The Ghost Cars

John yawned as he gripped the steering wheel of his car, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. There was something gnawing at the edges of his memory, a nagging feeling that he couldn't quite shake. He felt as though he had been on the cusp of remembering something important, something that had eluded him for far too long. Yet, no matter how hard he strained his mind, the elusive memory remained just out of reach. With a frustrated sigh, he shook his head and brushed it off, focusing once more on the road ahead.

The fog was thick on the morning John was travelling down Route 212 aka The Beartooth Highway. He was heading from Crazy Creek Falls to Grizzly Peak near to Red Lodge and making good time. John was a nature photographer and getting some photos of a highway dubbed “Most Beautiful Highway” in America was on his bucket list. It was early October, the highway was only open for another week before it closed down for the winter months. John was confidant he had captured everything he had come for. The geysers of Yellowstone had provided great imagery as they erupted. A couple of times, he had leaned towards perhaps a bit too close, John recalled, his skin bristled as it remembered the heat that had belched forth and singed the hair on his fingers and hands.

As John looked out the window, the fog rolling over the Yellowstone National Park looked magnificent. Sure John was heading to Grizzly point where the view would be better but some B-Roll footage wouldn’t hurt. John had been on the road for about 2 hours already and his back was starting to stiffen up. A quick vape and coffee break would be welcome right about now.

John reached into the back seat to try and grab his coffee flask that was nestled in the middle sear. His fingers not finding what they were searching for. “Dammit,” John muttered to himself, wondering why he put his flash in the back seat instead of the front when he was bound to have wanted a coffee at some point this morning.

Checking the road ahead for any cars, he turned around to quickly locate the flask, turning it ever so slightly to the left as he did, the car drifting into the wrong side of the road.

He should have heard the engine of the car approaching as the highway was deserted yet it had made no sound. The headlights materialised almost out of nothingness, they cut two lines through the dense fog in in the style of a hot knife through butter. John snapped his had back around and jerked the wheel to the right as the car barrelled towards him. The tyres squealed under the sudden change in direction. John gripped the wheel tight as the car fought against his commands, he slammed his foot down onto the brake, his belongings in the back thumped into the front seats.

The car turned 90 degrees as the brakes locked down the wheels before jarring to a halt. If John had needed a vape before, it was a cigarette he was craving now. Still gripping the wheel he looked down the road for the other car he almost had a crash with. As it drove away, John wondered why it hadn’t stopped, that close of a call would surely have dictated that both drivers would pull over to ease what would most likely be very frayed nerves.

The other driver either hadn’t seen him, had somewhere to be or something to hide. John thought as he watched the car speeding away. He wasn’t much of a car fan but from what he could gather, it was a much older car that would have been more common in the 50’s or at least from the back it appeared to have that aesthetic to it. While he was glad he hadn’t hit them anyway, he was slightly more relieved as parts for a 50’s era vehicle would most likely command a heftier price tag and insurance claim.

He became aware of the soreness creeping into his fingers and let go of the steering wheel. His fingers were red with indentations of the stitching marked on his skin. He chuckled as he rubbed his face, the adrenaline wearing off and the minor panic as the full weight of the almost crash started flooding his system.

John shook himself off and had a quick glance in the back, his bags were squashed into the floor, nothing valuable in them as he always stored his camera in the boot. It was stored in a hardcase so even if he had crashed, the camera would still be intact. He exhaled and looked down the road, the vintage car was gone.

Now had the road been windy, he would expect the car to disappear out of view. But this particular stretch was as straight as an arrow. The car had vanished completely, not even in the fog, into nothingness. The taillights should have been visible but no trace had been left. “Huh, must have been moving quicker than it looked” John mused.

It was at this point, he realised he was still sitting sideways in the middle of the highway with a dense fog surrounding him. He keyed the engine into gear and triple checking for any more hidden cars, turned the car round and set off down the road. The fog ahead was thicker now, it rolled down from off the treeline spilling over the highway like a tidal wave. John clicked the fog lights on but still found himself straining forward to make out the road ahead. “I knew I should have bought that local map” John cursed to himself.

While getting to Grizzly Point before mid-day was his goal, he would rather wait for a while until the fog cleared so he could at least get there at all. A pit stop for half an hour should help to clear it or at least ease it up a bit and allow him to navigate the road safely. As he leaned forward, he spotted two small dots approaching. “Finally” John let out a relieved sigh as he flashed the high beams to get the other vehicles attention. If he could flag them down, he could ask them how far ahead the next pit stop or exit was so he could pull over safely. He flashed the high beams a few more times ensure they had seen him. The vehicles were closer now and not slowing down.

