On the Highway

He awakes beneath a Christmas tree. Lights blink rapidly in vari­ous colors. Red, green, blue, white. There’s a fresh pile of dog shit near his head. He groans in disgust and irritation, thinking he should quit drinking.

On the opposite side of the room, there’s a man sleeping on a couch. Someone random he doesn’t know. The dude’s snores vibrate along with his headache. His memory comes while he staggers to stand. It’s someone’s house, he can’t remember. His body wakes while he stumbles to the dark hall near the couch, assuming that’s where the bathroom is.

In the bathroom, a chick he knows as a cashier at the station on the highway is sprawled out near the toilet. Not wanting to be rude, he chooses the sink to piss in. While washing his hands, he notices her untied shoelaces. The shoes look new, fresh. He can’t help himself, he ties the laces. His mama raised him right, even naming him Ellis, apparently meaning “kind.”

Ellis meanders to a kitchen. It’s pure chaos. Dirty dishes fill the sink. Food clutters the counters. Likely more dog shit in a corner. The smell makes him gag, specifically the burnt pizza atop the oven. A grateful distraction, he hears laughter from outside and peers out the window. There are people near a bonfire.

Approaching the crowd, he concludes no familiarity. But he snags a beer from a cooler to remedy his headache and sits in a lawn chair, joining the camaraderie. Across from him, he matches eyes with a shirtless stud with hoops pierced in his nipples. A bearded man with a dragon tattoo on his neck is in a frenzy, while the onlookers are gauged in complete attention.

“Yo! Check it,” the bearded man says while the dragon on his neck bobs in motion. “They say there’s some real spook around this piece. Scary as hell.”

A dirty blonde with her mouth ajar, asks, “Like what?”

The bearded man shakes his head and darts his eyes around the circle in near mania. In immediate haste, he spins his campfire tale.

“People ‘round here be talkin’ ‘bout some crazy bitch who haunts the highway,” he starts in rapid fire. “Legend has it she snapped, goin’ psycho, and smothered her kids. I guess when her man came home, she axed his ass. She drowned herself in the bath like a punk.” For effect, the beard gives an eyebrow flash.

Thoughtlessly, Ellis snorts with a soft giggle. Heads turn in his direction with inquiring eyes. Damn, he thinks, clearly they want some explanation. Stumbling to find his voice, Ellis attempts to justify his apparent rudeness.

“I mean, come on,” he retorts. “That narrative is tired. Where’s the originality?”

Mr. Beard sneers, commenting, “It’s our local history. Have respect.”

Ellis nods, responding, “Look, it’s a cliche. A recycled urban legend attributed to the Mexican oral tradition of La Llorona, a scorned woman who allegedly drowned her children in a fit of rage due to the actions of her husband. Ugh, it’s a commentary on the social and political oppression of women; a mere cautionary tale on female behavior, or a tale to scare children from ill behavior. Don’t go near water… La Llorona will get you!” Ellis laughs.

The beard is clearly miffed. He responds, “Sure, bro. But what does Mexico have to do with our history? And there ain’t no water ‘round here.”

“I think you’re missing the point, ‘bro.’ All I’m saying is that all these urban legends are somehow borrowed from other places. They usually share similar themes. Let me guess, this psycho lady only comes for you after you hear her screams?”

Ellis waits for a response.

Mr. Beard takes his time in response but relents, “Well, yeah, man.”

“Right.” Ellis rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I think this shindig is getting lame, no offense. I’m a-heading out.” He stands and begins to walk away from the circle, then realizes he’s not sure of his location. “Wait, where are we?”

The group mentions a town roughly 20 miles from his town. “Well, shit.” Ellis remarks.

The shirtless stud speaks up, “Do you need a ride, dude?”

Ellis smiles in excitement. He ponders the possibilities. “Absolutely.”

Within minutes, Ellis and the shirtless stud are on the highway, heading to Ellis’ town. Initially, it’s awkward. Neither engage in conversation. Ellis, out of boredom, finally speaks.

“What’s your name, anyway?”

“It’s Tyler.” He nods in acknowledgement after saying his name.

“That’s hot. I’m Ellis. Cool to meet you, homie.”

Despite their greeting, they are silent again. Ellis looks around his familiar setting: the open prairie. The grass isn’t particularly high this time of year. The moon illuminates far out beyond the highway. In the distance, he sees a small body of water, presumably a pond that he’s realistically skinny dipped in before. He laughs, remembering the conversation with the bearded bro.

“So Tyler, do you really believe all that nonsense about the psycho lady haunting these parts? ‘Cuz I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Nah, not really. People just bored, probably,” Tyler replies. “But who knows, I guess.” Tyler starts to look around. “What is that noise? Do you hear it?”

Ellis hears nothing but the soft thud of the music in the car. Before he can answer, Tyler slams on the brakes of his car. From a distance, in the middle of the road, is a figure. It appears as if the figure starts to emerge from the road, slowly extending to a standing position. The figure seems feminine with its hair blowing in the wind. It’s wearing a tattered dress. Finally, the figure begins to make haste, running towards the car.

Ellis shouts, “Drive, drive, drive!” He bends over, hiding beneath the dashboard. There’s a rough crash of impact: glass everywhere, grinding noises, confusion. There’s blood dripping down his forehead. Ellis looks up. Tyler is missing.