Scary Short Stories †

forty seven

Part 4: An Inaccurately Named Conclusion

So I'm still alive, which is cool. There's more good news but, considering how the previous update ended with me hell-bent on continuing to make bad decisions like it was my job, I should probably start by filling you guys in on what happened the other night.

Using Google Maps, I found a location that matched up with the coordinates from Enid's final entry: It was a sizable structure positioned behind a long row of smaller interconnected buildings located near the center of a town so tiny; Google didn't even have a name for it. Which is, of course, always a good sign.

Looking at how the buildings were positioned, I assumed that my destination was a warehouse located behind a long strip-mall. And it seemed as if I had guessed right. In fact, the narrow two-lane highway that acted as Nameless Town's impromptu main street was practically lined with strip-malls from one end to the other.

Most of the stores were pretty generic: women's boutiques and sandwich shops. There were a couple of electronics outlets too, a few sporting-goods stores, etc. All of them were closed and, from the looks of it, had been for quite some time. I slowed as I neared the end of "Strip City" and glanced down at the GPS app on my phone. I was almost on top of my destination now.

I looked back at the road and reflexively slammed on my breaks as the final strip-mall came into view. The car screeched to a halt in the middle of the street, stopping beside a sign that read "MR. MYSTERY'S ADULT VIDEO AND ARCADE!" Above the sign was a 10-foot tall painted wood cut-out of Mr. Mystery, himself. Care to guess what he looked like?

If you answered "a creepy bastard in a black mask", congratulations! You have a basic understanding of how to utilize narrative clues. Call your dad. Tell him he was wrong. You ARE good for something.

On a related note, it was at this point that I became almost certain I was on the right track. I was about to pull into Mr. Mystery's parking-lot when an uncharacteristic moment of foresight made me decide to drive a little further down and hide the car in the lot of a nearby gas station instead.

I pulled into the abandoned gas station, which was half a block down from Mr. Mystery's arcade. Then I realized there was a very real chance I would be running for my life when I left here and that it was probably best if my car were parked as close as possible. I made a U-turn and exited the gas station parking-lot, Bruce Willis' irate voice in my head asking "Who's driving this car? Stevie Wonder?"

As a compromise I passed up Mr. Mystery's and parked one lot over in the Bed, Bath, and Beyond next door. I even backed into the space so that my car was facing the exit. Keeping my eyes on the adult arcade, I pulled the gun from the back of my waistband and checked the magazine to make sure it was loaded. I let out a deep breath and then switched off the safety.

As I prepared myself to exit the car, I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of the wild-eyed sleep-deprived unshaven ne'er-do-well staring back at me. This is when, for the second time in less than two weeks, I found myself having a genuine moment of personal introspection while sitting in a parked car with a loaded gun in my hand. And it dawned on me then that I was bad at learning from mistakes.

But you know what? Not this time. Ole' Clarence was too smart to be THAT stupid. I slid the gun back in my waistband and took out my phone to do what, admittedly, I probably should've done a long time ago. I dialed 9-1-1.

I put the phone to my ear as the line started to ring, which was weird because the ring had sort of an echo to it. Probably just the terrible reception out here. It rang again and this time the echo sounded like it was coming from the backseat of my car. I lowered the cell as a third ring, clear as day, sounded from my backseat.