Wish You Were Here by Reed W. Huston
Wish You Were Here
Reed W. Huston
Copyright 2016 Reed W. Huston
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I slammed the pedal into the floorboard. The whiff of burning rubber assaulted my nostrils, accompanied by the shrieking tires as they skidded against the tarmac. That damned dog! It came out of nowhere! I swerved, but the vino had dulled my reactions somewhat. I’d oversteered to compensate but it was too late. We were headed for the divider, fast.
The road was dark, illuminated only by the occasional streetlight. It had been raining, so I suppose it was rather ill advised of my husband and I to attempt driving back. If I wasn’t sober, Morgan was definitely beyond drunk. He was in no condition to drive, and thinking back upon that decision now; perhaps I wasn’t the best candidate to take us home either.
Time seemed to slow to a standstill, the way you always heard people talk about. Morgan was asleep. His head lolled about his shoulder, leaving a patch of drool by his collarbone. I wiped the tears from my eyes. I wouldn’t even get to tell him I loved him again.
The car hit the divider with a sickening crunch. I lurched forward, propelled by inertia and coming to an abrupt halt as the seatbelt snapped me back. My ribs ached from the strain. The belt wasn’t enough to stop my head from slamming against the steering wheel though. The sudden impact disoriented me, and the cocktail of blood and sweat stung my eyes.
Morgan didn’t have a seatbelt or a steering wheel to cushion the impact. I had expended so much energy getting him into the car in his current state that I’d forgotten to strap him in. A mistake that would regrettably be short lived. Instantly upon collision with the guard rail he was thrown out, through the windshield. A mist of glass sprayed my face as the car continued barreling forward. It started to roll, sending my arms up in a hapless flail. The otherwise innocuous trinkets in my car launched about like cruise missiles as the car tumbled. My clutch purse hit the back of my head. I felt the blood drain from my head as my world began to go black.
~~***~~
I don’t know how much time had passed till I came to. My eyesight was blurred. No wait. I winked my left eye, then my right. Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t see clearly out of my right eye. I blinked a few times, trying to clear the fogginess but it wouldn’t go away.
I strained to look around me. I don’t remember how; but I was now lying on my back, looking up at the stars. The blurry gems in the night sky blinked back at me, the only illumination in a moonless night. I struggled to prop myself up on one arm. My other arm hung limply by my side; I could tell something was broken or at least seriously dislocated. With some effort, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. As was generally the case with my luck today, the screen was smashed. I tossed the broken handset aside.
With a grunt, I shuffled to a sitting position. I lamented my decision to keep this car. We’d been arguing about changing to a newer model, one with airbags and the like, but it just never seemed important enough. It sure did now. The wreck of our Bevriolet Springbok smoldered in front of me, steam hissing out of what I imagined must have been a busted radiator or carburetor or something; I didn’t know much about cars to be honest, Morgan was the gearhead of the household. Morgan!
I frantically looked around for Morgan, half expecting him to come running towards me to help me up. My stomach sank when the realization dawned on me. I staggered towards the wreck, hoping I’d be able to make him out in the surrounding clearing, or at least guess where he would have landed. Surges of pain shot up my leg, like electrical signals along a frayed cable. I ignored the throbbing, knowing the window of opportunity to find and help Morgan was growing smaller each second.
The car itself had more in common now with an oversized paper weight than it did a vehicle. The windshield was shattered, shards of broken glass still hanging from the frame like the teeth of the loser in a heavyweight bout. My blood ran cold. That blood spatter was Morgan’s. I had to find him before he bled out. Overcome by a sudden bout of nausea and dizziness, I supported myself against the car. It was probably from the sight of all that blood. I tried to shake the feeling out of my head, an ill-advised endeavor as my brain ached, feeling two sizes too small for my skull.
The driver’s side window was smashed as well. Peering in, the seatbelt was surprisingly still buckled in. It must've gone slack when the car rolled. The entire engine compartment and front end was crushed, looking more like an accordion or the snout of a pug. I hobbled past the car, towards the broken guardrail.
A smear of blood painted the ground, trailing off towards a mass of bushes where I assumed Morgan must have slid. Hopeful of finding him, I picked up the pace, limping as fast as my injured legs would carry me and struggling against the cloudy blurriness that was starting to descend. My stomach turned when I finally spotted him, laying on his back in a pool of blood.
Tears streamed down my cheeks again. No…no! Not this. I scampered towards him. Even without medical training, I knew it was too late. Morgan’s body was covered in cuts and bruises. His eyes were closed and his chest unmoving. I tried to move him but his legs were pinned under some debris. Suppressing sobs, I did what anyone would do in the situation. Helpless, I panicked.
“Morgan! Morgan!” I screamed uncontrollably, shaking his shoulders violently as I miraculously hoped he would rouse. “Please baby wake up!”