“Ahh come one, slow down will you?” John flashed the car again, perhaps they hadn’t seen him. The vehicles roared past John, the force rocking his car slightly. “Fucking hell mate!” John swore as he steadied the car. He looked in his rear view mirror to see an empty highway behind him. Only the fog in the distance could be spotted.

“What?...” John was not sure if his eyes were deceiving him. Even in thick fog, cars could not just disappear in a matter of seconds, the sound of the engines would still echo around the area. Then again, these two cars hadn’t made any sounds when they had gone past him. A couple of minutes passed and another set of lights flew past as it overtook him and then vanished, followed by another set and another set. John's anxiety mounted with each passing moment in the dense, enveloping fog. Within moments an eerie procession of ghost cars, flickering past him in both directions like wraiths, had him on edge. He could just about make out the outlines of the occupants as they went passed. His knuckles turned white as he clung to the steering wheel, his eyes darting from one spectral vehicle to the next.

“I’ve gotta get off the road!” John was in a full panic attack. His eyes darting between the ghost cars and looking for any sign of a road side stop. As the panic flooded his chest, a flicker of light pierced through the fog, and his heart leaped with hope. The neon glow of a roadside diner and a sprawling car park emerged like a lifeline. He spun the wheel to the left, and slammed his foot on the brake pedal once the wheels hit the dirt car park, tires spitting gravel and dust as he came to a stop.

John became aware that he was holding his breath when his lungs started to burn. He let out a long breath and breathed in just as deeply. His eyes flicked up to the neon sign, The Rattle and Roll Diner. For the second time within 30 minutes, he peeled his fingers off the steering wheel and exited the car.

As John gazed at the exterior of the 1960s-themed Rock 'n' Roll diner, he couldn't help but notice the weathered appearance of the once-vibrant establishment. The diner's neon sign however, still proudly advertised its name in bright, flashy letters that casted a glow on the cracked pavement below.

The building itself had seen better days. Its chrome-trimmed exterior, which had once gleamed in the sunlight, was now dulled by years of exposure to the elements. The paint, once a bold and eye-catching hue, had faded and peeled in places, revealing patches of rusty metal beneath.

A row of vintage cars, their paint jobs chipped and rusted, lined the cracked parking lot. They sat there as silent witnesses to the passage of time, remnants of a bygone era slowly succumbing to decay. Despite the signs of neglect, the diner's windows remained intact, their once-shiny chrome frames now showing signs of corrosion.

Through the smudged glass, John could catch a glimpse of the interior's dimly lit, nostalgic charm, a stark contrast to the worn exterior.

As he approached the entrance, the faint echoes of Rock 'n' Roll classics wafted out to greet him, a reminder that, despite its aging façade, the diner still clung to its cherished memories and the enduring spirit of the 1960s. John turned to look at the highway, rather than seeing it filled with the ghost cars, it was empty, only the rolling fog moving across its surface. As he looked at the highway, he could feel it beckoning to him, tendrils of mist reaching out like ghostly fingers clawing into his consciousness. As the haunting melody filled his ears, its allure became harder to resist. The jukebox crackling into life broke his fixation long enough to pull his eyes away from the highway to the dim glow of the diner. Shaking off the chills racing through him, John opened the weathered door and stepped inside.

Time had not been kind to this place. The years have taken their toll, and the diner now wears the same weathered look of forgotten nostalgia as the exterior held. The checkerboard floors, once vibrant, are now scuffed and faded, telling stories of countless footsteps that have passed over them. Neon lights, though still flickering with hints of their former glory, struggle to pierce through the dimness, casting a faint, melancholic glow throughout the diner.

The walls, adorned with fading posters of vintage concerts and black-and-white photographs of long-forgotten musicians, are peeling in places, revealing the layers of history beneath. Apart from one gentleman behind the counter, the diner did not have any waitstaff. The guests dotted around the establishment were sitting in booths, upholstered in worn-out red or turquoise vinyl, bear the scars of decades of use. The tabletops, once gleaming with chrome-edged Formica, now display the wear and tear of countless meals enjoyed and memories made.

