Sunday Photo Fiction: Weedy Road

201-05-may-28th-2017

A Mixed Bag

Every small town has a horror story. Ours was the house at the end of Weedy Road. Unsolved murders lend themselves to folklore and for us, the killer evolved into a gruesome figure; almost reptilian. It became a teenage rite of passage to visit the road on a moonless night, and so we went; me, Jack, and Harry. Jack drove his ’73 Impala, Harry sat shotgun, and I was in the back. The old Weedy house looked more like its name-sake than ever before.

We sat while the car idled.

“Turn the engine off, otherwise, it doesn’t count.” Harry knew all the rules.

Jack reluctantly moved his hand toward the ignition, paused, then turned the key.

The silence was earsplitting. No one dared breath.

I jumped out of my skin when Harry spoke.

“I knew it was a gag,” said Harry. “Let’s get out of here.”

Jack twisted the key to the right.

Nothing.

Our breathing intensified as Jack frantically turned the key. Miraculously, the engine started.

Gunning the accelerator, Jack reversed and raced toward town. Another tale for 1st hour on Monday.

Except for the part where I saw something standing in the middle of the road.

 

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a short 200-word story inspired by a photograph. This week’s photo is provided by A Mixed Bag.

 

 

 

 

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21 thoughts on “Sunday Photo Fiction: Weedy Road

  1. Wouldn’t you know several teenagers would take a chance like that? At least they got away. In the movies, they usually don’t. These days it could be really dangerous. There are a lot of creepy, strange people around. Good writing, Susan. 🙂 — Susan

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  2. Oo, spooky! Gotta love those small town legends. I’m guessing he saw something pretty terrifying in the road — or at least, he’ll be wondering forever whether he really saw it for that split-second or if it was his imagination playing tricks . Either way, I doubt he’ll go back to see for sure!

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  3. James, you will be glad to know that they did make it home, safe and sound. I actually based the story on a place in my husband’s home town (called Weedy Road). Supposedly, if you drove there at midnight your car engine would stop. I am not sure if anything more sinister than having to call a tow-truck actually occurred, so I embellished the story a bit.

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