Slow Down
John T. Gaffield
Copyright 2010 John T. Gaffield
Third Edition – October 2012
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With his ears still ringing from the blast, Scott opened his eyes and pulled his head away from the airbag. “Damn,” he muttered to himself. He shifted the car into park and turned the key to stop the engine. Looking to his right, between the seat and the arm rest, he located his cell phone dropped during the impact. Anger swelled within him. He slid his hand past the seat to retrieve the phone.
He clutched the phone in his hand as he opened the door, and put the phone to his ear and said “Peter, I have to go. I’ll talk to you in a bit.”
Stepping quickly out of the car, he stormed up to the tan sedan in front of him, switching the phone from his right to his left hand along the way. The woman inside it was turned around in her seat reaching behind her to check on the two children in the back in their car seats. Scott used his fist to pound on the driver’s window.
“Lady, what the hell were you doing? You don’t stop like that!” He yelled at her through the still closed window.
The surprised and shocked woman, who quickly turned to look at him, did not answer. The two young children stared at him in horror as well. She just shook her head at him slowly. The two children began to cry simultaneously. Seeing he was not getting through to this woman, Scott pounded the window with his fist again and headed back to the front of his car to inspect the damage. He noticed the bumper would need to be replaced again, along with the air bag. Looking back toward the woman’s car, he could see that she was already on the phone. Probably giving the police her side of the story, he imagined. Shaking his head, he used his cell phone to call his insurance agent.
While waiting in his car for the police, he looked at the white deflated airbag on the steering wheel and considered the money he would have to spend to get it fixed. “Damn deductible,” he thought to himself. The dealership just charged too much, he knew. He did not buy the dealership line about quality of the parts. Rock’s Repair Shop would be fine to use this time. Besides, they would be a lot cheaper. Finally, the police arrived. “Let’s get this over with,” he said to himself.
The next day, Scott picked up his car from Rock’s Repair Shop. Though he still didn’t like having to pay for that woman’s mistake, he was reasonably pleased with the deal he was receiving for the repairs. Having his wife drop him off at work and Peter, his coworker, drive him to the repair shop when it was ready, really annoyed him. Not liking how others drive, he easily got upset while riding with someone else.
Looking over his car after paying the bill, he observed some uneven painting on the replaced bumper. He stormed back into the shop and up to the counter.
“What did you guys use to paint my bumper, a can of spray paint, graffiti style?” he yelled at the woman behind the counter.
“Sir, if you are unsatisfied with the workmanship, you can fill out a complaint form. Would you like me to get one for you?” the woman responded with a bit of nervousness in her voice.
“Yeah right, that won’t do a damn thing! Maybe I’ll just talk with a lawyer?” he replied, still very upset.
“That is your right, sir,” she stated.
“Damn it!” he said, as he shook his head and turned around to leave.
With his keys in his hand, he got into the unlocked car. He had to adjust everything again, he realized. The seats and the mirrors were all adjusted for the technician who drove the car to and from the repair bay. After using the key to start the car, he dropped the car into reverse and backed out of the space quickly. He then put it into drive and jammed the accelerator, causing the tires to squeal as he quickly left the lot and peeled out into the street.
Dinner was probably getting cold, he figured as he turned into the subdivision. Parked cars flashed by as he made his way closer to home. At a stop sign, he slowed up enough to turn right. A few houses down he could see a man who had paused from mowing his lawn, was intently eyeing his car. As he passed the house the man stepped closer to the street and yelled something at him. Through his closed windows, he could not make out exactly what the man said, but it was probably “Slow down!” He heard that every once in awhile while driving through the neighborhood. Finally, his house was within sight. He pulled into the driveway, stopped the car. He stepped out and headed to the front door. On the porch, he reached for the door. Locked again, he noted as he thrust his hand back into his pocket for his keys. After opening the door, he entered the foyer but he did not see anyone.
“Carol, can you heat up dinner for me? I’m really hungry,” he yelled toward the kitchen.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Carol responded sarcastically from the kitchen.
“Just heat up the damn dinner!” Scott yelled back at Carol.
“Those kids better be doing their homework, too!” Scott added.
“They are both upstairs and should be working on it. Why don’t you see if you can help them while I get your dinner ready,” she requested.
“Let them figure it out themselves!” he yelled back while removing his shoes.
A few weeks later, after losing an account at work, he was driving home. His mind was elsewhere. Why did he lose it? He even took the representatives out to nice restaurants a few times. He turned into the subdivision again. With the sun dropping down below the horizon about fifteen minutes earlier, the street lights were visible against the clouded sky. “Just a few more blocks,” he thought to himself as his car passed the cars parked along the street. Could he have taken them to the baseball game? He knew he would have to improve his efforts to prevent losing even more. Something round and white bounced from between two parked cars in front of him. By the time he realized that it was a white ball, the little boy, not more than five, chasing after it was in the street right in the path of his speeding car. As the boy stared directly at him with his mouth open in disbelief, the car slammed into him near the passenger side headlamp. The boy’s body had disappeared from view and likely was underneath the car. He finally had time to react and slammed on the brakes.
