Just finished a third? edit on a new story, and I really like the way it’s developed along the way.
We meet Shari, a waitress who’s had her share of hard knocks, and is dreading the drive home because she’s working nights at the diner…
Shari hated working nights.
Sure, the tips were better, and the crowd wasn’t usually a problem at all, mostly couples and families, but she hated the drive back home.
In the dark. On that road.
Shari liked to tell customers that her ‘twig in the sticks’ was exactly 71.5 miles away from the diner, but 40 of those miles were along what locals called the “Suicide Stretch” of state road 237.
Those 40 miles consisted of two narrow, winding lanes that were carved through the foothills, leaving drivers little room to maneuver if something went wrong, which occurred too often for comfort. That stretch always caused her to tense up, typically leaving her with a stiff neck and headache by the time she got home.
That there were no lights through that stretch made it even worse, at least for her, and cell coverage was sporadic at best, with the high foothills on either side.
Yeah, Shari was not fond of the Suicide Stretch at all, but we do what we need to do in order to keep a roof over our heads, and Shari is no exception.
This night, however, things are different… and it all begins when her cell phone rings on her way back home.
“And Then The Phone Rang”… another tale with a very strong Twilight Zone vibe, added to the collection.
Oh, and yes… for the sharp eyes readers our there, choosing to name the road on which the Suicide Stretch resides “S.R. 237” was indeed a tip of the hat to the man that selected that particular room number in a hotel where a family served as winter caretakers to be where a young boy saw things no child should ever see.