Hi, the updated, no holes in the story, version of The Storm has been included in Life is the Darkness. You can get the E Book, which includes updated and extended versions of some of the stories found here, on my site, with a new story also included. The E Book is 0.99, and is only sold at a cost to assist with my website and server upkeep.
If you enjoy my stories and poetries, please support me with either a coffee donation, located at the top left of this page, or purchase the E Book.
Thank you for your patronage.
Her strength and character have always shined above others, every word that she has ever spoken, every motion that she has ever made. Everything she knows alerts her to the dangers ahead and yet the furrow of her brow and the glint in her dark determined eyes only reveal her
purpose for whatever horror awaits. Hail slams against the dirt of the windscreen, and the wipers belittle the telling of her journey with one quick smooth action. As the mud washes away she sees clearly the road ahead and prepares for its end. Her car rounds a sharp bend, black ice shines in the headlights of an oncoming car. She fights to gain control but the rear wheels slide on the ice. A sheet of lightning strikes in the tree line along the edge of the road, illuminating foaming waters flowing over the sharp and stepped rock face. The front wheel of her car clips the steel barrier and it flips. Freefalling down the sheer drop, the car becomes wedged in a large tree. She is conscious and aware of her situation, ‘I’ve been through worse’ she calls into the pelting rain, ‘you can’t best me now… I will never give up’.
Through the rear window she can see the lights of the car still on the road; they seem to dance along raindrops. From where she sits, bloodied and strapped to her seat, she moves her right hand to wind down the window. As it begins its decent, water sprays in against her face and she drinks it in. She calls out of the window for help over and over again. Looking in the mirror she sees a light that seems to be spotlighting the area, and she begins to fill with the hope that help is on its way.
She reaches her arm outside, and the gash Brent sliced into her, is oozing blood from its tear down her right forearm and she watches the rain wash the blood from her hand as she begins to wave and scream for help, but the car begins to move with the motion. She pulls her arm back into the car and sits very still, so still that she is holding her breath. Her mind has become calm, she takes a slow careful breath and realises that the car is still running, that she has a horn, and she has lights that she can flash to get the attention of emergency crews.
She carefully raises her left hand to the steering wheel and gingerly presses on the horn. It makes a small sound that is immediately engulfed by the sounds of the storm around her. She slowly pulls her left arm back to hold tight to the handbrake with a delusive notion that it can keep the car secure. Unclenching her right hand from the arm rest, she puts on the hazard lights. Bringing her arm back to take hold of the arm rest, she had begun to feel a little more secure in her ability to be rescued when she heard a man calling her name. Her mind did not fully understand that it was her name being called; only that someone was looking for her, someone will get help, someone will save her.
Brent peers over the edge of the railing and sees the hazard lights begin to flash and he knows that she is still alive. The wind and rain are sweeping down the mountain carrying his call to her. He has a large waterproof flashlight pointing over the edge and he watches the car begin to move, teetering in the tree tops as he called her name. A sardonic smile crosses his thin lips as his wild eyes take in the show. He walks back to his utility and rummages around in the silver toolbox bolted to the old metal tray, until he finds his flares and jerry can. Walking back to the edge of the cliff face he calls for her once more, and shining his torch over the edge he watches the car sway with the storm. At that instant she realised that it was Brent calling for her.
Her eyes opened in terror, her hands gripped tighter to the car in a vain attempt to take some control. Her foot automatically pushed down on the accelerator and she began to try and move gears and turn the steering wheel but reality came flooding back and she once more held her breath in an attempt to steady the rocking motion that her car had built up. As the car began to steady, a flash of light from the top of the cliff caught her eye in the rear vision mirror, and she began to allow herself to believe that Brent was there to save her.
Brent stood for several seconds pouring the contents of the jerry can into the rain that carried it to the trees. He lit the flare. With the torch hooked over the edge of the now jaggered steal barrier that once protected nature from man, he saw the car swaying violently with the wind, and as the last ounce of fuel was released from its enclosure, he ignited the fuel, and watched the flame trail down into the trees. A large flame released into the elements but the rain quickly doused the fire. She threw her hands up in the air and instinctively pulled away from the flame. With this, the rhythm of the trees, the galing of the winds and the shifting of the raging torrent of water cascading down along the cliff face, finally weighed down the supporting trees and her car fell sharply to the rocky terrain below before bursting into flames.
Brent began to whistle a cheery song into the rain. He removed all traces of his presence from the scene, packed up his Ute and drove it up the winding road of the mountain, to a place where the water builds up and loosens everything in its path. He pulled his 3-meter long, heavy brown steal Hexed Crow bar from the tray and walked over to a large rock. The rain had cut a path around its base and loosened its hold to the earth. He positioned the crow bar just beneath the rock and dead centre into the mud. He pulled back on it. The rock gave a little shudder, so he did it again and again, until finally the crow bar slipped deeper under the rock and lifted it onto the flowing foaming waters.
He fell back and landed on his arse. Mud splashed into his face and covered his already wet clothes. He quickly caught the rain in his cupped hands and cleared the mud from his eyes. Standing up, he watched the rock tumble down the embankment, gathering other rocks and mud as it rolled. The sound of his torrent reached above the noise of the storm, as large rocks broke through the barrier below, hiding the truth from sight.
The rain washed away his intent; the wind fanned the fire to hide his involvement and the gushing torrent of flowing water, sank all the evidence beneath its winter rapids and muddied flow. Leaving the world to wonder; did she ever really exist at all?