There was no response, as part of me had already known. I put my fingers to his neck, hoping against hope that I would find at least some trace of a heartbeat, however weak. A tiny beat pulsed under my fingertips. He wasn’t gone yet, but Morgan was dying. And without a way to contact anyone, my husband was as good as dead. I looked at my bloodied hands. The hands that killed him. Sorrow and fear overtook me. Wh…what had I done? The tears flowed uncontrollably as I embraced Morgan and wept into his chest. It…couldn’t be. Not Morgan. Not Morgan.
“I don’t think he’s doing too well,” came a young voice, much younger than me. “Looks like a case of the ‘Deads’.” I turned around. Squatting rather playfully on a branch behind me was a young girl, in her teens; clad in jeans and a tank top. Her hair had red highlights in them, and it was tied up in pigtails that mirrored her evidently playful persona. “Or at least the ‘Soon to be Deads’.”
“Who…who are you?” I asked, sputtering between sobs and sniffles. “Did you do this?” Somehow, I sought to transfer the blame. I was still in disbelief. And I still refused to acknowledge that the death of the man I love would be my fault.
“Oh no,” she wagged a finger. “This was all you,” she replied as she leapt off the branch with childlike enthusiasm onto the ground behind me. “All you.” She appeared to survey the scene. She let out a quick whistle, like you would do when you called a pet.
Sure enough, a large black dog bounded out of the undergrowth beside her. She scratched behind its unnaturally large ears and under its chin. The thing looked almost as big as she did. And it looked familiar.
“And you nearly hit Ripper here.”
“Do you have a phone? Please, call for an ambulance, my husband is dying,” I ignored her chiding. Wait. That dog! I knew I recognized it! I felt the pent-up anger swell within me.
“You made me crash!” I yelled. “That dog…caused all of this!”
“Nuh uh,” she wagged her finger again. “If you’re suggesting I to
“Still, it’s your responsibility!” I can’t believe I was trying to reason with a girl barely out of her tweens. Especially one who appeared to be showing little reaction to the accident and tragedy in front of her. One who was almost shockingly nonchalant.
“And whose responsibility is it that you’re driving piss-drunk huh?” she asked with startling hostility. “Or that Johnny Stiff over here didn’t buckle up? What if that had been another person on that road instead of Ripper? A cute old lady who couldn’t jump out of the way. What then?” I was stunned at what I perceived to be omniscience on her part.
“You’re not just a regular girl, are you?” I asked, my hands still subconsciously cradling Morgan’s head as I rested his head on my lap.
“Define regular,” she replied with an impish smile. I could’ve sworn I saw rows of pointed white teeth. My heart skipped a beat. “If you mean sweet, angelic and playful; nah I’m way beyond that,” she flapped her hand as if swatting a bug. “Except maybe the playful part,” she said, scratching her chin. “If you mean human,” she lowered her head and looked at me through sinister cat-like eyes, her smile spreading from cheek to cheek in an inhuman Cheshire Cat grin. “Honey I am anything but.”
I scampered back, putting myself between Morgan and her in an attempt to protect him from…whatever she was. “W…what are you?” I stuttered. My mind darted from concern over Morgan to self-preservation. She was eerie as hell.
“Oh, just a sales…” she paused. “…woman,” she continued. “Sorry, I change skins so often I lose track of what I’m wearing,” she sniggered. “Something you’d be able to relate to, right…Samantha?” She lingered on my name, as if realizing her uttering it would freak the hell out of me. It did. “Being an insurance salesperson, I’m sure you pick the right suit for the job each time, something that oozes sincerity and class.”
“There’s nothing sincere or classy about you,” I retorted.
“Aww.” She tilted her head. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“What do you want?” I spat out. “Please, either help us or leave us alone!”
“Oh, there won’t be an ‘us’ in about…” She paused to look at her watch-less wrist. “…ten minutes or so,” she said, proceeding to rub the salt deep into my wounds. “I just want to present you with an option. Just something to think about before the police come and haul you off to prison.”
“I’m not afraid of prison. I’ll do it if it saves Morgan.”
“Ah, classic guilt. I just love that emotion. Gives me a lot to work with," she said while framing my face with her hands, pretending to take a picture. “Besides, it’s every bit his fault as yours, you know? If he hadn’t drunk so much you wouldn’t have had to drive. You both must’ve known with your previous accident record even when sober you were a shit driver.”
“Shut up,” I tersely replied.
“Aww, did I strike a nerve?” she came annoyingly close to my face. Her breath reeked of rotting fish. “Or I don’t know,” she shrugged. “You could be a martyr and take all the blame yourself. You should start practicing by covering your eyes and peering through your fingers ‘cause you’re only gonna see the scenery through bars from now on.”
“Shut up!” I screamed. “Shut up!”
