Road Rash

Ray hated three things in this world: riding in the rain, riding at night, and being the first to leave a party. And it’s because of the last one that he was now stuck in the first two. If he didn’t have to work in the morning he would’ve crashed on his buddy Joey’s couch, but he had a feeling his boss would fire him if he was late again this month.

So, here he was, squinting through the rain and the dark, eyes frantically scanning for any critters looking to send him and his shovelhead skidding across the blacktop. That crusty swap meet headlight was doing him no favors. As he rounded a corner, he saw a single headlight beaming through the darkness. Another motorcycle on the side of the road, broken down was Ray’s first thought. And sure enough, when he got closer, he saw the other biker waving his hands trying to get Ray to stop. Cold, wet, and miserable, Ray went on down the road. Once he got home, he managed to crawl his way out of soaked denim and hit the hay.

Days later, Ray was flipping through channels when he landed on the local news. To his horror, the anchor was discussing a murder investigation following the discovery of a body on the side of the road, the same road he had passed that stranded biker. When the anchor mentioned a motorcycle being found at the scene, Ray’s mouth went dry. The story concluded with the simple motive of theft, as the man was found without his phone and wallet. Ray jammed his finger on the “off” button of the remote and was left with his reflection in the black screen. He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back on the couch. He felt sick to his stomach, and the thought that his help might have been able to prevent the man’s death came hurtling to the forefront of his thoughts. He got up from the couch, and went to grab a beer from the fridge. He drank it in two long gulps, tossed the can, and went to bed.

All night, he tossed and turned, just as he would feel himself slipping into sleep his eyes would snap open. It was around three in the morning when his eyes opened once again, but this time there was a figure in the doorway, a vague shadow resembling a man. Ray’s mind screamed to go for the gun in his nightstand, but all he did was sit up on the bed and stare, open-mouthed, as the figure approached him.

He never showed up for work the rest of the week, and it would be at least another week before his friend, Joey, would show up to his house to figure out what was up. Joey walked up Ray’s driveway where his truck was still parked. The front door was locked, but he got in using the spare key under a rock by the door. Inside, Joey found everything intact. Nothing out of order. But when he made his way to the living room, he could see the back of Ray’s head peeking out over the top of the couch. Joey began to speak, but his admonishment would be cut off by a horrified scream as he walked to the front of the couch.

Ray, what was left of him, was unrecognizable. The front of his body was flayed completely of skin. Only a wet mess of muscle and exposed bone remained. His face was the worst part, his nose ground down to nothing but a gaping hole, and his teeth were on display as his lips had been shredded away. Though there was no longer an eyelid, Ray still had one eye hanging on by a thin stalk of tissue, the other nowhere to be found. No blood surrounded him, but it all looked shiny and raw. Ray’s fate would forever haunt those close to him, but there was one certainty. It would be a closed casket funeral.