The Red Light

The following short story is entirely fictional and does not portray actual events and people. Any such resemblance is coincidental.
Unlike happiness, evil is always to be found and does not even need to be searched for. Evil takes many forms. More often than not, it does not manifest itself in a tyrannical madman or a monster but rather shows up more mundanely. Never forget this – you do so at your peril.

This brings me to the night of the missed stop sign. I was driving home after a long day, unwinding with some relaxing music. I had been wound tighter than a jack-in-a-box all day, from call to call, from meeting to meeting, without a moment’s rest. Until now. A feeling of calm began to settle over me like a light blanket of pure white snow. I was recharging and coming to peace, finally undoing the tight knots of my thoughts.

This is probably why I missed the stop sign. I was driving on autopilot, cruising through the last intersection on my way home without slowing down. The next thing I knew, my long-sought inner peace was sharply interrupted by the loud honk of a car horn.

I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw a large, beat-up Dodge pickup truck tailing me. I must have cut this guy off at the last intersection, I told myself, silently cursing.

I raised my hand in a gesture I hoped came across as apologetic and placating. The driver, quite the gentleman, responded by raising his middle finger.

It didn’t seem there was anything to be gained by sticking around to try to communicate with this fine specimen. I put my foot down on the gas, shifted into 3^rd, and drove forward towards a left turn that would take me home via an alternate route to keep him from following me.

Suddenly, I heard the screech of tires on the asphalt and saw him pulling up alongside me. I tried to outpace him, but my old Volkswagen Golf was no match for his truck, which probably had more turbo power than a jet engine. He passed me and as he did so, smiled in my direction, but there was no happiness in that gesture. This was a sinister gesture more akin to his “Italian salute” than to a real smile.

While looking me in the eye, he winked and suddenly swerved to the right, cutting me off completely. I slammed the brakes and the clutch and the car jerked to a stop. Things had become interesting. My heart began to pound like a jackhammer and I felt warm.

He exited his car and walked in my direction, coming to a stop between our vehicles. This allowed me to get a closer look at him. He was about 6 foot 2, red-haired, and his face was covered with a black ski mask. Something about his long stride and determined gait looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

He seemed to want me to get out of the car and join him. I decided that if I had gotten myself in such a situation and did not know if I was going to make it or not, I might as well get my 5 cents worth in by annoying him. I turned up the radio and pretended to be reading something on my phone.

I heard a knock on the window. “How’d you like your tires slashed?” he asked me in a low, gravelly voice. “I’m giving you 5 seconds to get down on your knees next to me before I start. Next is going to be your fingers”. He raised his hands, revealing a monstrous Bowie knife and a hammer.

Well, I was getting my dollar’s worth. Trembling, I unlocked the car, got out, and got down on my knees next to him.

“Is there some sort of problem?” I asked him.

“You definitely have some sort of problem. I guess you felt that the rules of the road don’t apply to you and decided to just cut me off, is that right?”

“I’m really sorry about that. Is there anything I can do to help you know? I’m happy to pay you.”

“Oh, you’ll pay with interest, that’s for sure. You’ve got a nice head, sturdy, chiseled features, full head of hair. I think it will look great with the rest of my trophies. You see, I’m somewhat of an amateur taxidermist. Take a look” – with this, he flicked a button on the trunk of his car and it opened, revealing several paper-wrapped packages, each about the size and shape of a human head.

I was going to lose the bean burrito I had eaten for lunch. This charming fellow wasn’t going to remain an amateur for long with this kind of practice. What had I gotten myself into? “And where do you collect your taxidermy specimens, if I might ask?”

“Well, I get to drive a lot, and I like to drive at night. You’d be surprised how many people drive alone at night in this area”.

“I imagine there aren’t as many drivers now, with all that practice you’ve been getting” I retorted.

“Wise guy, huh? Your head will look just as nice on my wall. But first, I’m going to get some information from you. You’ve been doing a remarkable job of pissing me off tonight, and for that, your mother’s head goes on the wall with you. Get me her address, or I start with your toes”.

I decided to try to play along. My heartbeat was probably loud enough to be heard three blocks down and my stomach had decided to join in. I should have probably not eaten that bean burrito earlier and the gas pains were torturous. If I survived, I would need a bathroom soon.

“I have it written down in the car, on a piece of paper in the glove compartment,” I told him.

“Okay, here’s how it’s going to go down, no funny business. You’re going to get in the driver’s seat and I’m going to take the passenger’s side. We’ll go on a nice drive to a quiet forest I know and I’ll finally get you to shut up there. Remember, it will take me less than five seconds to slice your arm off so you die of blood loss, and I’ll enjoy it”.

I got in on the driver’s side, and he proceeded to get in next to me. He held the Bowie knife next to him. “Drive”, he ordered.

“Just a moment, I don’t feel too hot”.

At that moment, I guess the trapped gas in my stomach could take it no longer and needed a way out. It erupted in the loudest, most odorous display of flatulence I had ever experienced. My eyes began to water in the car, with the windows closed. This was more along the lines of a chemical weapon than a fart and it did its work on my captor, who doubled over gagging.

This was my moment. I leaned over, grasped the hammer he had been holding, and swung it down with all of my might onto the back of his head. He squealed and screamed in pain. I repeated the action, this time aiming for his kneecap. The symphony of screams and squeals continued. Another strike to the head knocked him out and shut him up.

I grabbed my phone to dial for help, but before doing so, I decided to satisfy my curiosity and see why he seemed so familiar to me. I pulled off the ski mask.

Lying unconscious next to me was my next-door neighbor. The same man who would always leave out food for stray cats and who mowed my lawn without me asking apparently had a second life, until now.

Which goes to show you, that evil can be anywhere and