Grand Prize WINNER

The Passenger

Posted

Sammy was tired.  ‘Dog tired’ his mother used to say.  He felt like the double-shifts at the mine were killing him, ‘but the pay was killer,’ he laughed to himself.  So, as the late October day stretched into dusk, he wasn’t quite sure that the figure standing by the side of the road had his thumb out or not.  All Sammy knew was that it was cold and raw, spitting rain.  Not typical Southwest New Mexico weather, but one he wouldn’t want to be out in, so he pulled his car over to the side of the road in front of the man and waited for him to come up to the passenger door.

As the man rather slowly and stiffly got into the car, Sammy smiled.  “Lousy night to be out in, huh?  Where to friend?”

Without looking at Sammy the man pointed straight at the windshield and muttered lowly, “Memory Lane.” 

The way he pointed forward with just his one finger extended, reminded Sammy of the ‘Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come’ from Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol.’  He wanted to laugh but thought better of it.  There was something about the somber figure that was unsettling.  If he was hoping for some lively conversation to keep him awake while he drove, he knew that wasn’t going to happen.  Still, he was grateful for the company, and it was only about five miles into Silver City and Memory Lane.

It occurred to Sammy that there wasn’t much on Memory Lane, a couple of houses, a bowling alley, the RV Park and the cemetery.  He wanted to say something, but instead turned the radio station to KRWG, hoping the program ‘Fiesta’ would lighten the mood.  The thought of stealing sideways glances at the man seemed somehow perverse, plus his fatigue was enticement enough to keep his eyes on the road.  By the time they turned left onto Memory Lane, it was completely dark, and the rain had gleefully picked up its pace. 

Because the man still hadn’t said anything, when Sammy came up to the entrance of the cemetery, he cleared his throat and spoke. 

“Okay, this is it.  End of the line,” which it was, as the road dead-ended at the cemetery. 

His passenger nodded thanks, again without looking at him, and as silently as he entered, he exited the car and closed the door.  As he did so, a sharp glance of lightning cut the night sky, and the rain poured down with abandon.  The man was nowhere to be seen.

“What the…?!”  Sammy quickly got out of the car to look for the man but was just as quickly chased back in by the fury of the storm.  He gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to peer through the rain-soaked windshield and past the movement of the wiper blades.  After a moment, he realized he was breathing raggedly through his open mouth and trying to keep from shivering.  He calmed himself by reasoning that the man must have dashed off to wherever he was going.  ‘Yes, yes,’ he thought to himself, ‘this isn’t weather to linger in.’ As he slowly turned the car around, he took one last look out of all the windows, and even into the back seat.  He laughed out loud to himself at this, and as he started back out to Highway 180 and home, he felt his tiredness come over him like a heavy blanket.  He just wished it could have been the blanket from his bed.

That night his dreams had a foggy quality about them.  Disembodied voices called to him from somewhere in the shadows.  He writhed so much in his sleep that both his cat and dog decamped for the guest bedroom.  As the cold, sunny dawn came in through the windows, Sammy awoke with a start.  “Oh, Thank God,” he said to the air.  Although he felt like he could sleep for another four hours, the thought of laying his head back on the pillow and returning to his nightmares suddenly gave him the strength to get up and start another day.

Toward the end of his workday, which turned out thankfully to be only ten hours, his co-worker, Nick Soto, asked him for a ride home. 

“Damned water pump again,” he cursed as they headed to Sammy’s car. 

“No problem, Nick.  Your house is on the way.” 

A couple of miles past the mine Sammy pointed to his right.  “That’s where I picked up that guy last night that I was telling you about.” 

Nick looked out the window, then quickly back at Sammy.

“Here?” he asked, rather excitedly. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Pull over, Sammy.”

“Why, is he there again?”  Sammy asked, chuckling to himself.  The look on Nick’s face knocked the rest of the laughter from his lips.  “What’s the matter?”

 “Sammy, just get out of the car with me.” 

As they did so, Nick walked back from the car about twenty feet and stopped at a roadside memorial. 

“You know what this is, right?”  Sammy stood beside him. 

“Yeah, it’s one of those memorials that people erect when someone dies in a car accident.  Right?”

 “Yes, and you know who’s this is?” 

“No.” 

“It’s the one Millie Vasquez made for her husband Michael.” 

Sammy slowly drew in his breath, remembering. 

“Yeah, that was such a shame.  Michael was a good guy, a great worker.  I went to their house for dinner a couple of times.  It was a drunk driver that did it, wasn’t it?”  Nick was only half-listening.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.  Sammy, do you know what today is?”

“Nick, we’ve been working so much overtime I’m lucky I know what month it is.” 

“Today is November 1, All Saints Day, and tomorrow is Dia de los Muertos, ‘Day of the Dead.’”

“So, what are you getting at?” 

“Sammy, we were just about on the cusp of ‘Day of the Dead’ yesterday, Halloween, by the way, and you picked up a person standing next to a roadside memorial.  You picked up Michael Vasquez!” 

Sammy was incredulous.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Look, you know the lore.  On or around ‘Day of the Dead’ the spirits are very active.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Dead serious.  No pun intended.  One should never pick up a person next to a roadside memorial.  To do so is to risk that person’s soul becoming lost.  It won’t be on the right track to get to where it needs to go.” 

“Okay, let’s take a holiday from reality here for a moment.  Suppose just suppose you’re correct.  Why now, why after almost five years?  Where has Michael’s spirit or soul, or whatever it is been all this time?” 

