The sun slipped behind the black mountain, slightly illuminating a church steeple as Josie and Brett rolled to a stop at the light. The gas gauge blinked every second or two, sending an eerie red glow throughout the cab of Brett’s pickup. The sign just ahead said “Tucker…Population 275…a nice place to live”. Just to the right of the “275”, someone had painted “minus 9”.

“What do ya think that is supposed to mean?”

Brett replied without looking at Josie, “I have no idea”.

The truck sputtered and stalled. Brett attempted to start the engine but it wouldn’t hear of it. Brett released a deep breath and looked at Josie.

To the left and right of the light, Country Route 11A disappeared into the darkness. Straight ahead is the dirt road which leads into Tucker.

“Well…come on…lets see if we can find a gas station or at least a pay phone”, Brett said, noticeably upset by their predicament.

Reluctantly, Josie put on her sweater and grabbed her cigarettes of the dash of the truck. She slammed the door to the pickup, disgusted because Brett had refused to stop at the last station 20 miles back. The new freeway had plenty of gas stations but men always think they can stretch it and get to where they are going on fumes… must be a macho thing.

Brett turned off the headlights. Within a millisecond, their world went black.

“Are you alright…here…let me help you up”. Brett pulled Josie from the ground. She cursed, trying to stand.

They had not noticed the railroad tracks that crossed the dirt road leading into town. Josie found them with minimal effort. She stood, wincing in pain.

“Why don’t you go back to the truck while I go into town to get some gas”.

Without arguing, Josie spun around and limped back to the blue pickup. Looking back, Brett could see Josie in the cab, a bright glow coming from her cigarette every time she inhaled.

The moon was not much help on this evening. The village was as dark as County Route 11A, stretching off into the unknown distance in both directions. Brett noticed one small glimmer of light, creeping out from underneath what appeared to be a garage door. As he drew closer he could read the sign hanging above the solitary gas pump. “Tucker – One Stop”. Taped to it was another sign that read, “NO GAS. DON’T ASK”.

Having no other choice, Brett walked to the garage door and knocked. A rustle erupted from within the room behind the large door. Brett heard mumbling, but could not make out the words. As he knocked for the second time, a piercing scream shattered the cricket’s night song.

“Josie!”, Brett yelled, sprinting back towards the pickup.

She was gone. Both doors to the pickup were open, the cab light spilled onto County Route 11A in both directions. A cigarette butt smoldered on the ground near the passenger side of the truck. Josie’s sweater was several feet away, crumpled into its own small pile.

Spinning around and around, Brett nervously searched the darkness… his breat fast and heavy. Without warning, what light he had, disappeared.

Brett awoke, his head throbbing. Touching the back of his head, he could feel his pulse through his hard, crusty hair. A cold dampness enveloped his body and the smell of mildew filled his nostrils. Standing, he could feel the cold, wet stone of the wall behind him. Walking forward, he was jerked back suddenly, sending him sprawling onto the dirt floor. A heavy chain pulled at his neck, stretching the skin. Sitting up with effort, he heard breathing off in a distant corner.

“Josie…is that you?” Brett said, stumbling over the words.

From what seemed like just inches away, sticky breath covered his face, then the chuckling began. Slow at first, then faster and louder, till the room began to spin in every direction.

WHO IS THAT!!!!....WHERE AM I????...” Brett screamed, panicking completely.

Then, there was silence.

Lisa and Rick sat at the light, their Impala blowing steam from underneath the hood. To the left and right was County Route 11A. The sign just ahead said “Tucker…Population 275…a nice place to live”. Just to the right of the “275”, someone had painted “minus 9 plus 2”. To the right of the sign was an abandoned blue pickup.

“What do you think that sign means?”

“I don’t know” Rick said, “but lets see if we can’t get some help”.