76 ONE MORE  

jasonabadboy4u 30M
48 posts
6/17/2006 1:34 am

Last Read:
8/13/2006 8:42 am

76 ONE MORE

76 ONE MORE
It was twilight, and Sharon was running down a dirt road, dressed in a flimsy gossamer gown that made her feel extremely vulnerable. The landscape around her was desolate and barren. Clumps of overgrown weeds, bleached a sallow yellow, chocked the ground. They were punctuated by pools of stagnant water that gave off mists of noxious vapors. Rocks that lined the roadway looked like nothing so much as aged, deformed human skulls. The dust her footsteps kicked up only reinforced her feeling that this was a dead and decaying world. Behind her a full moon rose, looking mystic and sterile. Before her, she saw the dying sun fast disappearing behind a range of blackened mountains too distant for her to reach before the world became darkness. Suddenly, a carriage had gotten in front of her to block her path!It was an awesome spectacle: a huge coach, solid black in color and trim. The horses were also pitch black, save for their malignant eyes, which gleamed a fiery red in the fading sunlight. On top of the carriage sat a figure in a black cloak, a cowl pulled up to conceal his face. Something about him inspired instinctive revulsion in Sharon. She looked up into the window of the carriage and saw faces behind it. Agonized faces of people banging hands on the glass, pleading with her to help them and warning her away. The faces of the damned! She looked back to the driver and saw him leaning down. The arm he extended was skeletally thin, and when his hood pulled aside she saw death's face inside. He cooed in a raspy voice. "There's room for one more". For the third time that month, Sharon awoke, howling in terror, with the sound of those words echoing in her ears. She sought advice from everyone she knew about the meaning of her dream. They all thought it was inspired from a bad horror movie. The sleepless nights she endured after these dreams were ruining her life, sapping her strength to work and fatiguing her to the point where she sometimes made dangerous mistakes. One morning after her nightmare, as she was crossing a city street in an insomniac stupor, she was almost run down by a cab she failed to see. It was another morning after the nightmare that Sharon was waiting for her bus to work and noticed as it approached that it looked different. Nothing she could put her finger on; just the sense that there was something odd about the vehicle. As the bus pulled alongside the curb, Sharon got onto the back of the line and stalked up to the door. She was almost on board when she heard the bus driver announce: "Room for one more!" Sharon halted, her foot in mid-air above the step, and stared in fright at the driver just as he turned his head back from his survey of the bus's interior. She saw a wizened man, whose body was thin and sickly, but whose eyes overpowered her with manic intensity. She knew where she had seen those features before. Sharon felt as though she were back in her nightmare, powerless to make any forward movement, even as the driver beckoned her with a crooked finger. The noises all around her sounded like the screams and howls of Hell. The spell was broken by a frenzied commuter, who rushed onto the bus from behind her. The doors closed with a pneumatic hiss, and the bus drove off, the driver staring at her with a sardonic grin on his face. The next morning, the tragedy was emblazoned across the front page of all the newspapers. A bus packed with commuters had lost control shortly after Sharon's stop and had run off a bridge onto the roadbed below. Everyone on the bus, including the driver, had died in the fiery wreckage. An icy chill spread along Sharon's spine as she realized the significance of the news story. Her dreams had not been the fevered fancies of an excited imagination! They had been warnings. She could have been on that bus. But she had known not to board it. Sharon knew she should be exhilarated that she had cheated death, but she couldn't summon the enthusiasm. She felt edgy and apprehensive, the way she felt when walking past a dark alleyway by herself late at night. She cleaned up her breakfast dishes and dressed for her job in a daze. She hoped for nothing less than a solid day of demanding work in which she could completely immerse herself. She was just locking her door when she heard the apartment building's elevator ping open on her floor. It was an old thirteen-story building, and she knew the next elevator could take forever. She pleaded with whoever was in the elevator to hold the door, and sprinted. As she flew through the doors, she saw that the only other occupant was the elderly lift operator. He seemed shrunken and harmless in his baggy uniform. As the doors closed inescapably behind her like a crypt being closed shut, and the long descent began, he turned his sneering face upon her and chortled in a sandpapery voice: "No need to run, There's room for one more!"


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