The headlights of another car whipped past Kevin, too fast and too close. His heart in his throat, he swerved then pulled back straight. The car, however, ground to a halt in deep gravel.
He got out and froze, gaping at the unearthly tree trunks glowing in the headlights.
The scritch of claws on metal switched on his flight or fight response. He chose flight, preferring darkness to the owners of those claws.
The screech of burning rubber.
Something tripped him and he landed face first on the side of the road, no car in sight.
Today’s story comes from the question – what would happen if will o’the wisps decided that car jacking was more profitable than drowning travellers?