1.3 The Woman In White: A Supernatural Fan Fiction

CHAPTER III: The Woman in White/Back on the Road Again

JERICHO, CALIFORNIA

A car shot down Centennial Highway, Eagles of Death Metal's "Speaking in Tongues" coming through the crappy speakers. Over the drums and guitar, the roar of the engine, and the rush of tires propelling his car down the pavement, teenager Troy was still able to hear his girlfriend's voice through his cell phone.

"Amy, I can't come over tonight." He was telling her for what seemed like the 100th time. "Because I've got work in the morning, that's why. Yeah, okay, I miss it, and my dad's gonna have my ass."

Just then, the track on the radio skipped, and in its place sounded a high-pitched whine. Troy frowned, glancing down at the little lights as they flickered feebly. When his eyes returned to the road, he saw there, in tall, dead grasses, was a woman in white. She was swaying gently, as though dancing. As Troy watched, she flickered like a display on a TV. Troy blinked rapidly. What the hell?

"Hey, ah, Amy, let me call you back?" Troy said, and hung up. He reached for the radio, attempting to shut it off. The song was catching and stuttering, and no matter how many buttons Troy pressed, he couldn't manage to make it stop. Okay, weird...

Pulling up next to the woman, Troy swallowed his feelings of unease and leaned over the passenger seat to talk out the window. She had dark, gently curled hair, and she was deathly pale. Her brown eyes were empty and mournful. But what made Troy the most wary were the many ragged tears in the fabric of her skirt. Who was she?

"Car trouble or something?" He asked casually, ignoring the odd sensation that urged him to drive away very quickly, without looking back.

"Take me home?" she asked in a soft, slow voice, those powerful brown eyes boring into Troy's, making his stomach weak. He didn't even notice that she didn't really answer the question.

"Sure, get in." Troy told her, reaching over to pop open the passenger door. As she climbed in, Troy noticed that she had bare feet. That was odd. But whoever this check was, she was hot...

"So, where do you live?" Troy asked as he started driving again.

"At the end of Breckenridge Road." She said simply in the same low, sensual tone.

Troy nodded in understanding, then glanced over at her again. He noticed for the first time how low-cut her dress was. For a few seconds, he didn't realize that he was staring at the curvature of her breasts, clearly visible below her collar. He laughed nervously, averting his gaze.

"You coming from a Halloween party or something?" He wondered. Again, she didn't answer his question, always staring. The nervous feeling resurfaced.

"You know, a girl like you shouldn't be alone out here." He told her somewhat sternly. Her gaze turned doleful, and her fingers curled around the hem of her skirt, tugging it up over her thigh.

"I'm with you," she said.

Troy gulped, looking away. Reaching up a delicate finger, the woman turning his face back towards her.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" She asked softly.

Troy nodded stupidly, his eyes practically reaching down her shirt again. "Uh... huh."

"Will you come home with me?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, for scarcely more than two seconds before Troy, all thoughts of his girlfriend fleeing his mind, choked out, "Um. Hell yeah." And he stomped on the gas.

Troy sped down Breckenridge Road, his head foggy with wanton desire. But as they reached the end of the long street, Troy began to grow confused. There was, indeed, a house; but it had to have been abandoned for at least ten years. The thing was sagging on its structure. All the windows were broken, and the door was hanging on its hinges, smashed in by vandals ages ago. Troy looked at the woman with an incredulous gawk. She was staring sadly at the house.