“Or maybe you’d like to take me up on my offer?” she teased. I didn’t respond. “Make all of this go away,” she passed her hand through the air as if wiping a slate clean. “Take me up on my offer and your honey bunny will be back to his old lively self, no shuffling zombie, rotting corpse nonsense,” she said, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
I looked at Morgan. His skin was gray and pallid. He looked like a shadow, a specter of the man I loved. I shook my head. No, he was just sleeping. I stroked his hair. He looked innocent and angelic, the way he always looked when I watched him sleep. It couldn’t be. I ran a finger over his lips. His once tender lips. Nothing but cold. I could feel his heart laboring to pump as his pulse weakened more. He would be gone soon. My love, my light, would be unceremoniously put out.
“What do you say?” she urged.
“Wh…what do you want in return?” I asked. There was no way this was a good idea. I knew better than this. The house always won. But our love was meant to be immortal. Meant to be perfect. I cradled Morgan’s head. The kind of union that outlasted kingdoms. And to have it all cut down barely ten years into our adventure together…I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let this end without at least trying.
“What’s that darling?” she pretended not to hear me. “I didn’t catch that."
“What do you want in return?” I said, more assured this time, betraying a confidence I didn’t have. I knew this was a bad idea, and I was going into it with both eyes wide open. I was at the end of my rope. And this was the noose at the end of that rope. That’s what this felt like. A noose.
“I knew you’d finally play ball,” she said confidently, like a saleswoman making the sale. It was unnerving, the way she sashayed about with bravado beyond her years. She definitely wasn’t a teenager. In her own words, she was anything but. “I just need you to say: ‘I wish’ and dot dot dot,” she moved her hand as if placing invisible items in the air as she spelled out the ellipsis. “You finish the sentence.”
“And you take my soul? Is that it?”
“Pfft,” she scoffed. “What would I do with a soul? I want…” she paused. “Ten years off your life every time.”
I was taken aback. “Ten years?” I blurted.
“Hey, a second ago you were offering me your soul. Typical behavior. You only offer something because you think you’re not using it. Do me a favor,” she said. “Read Dante’s Inferno. Once you see the shit I just saved you from, you’ll be thankful I’m only trimming years off your age. Years you’re probably not going to use anyway. I mean what’s ten less years of poor hearing and losing your teeth?”
“For…every wish?” I asked. A lone car passed by on the road, slowing down slightly at the broken divider but speeding off shortly after. It wasn’t any use. Getting help was pointless now. Morgan wouldn’t last the trip to the hospital.
“Now I didn’t say that,” she wagged her finger. “You only get one wish. But since I’m a generous minx, I’ll allow you three chances to get your wish right. No more, no less. Thirty years max. But most people nail it in one.”
“Get my wish right?”
“Yeah, well for example if I were to wish for world peace. And I wake up the next morning and find that nothing has changed. Then I realize I forgot to tell the cute wish-granting girl exactly which world I wanted peace on. So…be really specific.”
“Sounds like fine print to me,” I replied. I began to get uneasy. It seemed like there were innumerous terms and conditions that had been somehow rigged to make me come out on the losing end. I stroked Morgan’s hair. Innocent Morgan. Was I willing to take that risk? I was. I sure as hell was.
“Fine print’s better than no print,” she shrugged. “Do we have a deal?”
I hesitated a while more, before nodding. “I’ll do it.”
“Great,” she spread her arms in what appeared more a sign of triumph than relief. “Now just say the magic words,” she urged.
“I wish,” I paused, inhaling a deep breath. “I wish this accident had never happened, and Morgan and I were back home safe and sound before all of this had ever happened,” I said, trying to leave her little room for interpretation.
“Back home where?” she asked for clarification. “Wouldn’t want you claiming I deliberately misheard the wish or something.”
“Back home at 117 Belgam Park,” I spelled out our home address.
“Say no more,” she nodded. “Ten ye
She squinted as her unnerving smile stretched from ear to ear again. There was something sinister hidden behind that smile, I just knew it. She appeared to derive satisfaction from saying ‘Godspeed’, what I assumed must’ve been the equivalent of a swear word to her. Ripper howled a bone chilling cry as I felt a tug behind both my eyeballs. An excruciating pain followed as my tongue ached beyond belief, so much so I could’ve sworn it was about to be ripped out. My throat seared as if I had just ingested boiling lava and my intestines soon followed, stinging as if I was digesting a bushel of pine cones.
Light started emanating from the tips of my fingers and mouth. The last thing I saw was that unnatural grin. The light completely filled my vision as I felt myself being lifted. Blinded, I stopped resisting, allowing whatever force that was doing this to see it through. The wind in my face relaxed me, letting me for a single second forget all my woes. Before I knew it, I’d drifted off to sleep.