“I wouldn’t take Route 22 back to Phoenix tonight, if I were you,” said the bartender.
“Why?” asked Charlie.
“Things get mighty strange on that road during the full moon. Some folks claim they’ve seen hobgoblins, ghosts, bugaboos, monsters, zombies, demons, UFOs, aliens. You name it, and it shows up on Route 22.”
“Sounds like a crock to me. So, how come I never heard about this?”
“The politicians keep it quiet,” said the bartender. “They don’t wanna scare tourists away. Listen, I’m giving you good advice. Stay off 22. Take Route 33 instead.”
Taking the other road would add two hours to Charlie’s trip. Damn thing was a narrow, mountain road full of hairpin curves. In contrast, Route 22 was straight, better paved, and connected with the Interstate.
Leaning closer, the bartender said, “Only a handful of people know this: the Chief Exorcist of Rome is here. They say he’s exorcising Route 22 a mile a day. I hear it’s at the very top of the Vatican’s list of the world’s most dangerous, demonic-possessed sites.”
“You gotta be kidding.”
“Nope. I overheard the mayor buzzing about it. He said two miles of the thirty-five mile stretch have been exorcised so far. Better believe if the Vatican’s involved, things must be pretty damn serious.”
“Sounds like a pile of baloney,” Charlie said.
“Hey, I feel obligated to tell you. If you go that way, and something happens, don’t say nobody warned you.” The bartender glanced at his watch. “Geez. 8:00 already. I’m gonna close. I always close early when there’s a full moon. Want one for road?”
Tossing down another drink, Charlie wondered if the bartender was afraid of the dark and the bogeyman. ** What a royal B.S. artist. Ghosts. Goblins. Exorcists. Who’s he trying to kid? **
Charlie left the bar and headed for Route 22. When he arrived, he saw flares and cones blocking the entrance. Someone waved a lantern.
“What’s going on?” Charlie hollered.
“Road is closed,” said an old, white-haired guy in black.
“Is there an accident?”
“No.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“This road is very dangerous.”
“Are you the exorcist?”
“Yes.”
“Get the hell out of my way,” Charlie shouted.
“I cannot, in good conscience, do that, my son.”
Charlie got out of the car, shoved the priest to the ground, and kicked the cones away. “If you try to stop me, I’ll punch your face in!”
The prostrate man extended a cross toward Charlie. ”Please…if you must do this foolish thing, take this for protection. It was blessed by the Pope.”
“Keep it! I don’t believe in your superstitious nonsense!”
“Don’t be a fool. This is Satan’s road. He demands a heavy toll from everyone who invades his territory.”
“Toll? Satan’s road? You’re such a jerk!” Charlie said, jumping into the car.
“Please listen. He’ll take your eye. Or your ear. Or worse.”
Cursing the priest, Charlie slammed the accelerator.
As the car zoomed through the desert night, the headlights illuminated purple reflective dots along both sides of the road. He wondered why anybody would use such a dumb color. He chuckled when he caught himself mumbling, “Maybe this is the stretch of road that’s been exorcised.”
When he passed the last of the purple dots, a gut feeling urged him to turn back. Instead, he pressed harder on the accelerator.
Suddenly, flashes of horizontal lightening shot across the road. Weird, pulsating lights filled the sky. Wind and debris slammed the car.
Charlie couldn’t believe his eyes when a fire-filled hole opened directly in front of him. The car skidded to a stop inches from the edge.
When Charlie threw the car into reverse, it smashed into something hard. The rear view mirror showed boulders that hadn’t been there just moments ago.
The engine died. While trying to restart it, Charlie saw the back end of a tow truck emerging from the flaming pit. Panicked, he tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. He slid across the seat to the other door. Same problem.
Grabbing a pistol from the glove compartment, he fired through the windshield at the driverless truck moving toward him.
The truck’s hook crashed through the car’s roof, grabbed hold of the frame, and pulled the car toward the pit.
The last thing Charlie remembered was the putrid stench of sulfur.
* * *
When Charlie woke in a hospital, the priest he’d knocked down was blessing him with holy water.
“How’d I get here?” Charlie muttered
“I brought you, my son,” said the priest.
“Thanks for saving my life, Father. I owe you. Maybe I can pay you back by helping you exorcise that road. I can carry all the stuff you use. Or maybe I can install purple dots along the edges of the road after you clear a section. I’ll do anything.”
Charlie wondered why the priest stopped smiling.
”I have something to tell you,” a doctor said, “about your arms and legs.”
____________________________
©2011 Michael A. Kechula
Tags: Michael A. Kechula
