The Night Killer

should have left earlier. The storm brought the darkness too soon, and despite what she said, she was just a little uncertain she could retrace her steps back to the main road. She looked down at the passenger seat for the directions. They weren’t there. Well, hell , she thought. Probably blew out of the vehicle while she had the door open. Just pretend it’s a cave , she told herself.
    The trees looked frenzied, whipping back and forth against the darkening sky. Diane watched the road, looking for familiar landmarks. The rain began to fall harder. Diane turned her wipers up several notches and slowed down. With the heavy rain and fog, it was getting harder to see the road.
    A tire slipped into a rut and spun, and for several moments she thought she was stuck. She pressed the four-wheel-drive button on the gearshift, and suddenly the vehicle lurched forward and was out. Just ahead, she recognized her first turn. That road wasn’t any better. It had heavy gouges and grooves carved into it by years of wheels and weather doing their destructive work. Diane remembered the ruts from when she came up the mountain, but the only annoyance then was a rough ride.
    “Doesn’t anybody fix roads around here?” she grumbled to herself as she hit a deep pothole and again spun her tires.
    So far, she was remembering her way back, but visibility was getting worse. She turned her wipers on the fastest setting. She would have liked to pull off the road and wait for the rain to stop, but she was afraid of getting stuck. She would be on foot if her vehicle became mired in the muddy shoulder of the road; and coming up the mountain she’d discovered that the area had no cell service.
    Diane hoped she wouldn’t meet anyone trying to get up the mountain on the narrow road as she inched along, looking for the next turn. She couldn’t find it. Well, damn , she thought to herself. Did I miss it? There was no turning around. At least if I keep heading down , she thought, I’ll get to a main road sooner or later. She kept going—and looking.
    Then she spotted the road—she just hadn’t gone far enough. She turned onto another dirt road, slipping in the mud as she did. Up ahead she saw a house that she remembered on her trip up. Good . She sighed with relief. She remembered from the map that this was called Massey Road.
    The house was dark. Diane didn’t think anybody lived in it. It was run-down and, frankly, looked haunted, with its gray board siding, sagging porch, and strangely twisted trees in the front yard. Boo Radley’s house , she thought to herself as she approached.
    A flash of lightning and a loud crack caused her to jump and slam on the brakes. The cracking sound continued, and with a sudden stab of fear, Diane saw one of the trees in the yard of the house falling toward her. She put the SUV in reverse and spun the wheels. The tree crashed across the front of her vehicle, and in the strobe of lightning flashes, she saw a human skull resting on the hood of her car. A skeletal hand slammed hard against her windshield and broke apart.
    Diane let out a startled yelp and blinked at the apparition on the hood of her SUV. It took her several moments to rouse herself from the shock, turn off the ignition, and open the door. Rain poured in, soaking her clothes. Her wet shirt clung to her skin. She shielded her eyes with her left hand as she got out of the car to survey the damage, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the mottled brown skull grinning at her.
    “What the hell?” she said.
    “You all right?”
    Diane jumped at the voice. She turned to see a man dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt as soaked as she. His hair was plastered to his head. His lips stretched over remarkably even, white teeth. He was in his thirties, she guessed, maybe in his forties. The years hadn’t been kind. He looked like the type of person Diane didn’t want to meet alone in a dark alley—or on a dark, rainy night on a muddy mountain road. Her already fast-beating heart sped up another notch. She eased back a step against her vehicle. She wondered, if she jumped in the SUV, could she back it out from under the tree?
    The man was the Barres’ neighbor—sort of—she told herself. He’s probably fine . He swung a flashlight back and forth down by his side. From the light it cast, the batteries were running low.
    “Oh, fine. I . . . The tree . . .” Diane tried smiling. “There’s a skeleton on the hood of my car,” she said, and