ROADSIDE

At night, the dark highway is alive with things glanced from the corner of my eye. As the painted white lines rush by, my headlights mould the shadows behind passing signs and metallic grey barriers into figures that shy away as I pass.

I am getting close to home, and I take the exit lane. The indicator blinks with no one around to see.

The off-ramp runs down and meets a T-junction, and I take the turn that leads back under the highway. The road gently curves around a sports field. Street lights illuminate the road and the ditch beside it with a harsh, synthetic light, and reflects off spots of dew on the green grass in the crystal-clear winter air.

As I drive, a blue tarp comes into view, all bunched up in the ditch. It looks like there is a human body inside it — on their knees and hands, with one arm stretched in a plea towards the road. I feel frightened and confused as my tired mind tries to understand what it is seeing.

“What the fuck?” I breathe. I wonder why someone is inside that tarp; they must need help. I slow and stop, pulling off onto the gravel besides the road. The car is slightly tilted as my wheels straddle the ditch. The blue tarp is a dozen metres in front.

I turn off the engine and sit for a few moments in silence. The body in the tarp doesn’t move.

“Fuck, um.”

I get out and slam my door, hoping the tarp will move. It doesn’t. My breath mists in front of me as I walk. The crunch of my steps on the gravel seems too loud.

“Are you ok?” I'm close to the tarp now. It’s big, with layers wrapped many times around. My shadow stretches into the ditch as I hesitate.

“Hello?” There is only silence. I grimace and carefully make my way into the ditch, careful not to slip on the slick, dewy grass.

At the tarp, I lean forward to touch it, but the wind picks up and the person inside shifts their position. I scramble back, slipping, and the silent night is broken by the tarp’s crunching.

“What the fuck are you doing in there?” I demand.

The tarp stills, and I get up. I approach as silently as I can. The only sound is my heavy breathing. I grab the corner of the tarp, then pull, jumping back. The tarp catches the wind and covers me for a moment. I rip it off and hold it out like a venomous snake from its tail as I stare at the place it had been.

There is nobody there.

“What the fuck.”

From the reflected white light of the street lamps, I see a scrambling set of footsteps through the dew that leads up and out of the ditch. I drop the tarp and follow on my knees and hands.

On the road, I swing my head wildly, but there is no one in sight.

“Hello?” I call. I can hear the fear in my own voice. My hands hurt. I hold them up and see that they are scratched and wet and covered in grass.

I glance around into the darkness beyond the streetlights one last time before furtively scurrying to my car. The only sounds are my footsteps and the howl of the cold wind.