“Oh no, I really killed the guy. He’s dead,” she continued, shifting her crossed legs. “He’s buried on this road- head on one side, rest on the other.”
“You just tell folks this… like some kinda… uh, party icebreaker?” Stan’s knuckles were growing white as he dug his fingers into the unyielding plastic of the steering wheel.
“Parties,” she sighed, blowing a fresh ring of smoke, “I ain’t been to a party in… gosh. Whadda kids do at parties these days?”
“Um, uh, dance? Smoke? Flirt? Whatever they always do, lady,” Stan managed to say as he stared into the road. She was maybe going to kill him and she was sort of nice looking from what he could tell in the twilight, so at least he was going to be murdered by a hot chick.
“Sounds good to me. Kids throw parties around the lake but they get scared-a their shadows and leave before anything ever gets good,” she waved her hands around as she spoke.
Stan didn’t have to be some grant-getting egghead to see that they were dirty.
“Do I get a story?” she asked, flicking ash from her cigarette on the floor.
“What?”
“What are you doing on Shades?”
“I, uh, I got lost off 80 an’–”
“Boring! Where’s the drama?”
“You want drama? You’re not getting any here,” Stan replied, shifting in his seat. “Just a guy, down on his luck, abandoned by his family, looking to make it in the Big City.”
“Dime store phony!” the woman laughed, letting out a loud boo.
“Would you believe I’ve got a twin brother who’s also named Stan with six fingers on each hand?”
“Just because I’m a stranger doesn’t mean you gotta lie.”
“No, for real. Stanford- he’s a freaking genius and I’m… some guy with a lot of Sham Totals in his trunk.”
The car grew silent.
“This isn’t even my car, it’s my dad’s…” Stan confessed, turning to the woman.
She squirmed in her seat, not looking particularly interested in his story.
“You gotta radio?”
“Doesn’t work,” Stan grunted, sticking one hand out the window. The wind pushed against his hand, steadying him somewhat.
“Oh, it’ll work,” she insisted, leaning over and picking at the radio.
Tinny music blared from the speakers and Stan nearly choked on his own spit.
“W-whoa! Didn’t think I’d hear your sweet, sweet tones again, Radio.” He reached out to pat the dashboard. “You will be a comfort to me in these, my last hours.”
The woman snorted and leaned back in her seat. “What, you think I’m gonna kill ya?”
“Honestly? Yeah?” Stan answered, tapping his fingers on the wheel and nervously whistling a couple loose notes. “Ugh, change the station. This is grandpa music.”
“Well, I like it,” the woman said with a smirk, “And I’m gonna kill you so my rules rules.”
“So you admit it!”
“You’re taking this pretty well. You wanna die or something?”
“Ugh, not really?” Stan rubbed at his eyes with one hand, taking a wide turn. “Being dead is… it’s boring, y’know?”
“It’s not that boring,” the woman laughed, then sighed, “It’s really, really boring. Don’t die.”
“Uh, w-what’s that even supposed to mean?”
“Can you slow down? Christ Almighty, I’m going to kill you and all and you can’t slow down.”
“If you wanna get outta here so bad, why’d’ya keep tellin’ me to slow down?” Stan shouted, slamming his foot down on the breaks. “And stop talking about killing people! It’s not funny.”
“I know it ain’t funny,” the woman spat out. “You spend years wanting a guy dead and when he’s gone he’s gone and ya can’t do anything about it. I can’tnot kill him anymore. Just keep burying the body and askin’ for a ride and never getting outta here!”
“What does that even mean?!” Stan turned to her, blinking. He could have sworn he just saw out the window through her…
“Keep goin’, I’ll have you drop me off somewhere just ahead.”
“No murder tonight?” Stan tried to laugh.
“Go!”
Stan hit the gas heavily, staring at the steadily darkening path ahead of him to keep his mind off of the weird lady in the passenger seat.
“Hey, dope,” the woman started, the wind coming in from the windows almost drowning her out. “Don’t kill nobody. They don’t go away the way you want ‘em to go…”
He chewed over the words, trying to process them completely. If he lived, he hoped he’d remember it all in the right order.
The radio spat out a string of static and died as he hit the highway.
“Of course,” Stan sighed, turning to the passenger seat, “Looks like that didn’t last for… huh?”
There wasn’t a person in the passenger seat, just his lighter, rolling along the map he’d placed there earlier.
“Weird…”