“Damn, where did he come from? Can’t the parent’s keep him in the house?” he yelled out loud in the car as his heart raced. He took a deep breath and turned the key to shut off the car. As he got out of his car, he saw the door swing open from the house where the boy likely lived. A woman was running out toward his car yelling “Billy, where are you? Are you okay?”
Scott looked around the front of his car, which now had blood splattered all over the passenger side front bumper near the headlight. The woman approached the street as he moved around to the opposite side of the car. She stopped in her tracks and gasped loudly as her hands covered her mouth. They both could see the boy’s mangled body strewn underneath and behind the car. She let out a blood chilling scream as she ran toward her son’s lifeless body. Scott closed his eyes, knowing he could be in trouble.
A few months passed by. Scott had paid fines and completed some community service for his actions. For a few weeks he did try to control his speed in his neighborhood, but after losing a few more accounts at work, he lost focus and was back to his usual ways.
Driving home one late evening, Scott was once again in a hurry. The sky was darkened and the street lights were on. At least the guy who usually yelled at him was inside for once, he noticed. As he approached the house where he hit the young boy, he saw a shadowy figure standing motionless on the sidewalk. He became flush when he realized the figure reminded him of the boy he killed. He found his eyes focusing on the boy, but remembered he was driving fairly quickly, so he returned his eyes forward again. He panicked when he realized he was heading for a parked car. He swerved to miss the car and applied the brakes. His car stopped right bes
ide the parked car. With his heart pounding, he looked over his shoulder back where he had seen the figure of the boy. Nothing was there. Was this just in his mind? Maybe some guilt was getting the better of him, he wondered. After about a minute, he could see the headlights of another car in the review mirror approaching from behind. He released the brake and slowly continued his way home.
A week later, Scott was again driving home late. He had not eaten anything other than a vending machine snack bar at lunch. He was frustrated since he had been dealing with another client who was close to slipping away from him.
Scott thought, “How could he get him back? What else could he propose for this person?”
Scott shook his head to himself as his car quickly passed the parked cars along the subdivision street. Seemingly out of nowhere, a dark figure appeared directly in front of him. With the shock of seeing the figure, he did not even think to brake. The car passed through it without a sound. “What the hell was that?” has asked himself as he continued toward home. He saw the man who had yelled at him before standing near a streetlight. As he sped by he noticed that he was just following his car with his eyes with an expressionless face. Just as he is about to look forward again, Scott noticed a slight smile on the man’s face. Scott was puzzled, but brushed it off. He looked in the review mirror to see if any cars were behind him. Just before he looked forward again, something in the mirror caught his eye. Two gray eyes appeared to be staring at him from the back seat. His heart sunk as he turned his head around quickly to see. A gray shadowy figure of the boy he killed was in the middle of the rear seat staring at him. “How did you get . . .” Scott started to ask. The boy began to smile slightly. Scott then remembered he was not watching where he was going. He quickly turned his head around just in time to see the large tree just a few feet in front of the car. He lost his grip of the steering wheel after the front wheels struck the curb. The front of the car hit the trunk of the tree. Time slowed down as he noticed the whole front of the car collapsing before him. Without being held in by a seat belt, his body heaved forward out of the seat and began to launch over the steering wheel. Just before his face hit the windshield, he wondered why the airbag did not go off. His face slammed into the windshield, which shattered but stayed together in one piece, as it ripped away from his car. The windshield stuck to his face as it slammed against the hard trunk of the tree. His neck snapped back with a loud pop. Finally coming to rest, he could feel that his neck was broken and throat was slashed open with blood gushing out. He was looking mostly upward. As his vision through the remaining eye began to darken, he noticed the figure was still in the back seat of the car smiling slightly. As his vision turned darker and darker, he noted the similarity of the boy’s smile to that of the man who yelled at him to slow down.
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About the Author
John T. Gaffield is an automotive engineer in southeast Michigan with a wife and two children. He published his first novel, "Heir to Winston Manor," in October 2010 as an ebook. "Heir to Winston Manor" is story of a large haunted house set on the west coast of Michigan. John’s second ebook, "The Wahl House Curse," set in mid-Michigan, was published in January 2011. John’s third full length horror novel, “Alone Again,” was completed in fall 2011. Please note: these novels may not be available while they are being re-edited.
John also has several free (in North American) short stories available as e-books at most online stores.
John uses his past memories and his local knowledge combined with his engineering sense of detail to create realistic ghost stories. He has an interest in ghost stories and creepy old haunted houses.
John’s Novels:
The Heir to Winston Manor
The Wahl House Curse
Alone Again
Valerye
John’s Short Stories:
The Ghost of Birch River
Winter Visitor
Denning Swamp
The Haunting of the Charles F. Campton
Disconnect
In Remembrance
Connect with me online (for information on John’s novels and short stories):
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4548666.John_Gaffield