A collection of stories to thrill, entertain, and enlighten . Thought provoking tales of fantasy, mystery, murder, love, sci-fi, and war. Within the mind and around the globe and universe, journey with the heroes and fools, the victims and the villa...
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His head felt as though it were about to explode. Mark looked back towards the car. He could barely make it out through the dense fog that clung to the forest floor. Only the dimming tail-lights, still glowing after the accident, were clearly visible. The body of the vehicle was nearly perpendicular to the ground. He could smell the steaming liquid that leaked from the radiator and sizzled on the remains of the wrecked engine.
It was a wonder he wasn't killed, he thought. He should have known better than to try to drive at night through a fog on a winding gravel road. He silently thanked God for letting him survive. Mark looked around. It was dark and misty. The fog floated along the ground to a height of about five feet. The moonlight reflected off its surface, giving it the appearance of a gently churning ocean.
He tried to recollect the accident and found that his memory was full of holes. He could not, for example, remember where he was going or why, just the horror of the crash itself, of crawling from the wreck onto the damp forest floor. He knew, or felt he knew, pretty much all the other pertinent details of his life. He knew where he lived, what he did for a living, even what he had eaten for breakfast that morning. What he didn't know was where he was or how to get home. The only noises he heard were the night-sounds of the woods and the distant strain of bluegrass music originating somewhere ahead in the darkness.
Mark considered his position. He was beaten up, his head hurt, and he couldn't remember where he was. His options were limited, he could either wait for help that might never come along the obscure trail upon which he had crashed, or he could head toward the distant music and ask for help. The plummeting temperature helped him make up his mind. He needed to move or he would freeze. Distant bluegrass it was.
He followed the sound of fiddles and squeeze-boxes through the trees and bramble, stumbling several times over boulders hidden beneath the shrouding fog. As the music grew louder, Mark could make out a glow in the distance. As he trudged on, the glow became discernable as a residence, lit by a row of lamps that led to the front door of a pleasant looking ranch-style home set about 100 yards from a wide dirt road. Mark's heart lifted in relief. He had half expected to come across some ominous Deliverance-style abode inhabited by paranoid inbred moonshiners. He brushed himself off, took a deep breath, walked to the front door, and rang the doorbell.
The door was opened by a well-groomed twentyish man wearing a dark brown cardigan. The young man seemed neither surprised nor curious at his late-night caller. He slowly shook his head.
"You again? Jeez Mark, this is becoming a habit," he opened the door fully for the stunned wanderer. "You might as well come on in." Mark followed him in and was about to speak when the man interrupted him.
"Let me guess," the man said with a wry smile, "you've never been here, you don't know where you are or who I am, and you've had an accident."
