In Laymon's Terms

Focused on steering, he was only vaguely aware that Sally’s struggle with the heavy-weight hitchhiker had come to an end. “Got crowded in here for a minute,” she said. “How come we’re slowing down?”

Malcolm jangled the keys in front of her face.

She made a grab to snatch them away, but she wasn’t quick enough. She looked at Malcolm with wide, pleading eyes. “Now you’re gonna put me out! I knew that’s what you wanted! I knew I couldn’t trust you!”

He steered the slowing car onto a gravel shoulder. “Would you mind applying the breaks?” he asked.

“Yes, I mind!”

Twisting awkwardly, Malcolm managed to find the break pedal with his foot. He stopped the car.

“Thanks a heap,” Sally muttered. She flung open her door. “Of all the creeps! Thanks for nothing, creep!” She slammed the door and began walking away.

“Wait!” Malcolm yelled. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving,” she called over her shoulder. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“You can’t leave.”

“Just watch me.” She started walking quickly up the roadside.

“Come back here!”

“I’m sure somebody’ll pick me up sooner or later. Maybe he’ll be a gentleman.”

Maybe he’ll be a cop, Malcolm thought.

“Maybe he’ll appreciate a gal for her company and not want to put her outa the car the first chance he gets. Like some people I know.”

“Come back here!” Malcolm demanded as he clambered behind the wheel.

Sally kept walking.

“Get back here!” Malcolm started the car. “You can’t just walk off!” He drove up beside her. “You murdered those people! Get in here. Who do you think they’ll blame if you go wandering off?”

“Not me,” she said. Doing a quick about-face, she walked behind Malcolm’s car and crossed the highway.

“Damn it!”

Smiling, Sally stuck out her thumb.

“You can’t!” Malcolm started to make a U-turn.

“Better not,” Sally called out as he steered across the double yellow lines so fast his tires squealed.

The Lincoln Continental speeding around the bend slammed into his little car and sent it spinning over the cliff.

“He was gonna run me down!” Sally cried.

“Looked that way to me, too. Guess we’d better find us some cops.”

“Why bother?” Sally asked, and climbed in. “He’s water over the dam.” She laughed. “Where you headed?”

“Los Angeles,” the man said.

“Same here. Hey, you aren’t gonna put me out, are you? I been put out before, you know. I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

Originally Published in Cemetery Dance #34, 2001

INVASIONS AND TREPIDATIONS

Asked to join the artist, GAK in covering an independent film shoot for The Midnight Hour, I had mixed feelings. There were good reasons not to do it. For one thing, I don’t like to go anywhere on weekends. Safe at home, I usually turn out lots of pages on Saturdays and Sundays. For another thing, I’m a novelist, not a journalist. I don’t know how to cover real stories. Also, I get nervous about meeting strangers. If that weren’t bad enough, the adventure would require driving for more than two hours on the freeways of Southern California. I like to avoid them. Southern California freeways are nerve-wracking at best, lethal at worst. Finally, it would mean driving into unknown regions of Oxnard, where I was almost certain to get lost. I’m a novelist, not a navigator.

On the other hand, Matt Johnson had asked me to cover the shoot. It’s difficult to say no to Matt. Not only is he a terrific guy, but he’s a publisher. As a writer, it can’t hurt to do favors for a publisher.

Plus, I’d never watched a film being shot. It seemed like a great opportunity. Losing a day of writing would be a small price to pay for all the new material I might gain. Also...who knows?...as a writer, it never hurts to meet film-makers. Usually doesn’t help, but can’t hurt.

To top it all off, I looked forward to spending the time with GAK. I’d enjoyed our occasional encounters at horror conventions and figured this would be a great opportunity to get to know him better.

I was still hesitant about undertaking the journey, however, until my nineteen-year-old daughter, Kelly, agreed to come along and help with the navigation.

All things considered...and various qualms shoved aside, I decided to go for it.

Nor did I back out, even though I was beset by worries that we might crash and get killed on our way to or from the shoot. I mean, more than two hours on the freeways...it could happen. I told myself these were just normal worries, not premonitions...though they felt like premonitions.

OFF WE GO

At nine-thirty on Saturday morning, we climbed into Kelly’s car armed with directions, a note pad, a pen, a couple of cameras with extra film, a micro-cassette recorder, and two bottles of water to ward off dehydration in case we should break down, survive a crash, or become otherwise stranded in the wasteland of the Southern California freeway system. Then, off we went.