Sammy was agitated, and yes, a little bit frightened.  Sure, he’d heard the Dia de Los Muertos stories from his grandparents, but his parents didn’t believe in them, so neither did he.  How could he?  Or, under the circumstances, should he?

Nick shrugged his shoulders.  “I don’t know.  No one knows for sure, but maybe when he was killed, he wasn’t ready to move on yet.  Maybe he felt like he had unfinished business.” 

“So, what you’re saying is that last night he was finally ready, and he came here, where he died, to make the final transition?” 

“It’s possible.  I’m not sure how one transitions to the next life, but where one died could be a good starting point.  Maybe it’s a jumping off point.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Sammy mumbled to himself.  He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

“Where did you say you dropped him off last night?” 

“Memory Lane.  He got out at the entrance to the cemetery.  Hey, maybe that’s a good thing.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Well, he was buried there, wasn’t he?”

“Just his ashes.  You know, you might be right.  Maybe you could drive back tonight and pick him back up and bring him here.” 

“You’re joking, right?” 

“No.” 

“Alright, supposing it is Michael, how do we know he’ll still be there?” 

“Well, if it is Michael, then he really is lost, and he’ll need to come back here to get to where he’s going next.” 

“Can’t you come with me?”  He hated the idea of picking up what might be his dead co-worker – again. 

“No, I believe that if he sees another person with you, he won’t get in the car and then there might not be another chance to set his soul on the right path.”

Sammy felt ill.  “Okay,” he said, exasperated.  “What do I do?  Drive over to the cemetery and just wait?  I’m gonna’ look like some kind of ghoul.” 

“No, I think you should go at about the same time you did last night when you dropped him off.” 

“Hmm.  I guess that was about 8:00 or 8:30. What if he’s not there?” 

“I believe he will be.  But be patient.  If he’s not there right away, drive around a couple of times.  He may need to see that it’s you again.” 

“Great.  It’s a dead-end road.  I’m gonna’ look like an idiot.” 

“It’ll be dark.  Nobody else will see you.” 

Sammy took a deep breath and slowly let it out.  “Yeah, you’re probably right.  Come on.  Let me get you home.  It’s almost 6:30.” 

After dropping off Nick, Sammy went home to drink a couple of cold ones.  ‘Liquid courage,’ he told himself.  His cat and dog eyed him warily, barely letting him pet them. 

“It’s okay guys.  All I need to do is escort the dead on their heavenly journey and get about a solid week’s worth of sleep.” 

They both ran into the guest bedroom, and under the bed.  “Cowards!” he called after them.  It felt like it was going to be a long night. 

After fortifying himself, Sammy lay down to take a nap.  He awoke suddenly and sat bolt upright.  ‘What the hell time is it,’ he wondered?  His pulse raced as he looked at his watch; 8:30 PM.  He jumped up, and forgetting his jacket, he ran outside and got into his car.  As he backed out of his driveway, he cursed under his breath.  “Damn it!  How could I have been so stupid?”

But as he turned toward Highway 180, he realized the nap had been peaceful, restful.  No demons haunted him.  ‘Maybe,’ he thought, ‘maybe this whole thing was just a bad dream.’  He even smiled as he turned onto Memory Lane. 

When he looked down the lane, he quickly drew in his breath and whistled.  He felt his palms wet on the steering wheel.  The silent dark figure, Michael, or whomever, was standing at the entrance to the cemetery.  Sammy drove slowly to the end and raised a one fingered wave to the man, drove slightly past him and pulled over to a stop.  Not even daring to look in his side view mirror, he waited for ‘Michael’ to come to the car.  He could feel his skin crawling as the seconds ticked off, but finally the passenger door was opened and the man settled into the seat.  Without turning to look at him, Sammy said quietly, “I know where we’re going.”  He put the car in gear and headed to the highway. 

Sammy felt a mixture of relief and dread as he drove toward the memorial in Bayard.  He forced himself to glance at the man out of the corner of his eye.  He sat facing forward, hands in his lap, no expression on his face.  Sammy couldn’t really say if it was Michael or not.  After all, it had been almost five years since his death, and guys don’t really look at other guys anyway.  Do they?  ‘Well, some guys,’ he thought to himself.  The little conversation going on in his head helped him to concentrate on his driving. 

As he neared the memorial, he saw that Millie was there, lighting several votive candles and – praying?  He wasn’t sure, and now he didn’t know what to do.  ‘Should I go forward?  Should I stop or just keep driving?’ 

At this, he heard the man move in his seat.  The hairs on the back of Sammy’s neck stood up as the man turned toward him and gently placed his hand on Sammy’s arm.  He felt instinctively that he should pull over.  As Sammy turned to say goodbye, he saw that the passenger seat was empty.  He hadn’t heard the door open but guessed that if the dead can walk among us, then maybe doors weren’t obstacles to be opened or closed.  Maybe sometimes they just went through them.

He went up the road a way before he turned around.  He figured Millie deserved her privacy.  When he drove past the memorial, he saw that Millie was smiling and he could have sworn that she was leaning into someone.  The way someone does when another is holding them steady.  He hoped that was the case.  Sammy smiled.  He looked once in his rearview mirror.  There was the shadowy figure of Michael, his arm around Millie, who was leaning against him.




Therese North

She has lived in Silver City since 2007 and has been a writer since about the age of 10, when she had an English teacher encourage her to read her work aloud in front of her class. She says she feels inspired to “write about things and situations around me, and Southwest New Mexico abounds in history and culture.” She also admits to having always been interested in the supernatural and our connection to it.

Desert Exposure Writing Contest, winner, The Passenger, Therese North

X