Route 96

“It’s real kind of you to help me find the road again,” the man said with a tired smile. “My car broke down out here today. Can’t even tell what went wrong with that old piece of junk. What was your name again?”

“I’m Jimmy,” the boy answered softly. “It’s fine. I don’t mind showing you the way back. What brought you out here, mister?”

“I was heading to meet some friends near Route 96. I would’ve called them, or maybe a tow truck, but my phone doesn’t get a signal in this dead zone.” He glanced down at Jimmy. “What grade are you in, son?”

“I just started fifth grade,” Jimmy replied. He held his bike close and pointed toward the pond in the distance. “I ride out here after school sometimes. I like to stop by the water and try to catch frogs. It takes me the long way home, but if I beat my dad there, I’m okay. He gets real mad if we’re late.”

The man nodded. “Yeah, parents worry. They’ve got their reasons too. You never know who’s out here—people waiting to hurt kids or snatch them away.” He gave a nervous laugh. “But don’t worry, I’m not one of those people.”

Jimmy shrugged. “I’m not scared. You seem nice. But one time, I did see something strange. Right there—see that little house? The one that’s almost falling apart?”

“The yellow shack?” the man asked, squinting. “Yeah, I see it. What happened there?”

“There was a man and a woman,” Jimmy explained, lowering his voice. “They were yelling at each other. I think it was about money. They opened the trunk of their car and carried something inside the shack. When they came out, they saw me looking. I was walking my bike past them. They yelled at me to get lost. I was so scared, I stayed away for a whole week.”

“That does sound scary,” the man said, frowning. “I wonder what they put in there. Did you ever go back and check?”

Jimmy shook his head quickly. “No way. That place looks creepy. I’m not going in there.”

“Probably nothing,” the man said, though his eyes stayed fixed on the shack. “Still sounds suspicious, though. You did the right thing by leaving.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. He paused, then tugged at the man’s sleeve. “Hey, mister… can I tell you something? It’s a secret. A real bad secret. I don’t want to get in trouble. It’s my fault.”

The man knelt slightly, softening his voice. “Don’t look so sad. I can keep a secret. What is it?”

Jimmy hesitated, staring at the ground. “We gotta go over there. I’ll show you.”

“Alright,” the man said slowly. “Lead the way.”

They walked together, the boy pushing his bike beside him. The air grew heavier the closer they came to the hill.

“We’re almost there,” Jimmy said, pointing. “Just over this rise and across the road. Then you’ll see. I’m real sorry I never told anyone.”

The man climbed the hill with him, and when they reached the top, he froze. Down below lay a wrecked car, twisted and broken as if it had been sitting there for years.

“Is that… a car crash?” the man whispered.

Jimmy’s face fell. “Yeah. I’m sorry, mister. That was your car.” His small voice cracked. “That day, I wasn’t paying attention. I was riding my bike in the middle of the road, whistling, not watching. You came around the corner fast. You swerved so you wouldn’t hit me. And then…”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears. “I come back here to look for you sometimes, but you never remember me. Every time, it’s like you forgot who I am. I’m sorry I made you crash. I’m sorry I made you die, mister.”

The man stared down at the wreck, his mouth opening and closing, no words coming out. Slowly, realization spread across his face.

Jimmy lowered his head. His voice was barely a whisper now.

“I’m sorry, mister… so sorry.”