The jukebox in the corner stands as a relic, its vibrant exterior now scratched and battered, and the once-shiny chrome accents tarnished with neglect. The music from the jukebox, skipped and cracked every so often. It was currently playing the Jan and Dean song, “Dead Man’s Curve”. Rather fitting song given the fact he had just spent the last few minutes dodging cars that faded in and out of existence like ghosts.

“You look like you could do with a drink sir?” John looked towards the man behind the counter and took in his appearance. He seemed to have walked straight out of a time capsule from the 1960s. This rocker from yesteryears bore the same weathered appearance as the diner itself, a living testament to a bygone era.

The gentleman's clothing, though once emblematic of rebellion and youth, had aged along with him. He wore a leather jacket that had seen countless adventures, its once-jet-black exterior now worn and weathered.

Faded patches adorned the sleeves, remnants of long-forgotten patches of rebellion. Underneath the jacket, he sported a plain white T-shirt, the fabric softened and discoloured by years of wear. His jeans, rolled at the cuffs, were tattered and frayed, revealing scuffed and well-worn boots that had travelled many miles on the open road.

A leather belt, adorned with a massive, oversized buckle, cinched his waist, its sheen long gone, replaced by a worn patina. A thick silver chain dangled from his pocket, adding to the rugged charm of his ensemble.

His hair, once slicked back in defiance of convention, now resembled a wild mane of salt-and-pepper waves, a testament to the passage of time. A stubble-covered jaw and a pair of sunglasses perched atop his head completed his look, giving him an air of mystery and timelessness.

As he leaned against the worn counter of the diner, sipping on a cup of coffee, his eyes held the wisdom of years gone by, and his weathered appearance seemed to blend seamlessly with the faded nostalgia of the diner itself. He was a living relic of the Golden Age of Rock 'n' Roll era, a symbol of enduring rebellion and timeless coolness amidst the passage of time.

“Yea, coffee please, black” John walked up to the counter and sat down.

“First time at the diner, son?” the gentleman had a light Texan accent.

“Yea, heading on down to Grizzly Point to grab some photos” John replied.

“Grizzly Point, nice view, haven’t been there myself in a while now, right, one black coffee coming up Mr?” The gentleman enquired of John, he turned to face the coffee machine without hearing the reply.

“Adams, John Adams”

“Pleasure to meet you John Adams, Frank Walker” Frank turned back around and offered his hand to John who shook it.

John sat down on a worn stools at the diner's counter, Frank had returned to making the coffee. John rubbed his hands together, still burning from gripping the steering wheel too tight. Frank placed his coffee down in front of him and starts cleaning glasses with a cloth. He watched John with interest as he takes a sip. “You’ve seen them haven’t you John?”

John stopped mid sip, his eyes darting up to look at Frank. He had a knowing expression on his aged face. “You mean the cars?” John’s heart seemed to beat faster as he recalled the events on the highway.

“Everyone who sees the cars, has that same confused look you have on your face right now” Frank chuckled as if he was in on a joke, John wasn’t aware of. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, he flicked a second one out the top of the packet and offered it to John who gladfully took it.

“What are they?” John lit his cigarette and took a long drag.

Frank leaned against the counter. “Different people have different takes on what they are, a glitch in time, a window to another reality, transport for souls between the living and dead worlds”.

Frank paused to take a drag. “ One thing I know do is that only a handful on people ever get to see them. Only those who travel down this highway have a chance to come across them”.

John studied Frank’s face, he could tell something was being kept from him. As a young photographer, before he settled upon nature, he had taken enough photos of people’s faces to know when a lie was being told.

“What do you think they are Frank?” John’s emphasis on the word you was hard to miss.

Frank chuckled again, raised an eyebrow and looked at John with curiosity. "Before you saw those ghost cars, what were you doing?" he asked.

John furrowed his brow, unsure why Frank was interested in his journey. "I was driving across the country, he replied, I’m on a trip to photograph areas of natural beauty across the US. Right now I’m heading to Bearcreek”. John paused, “No, wait that’s not right…err, Grizzly Point is where I’m going”. A dull thumping sensation was building in John’s head, his hands were still burning as was the panic in his chest. “Another coffee please”

Frank nodded knowingly. "Seems like you might be a more recent arrival, he mused. Usually the memories are worse than this, when they stumble in." His words carried a weight of understanding, as if he had heard similar stories countless times before in this eerie corner of the world. He looks at John, now cradling his head in his hands. “The fog is calling you again John, thought I had more time with you to ease you in but, sadly not”.

