Wrong Turn Part 3

The morning came like an unwanted visitor, the light through the window heating my skin and penetrating my eyelids. Sleep, and its dreams, was drifting steadily away, and there was no amount of effort that would let me catch it. So instead, I lay there blinking, going over what was real and what was not. The time spent in the shower the night before was but a second in my memory, a vague second, but the image of the albino man in the road was clearly burned there like a brand on a cow's side. Thinking of it now, drowning in sunlight,it still gave me chills. For what reason, however, I didn't know. The man hadn't seemed especially menacing. He hadn't shouted or demanded anything. He'd simply stood there, barefoot, with his mouth shut and his face stoicly set. His eyes, with their tinge of red, perhaps that had done it. It made sense. Seeing a man in the middle of the night with red eyes might be a cause of fright. No, that still couldn't be it. Myself, a man who dares to find even the highly touted horror movies worth hardly a flinch, should not have pissed himself over a pair of eyes.


Perhaps not the eyes, then, but what they did.

Yes. That had to be it. The man, he'd stared right through my headlights, meeting my gaze with a dull lack of interest. Perhaps there is something about albino eyes that makes it possible to look into most powerful lights. And then, when he'd had me there, looking into his eyes, he'd said more than would have ever been possible with his mouth. He wanted me to leave, to return where I came from. But why? It had to be the feeling. The internal magnetism, the one that made me turn down that road in the first place. He didn't want me to end up where I was headed. A warning? But he wasn't waiting for me, he was just there. Standing in the middle of the road like some suicidal lunatic.

It was too bizarre to think about. And especially before breakfast.