Wrong Turn Part 4
Google's results for albino eyes returned some interesting results, and not exactly the ones I was hoping for. Apparently those afflicted with ocular albinism (what often happens to eyes of an albino person) have eyes that are hyper-sensitive to light. And unless he was blind, this would not hold true for the man in my headlights. Furthermore, the very idea that all albinos have red eyes is a misconception. According to the major albinism sites on Google, pacients with ocular albinism usually have green, blue, or brown eyes.
It could have been that he was simply blind, sleepwalking in the middle of the night. That would explain his barefootedness. No, what about the suit? And he looked into my eyes! There was no blindness. He might not have even been albino. But if not, then what was he? A guardian of whatever lay beyond? Hundreds of questions bubbled up through me.
About an hour ago I decided I needed answers. The sun's light turned crimson, then a darker purple. Soon it had vanished beyond the trees and I started up my van. The smell of dried piss in the driver's seat reminded me of the horror I had felt the night before, and the way I'd panicked to get out of there. To get away. Hopefully I was better prepared tonight. I'd left a message on my girlfriend's machine, telling her I was going for a drive and to call the police if I didn't come back. It felt odd, doing that, because it made me realize just how endangered I felt.
I pulled the gear shift into reverse and let my foot off the brake. Go back now, I thought. Just forget about the old man. You don't have to do this. But I did. I pulled out of the driveway and now I'm on my way back there, to the road where anything seemed possible if only I could get there.
Time seems to have stopped for everyone else except for me. No one is on the roads, and my headlights bounce along the yellow dashes between the lanes as the road changes its pitch. The radio is off. My stomach is in a knot, half because of the old man, who I'm sure will be there as he was last night. It's his job to stop me or anyone who comes. The man who guards only at night, because during the day the road is just a road. At night...at night it comes alive.
It could have been that he was simply blind, sleepwalking in the middle of the night. That would explain his barefootedness. No, what about the suit? And he looked into my eyes! There was no blindness. He might not have even been albino. But if not, then what was he? A guardian of whatever lay beyond? Hundreds of questions bubbled up through me.
About an hour ago I decided I needed answers. The sun's light turned crimson, then a darker purple. Soon it had vanished beyond the trees and I started up my van. The smell of dried piss in the driver's seat reminded me of the horror I had felt the night before, and the way I'd panicked to get out of there. To get away. Hopefully I was better prepared tonight. I'd left a message on my girlfriend's machine, telling her I was going for a drive and to call the police if I didn't come back. It felt odd, doing that, because it made me realize just how endangered I felt.
I pulled the gear shift into reverse and let my foot off the brake. Go back now, I thought. Just forget about the old man. You don't have to do this. But I did. I pulled out of the driveway and now I'm on my way back there, to the road where anything seemed possible if only I could get there.
Time seems to have stopped for everyone else except for me. No one is on the roads, and my headlights bounce along the yellow dashes between the lanes as the road changes its pitch. The radio is off. My stomach is in a knot, half because of the old man, who I'm sure will be there as he was last night. It's his job to stop me or anyone who comes. The man who guards only at night, because during the day the road is just a road. At night...at night it comes alive.
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