John could just about hear Frank over the thumping in his head, the fog’s tendrils were clawing at his mind. “Who are you Frank?...Where am I?”

“Let me take you back to 1964, where my story ended and began”. Frank, John and the diner faded into darkness before reappearing on the side of the highway next to The Rattle and Roll diner, abandoned at this stage in time. The same mist lingers around the area. “I had been a carefree spirit back in ‘64” Frank walked into the middle of the highway and looked down the road. “All I needed was to ride the open road with the wind in my hair and the promise of adventure on the horizon”.

John could barely hear Frank's words, he was in too much of a shock at the event that had just transpired before his eyes to register Frank.

Frank walked up to John and placed his hand on his shoulder, pulling John out of his confused daze. "Focus John, we don't have much time now, look over here."

John's eyes followed Frank's raised hand as he pointed towards the horizon.

The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows on the highway, the sound of a motorbike grow louder as a younger Frank rides up towards them.

“On the open road, faster always felt better”. From behind them, comes the sound of two car engines roaring. “That night, I wasn’t the only one going faster than I should have been”.

Time slows down. The headlights of the motorbike mingle with the headlights from then cars as they all come across each other in the mist. They watch as the younger Frank swerves to avoid the two racing drivers, the inertia sends him sprawling, as his motorbike skids off the road and smashes into the nearby fence. Younger Frank comes to a stop on the dirt outside the diner. The taillights from the two cars vanish into the mist leaving the area silent. Sounds of drunken revelry echoing across the highway.

The world fades to black and they find themselves back in the diner. Frank is taking another drag. “Pain radiated throughout my body, and I knew I was on the brink of death. I pleaded to whatever deity or devil might be listening to spare me. I just wanted a second chance”. He finished off his cigarette and lit another one before reaching under the counter for two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey, pouring out an equal amount.

“My plea was answered, that fog outside completely rolled over the highway, swallowing everything in its grip. My vision blurred, and I felt himself being lifted from the roadside. When I came to, I found myself standing behind the counter of this diner."

John was still trying to take in all that had happened in the last few minutes, the shot glass of whiskey was looking very appealing right now.

“I had been spared death, but trapped on the grounds of the diner, tethered to a haunting responsibility. It is my duty to help those who had met their end on that accursed highway to move on. The souls I couldn't assist are left to endure a cruel fate, forced to relive their final moments over and over again in a never-ending cycle”. As Frank finished his tale, he picked up one of the shot glasses and pushed the other to John. “Cheers” He raised his glass and sank the liquid. John mirrored him.

“I mean, it’s a good tale…but its not real right?” John laughed nervously hoping Frank would break this creepy façade he was employing, just a good story to tell guests who visit the diner surely? Incredible theatrics perhaps, or maybe something had been slipped into his coffee to make him hallucinate?

Frank gestured toward the other patrons in the diner, his voice a hushed whisper laden with sadness. " Take a look around, John" he urged. As John's gaze swept over the dimly lit diner, he couldn't suppress the creeping unease that gripped his chest. The other guests, sitting in various states of disrepair at the worn booths, bore horrific injuries that seemed to defy the laws of life and death. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles, faces mangled and contorted, as if they had been caught in the most gruesome of accidents on the highway. Panic surged within John as he turned back to Frank, whose appearance had transformed before his eyes.

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” John could barely muster sound above a whisper.

Frank now had his youthful appearance but part of his face was now missing, exposed cracked bone and shredded meat hung loose. His clothes were tattered, underneath was more of his broken body showing through to highlight the injuries he sustained in that fateful motorbike crash. It was as though the diner itself held a cruel mirror to the horrors of the highway, where the scars of the past never truly healed.

“You’ve gotta remember John, accept your death and move on, the more you stay in the fog, the more you lose until you’ll be nothing more than a spectre fated to relive your last moments for all eternity!

Frank’s voice was horse as he screamed at John. John fell backwards off his barstool.

“No, No, No! This isn’t real!” John screamed as he scrambled backwards for the door. As he reached for the door handle, his own reflection in the glass froze him in his tracks. Staring back at him was a ghastly sight. The reflection revealed horrific injuries, a gaping hole in his chest, exposing his ribs and smashed organs, bits of small branches lodged in his torn flesh, his face was peppered with glass shards, looking down he saw that both of his hands were broken, his left one hanging limply as the bones jutted out like claws. “Ohhh God….” John whimpered as he took in his reflection.

