The Unknown
by
Nathanael Smith

They were in his car, for a change. His beat up, 1983 vintage pickup, bouncing along the road in very unfashionable style. She was glad, at least, that it wasn't her shocks being busted.

"Are you sure this is the right road?" she inquired again, the third time in five minutes.

"Yeah," a non-commital reply.

"Well, this doesn't look like a road. I think you're lost"

"Nah," again, no emotion.

"Why're you sure?"

"Because. Did you see that stump back there? Did you see the angle of the mountains up there? Do you see the very way the road skips jauntily, back, forth, back, forth... That's why. All that and more." This time, he was almost chiding.

They drove on for some minutes, then again she broke the silence: "I'm sorry. I know, it looks all wrong, though."

"Yeah," maybe he was preoccupied, watching bunnies chase away in weird shakings of grass.

Again, silence for awhile. Again, she broke the silence, this time with a gasp. He looked at her, for a split second, then stopped the truck in a cloud of dust. "What's that?" he was shaken.

She grabbed for the doorhandle, but he grabbed her hand. She stopped and looked back out the window. "That looks like a... Like a..." she fumbled for words.

"Yup. I'd say it is." He said it in the tone of voice that said that he didn't really belive it, either. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped on the gas, spewing rocks and dirt in all directions, and temporarily blinding the thing. Whatever it was.

* * *

Their bodies were found three weeks later, the truck looked like it had been smashed through a meat grinder, the bodies had been broken and bruised, and the hands and feet were missing.

Yet another mysterious death, yet another mysterious killer...