Grave Directions

The wheels splashed in the wet mud as the headlights tried to cut through the thick fog and rain. At each turn he took, the road seemed to wind deeper into the woods.

Why did he come this way? He swore that never again would he allow his sense of adventure for shortcuts deviate him from the main road. And now look what's happened: he was already an hour late for dinner, he didn't have a clue where he was, and the worsening storm wasn't making it easier.

He checked his watch again: 8 o'clock.

At last, he spotted an old man walking along the side of the road. He stopped the car alongside the man and rolled down the window.

"Excuse me. Do you know the way to Forks?"

The old man slowly turned his head and fixed his eyes on the driver's. There was something unsettling about the man's look. His cold black eyes and morbid expression sent a shiver down Emmett's spine. His face was almost bereft of flesh, revealing nothing more than wet skin and hair sticking to the contours of his skull.

"There is a fork in the road half a mile ahead. Follow the sign to the main road and you shall find your way."

The driver stared down the road and tried to pierce the thickness of the weather, but to no avail. He turned around to face the man and thank him for his help, but the man had disappeared. The surroundings were once again empty, no sign or trace had been left. The driver felt a stab of unease, and he quickly rolled up the window and drove off.

Who was that man? And what was he doing in a night like this in the middle of nowhere?

He shrugged it off. It wasn't his business.

The rain splashed endlessly on the windscreen, blanketing his view with a haze of mist.

"Where is that damn fork?" he thought, growing increasingly impatient. Had he accidentally passed it? The storm made it impossible to tell.

Suddenly a figure arose from the darkness in front of the car. The driver yelled, swerving to the left. But it was too late. The front right corner of the car hit the person and the body was thrown down the ditch off the side of the road. The driver screeched to a halt and scrambled out of the car, looking around. He was really starting to panic this time.

For a minute he stood there in silence and stared down the ditch covered in the fog. "Hello!" he cried into the emptiness. A cold sweat covered his brow, and the fear and anxiety started to well up inside him. "Are you all right?"

But that was a stupid question. Of course whomever it was wasn't all right!

He stumbled down the side of the ditch and hoped that this was all just a bad dream. At the bottom he looked around frantically to see if he could find whomever it was he hit. But fear clutched his heart when instead he discovered the remains of a broken tombstone with words that read:

Emmett McCarty
11 Aug. 1992 - 31 Oct. 2012
Throat sliced for intruding.

Unfortunately for the driver, his name so happened to be Emmett McCarty. And that was his birthday. And that was today's date. And as he backed away in horror, he felt his jaw grasped by a cold, strong hand, and something sharp passed silently over his throat. With his last breath he heard a wild cackle fill the air, and the echo of a howl before everything finally went blank.

Forks Forest had claimed another victim.