“You need to remember John, how did you get here? How did you die?” Frank’s voice echoed throughout the diner.

“I’m not dead Frank!” John screamed back as he leant on the handle to open the door, stumbling through and onto the dirt outside. The thumping in his head had escalated to an unbearable degree, his hands burnt as is he was holding them in a flame and his chest now threatened to burst. He could hear Frank follow him outside.

“Remember John, stop fighting it and remember how you died, tell me how!” Frank’s voice seemed distant.

“I…I…I was travelling down the highway in the early morning, I…” John could barely speak as it all came flooding back to him as the fog gave up its secrets. “It was only a moment, I was trying to reach my coffee flask. I knew where it was, right in the middle back seat. I thought I could reach it without looking but it must have shifted position…It was only a moment…”

From out of the fog, came John’s car. They could see his fog double reaching into the back seat, his head had turned to look for it. The car turning as he leaned on the steering wheel. From behind John and Frank came another car, it’s headlights flashing as it driver leant on the horn. The fog double snapped his head back round, pulling the steering wheel further to the left , the panic evident on his face. The car veered towards the barriers on the side of the road, the metal buckling upon impact with the car. For a few seconds, the fog double was suspended in the air as it glided off the pavement. Gravity caught up, the front of the car tilting downwards, the contents of the car floating around.

“Everything was moving so slowly…it felt like time had stopped for me.” John’s voice had returned to him and it was coated in resignment.

“We all had the same experience when we passed. Our last moments, stretched out to give our minds a few more seconds to comprehend what was happening.” Frank’s voice was reassuring to John.

John started, “But...”

“But our minds catch up too quickly and time returns to normal.” Frank finished John's sentence.

The fog double’s car, freed from its time delay, speeds up as it collides with the nearby woodland trees. The sound of splintering and twisting metal echo across the highway.

“I never had the time to understand what happened to me in the crash.” Whispered John. His fingers traced the gaping hole in his chest where the branch pierced his body stopping his heart instantly.

“No-one does John.” Frank placed his hand onto John’s shoulder. “But at least now you can let go of this world and go to the next one.

John shrugged off Frank’s hand. “No, I’m not done here yet.” He nervously laughed, as he could feel the fog’s tendrils once again clawing into his mind, whispering words of comfort, enticing him back to its embrace.

“John, let go, the fog doesn’t want to give up its dead but you must! The souls of those who didn’t are trapped here permanently, no hope of redemption, reincarnation or paradise, just endless misery living out their final moments on this death stretch highway!” Frank no longer hid his urgent tone nor his deathly visage. “Is this what you want John? An eternity spent with your memories rotting away until your nothing left but a husk on repeat?”

“Fuck you Frank!” John cursed back, “This isn’t real, it can’t be, either some cheap parlour trick, a drugged coffee you gave me or I’m just having really bad nightmare!” John set off towards his car, his mind briefly registering the fact it now showed the aftermath of the crash. As he slammed the accelerator down, the tyres spat grit and dust up as the gained traction. The fog’s tendrils had fully rooted themselves into his mind, the fog was would show the way home, the fog knew the way home, the fog was home.

As his car hit the tarmac of the highway and peeled away, he in the rear view mirror, watching as Frank stood alone on the highway, the neon sign of the diner still fighting the darkness of the fog before both faded away.

As John's car raced through the thick, swirling fog that had concealed the mysterious events of the night, a profound sense of unease washed over him. The fog felt dense and suffocating, not warm and inviting like it had done earlier. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, determination etched on his face, ready to break free from this surreal nightmare.

“It’s not fucking real, just a bad nightmare, not real” John repeated through gritted teeth.

As his car penetrated the mist into the morning sunshine, a sudden wave of disorientation overcame him. John's vision blurred, and his thoughts scattered like ashes in the wind. The road stretched out endlessly before him, the fog now a mere veil that concealed the mysteries of the night.

John yawned as he gripped the steering wheel of his car, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. There was something gnawing at the edges of his memory, a nagging feeling that he couldn't quite shake. He felt as though he had been on the cusp of remembering something important, something that had eluded him for far too long. Yet, no matter how hard he strained his mind, the elusive memory remained just out of reach. With a frustrated sigh, he shook his head and brushed it off, focusing once more on the road ahead…

The End.