Automobile Psychosis

By Jason Smith

We almost collided at an intersection. He was driving some kind of muscle car, painted primer gray and covered in dents. I didn’t like the way he stared at me through his dirty, cracked windshield. I drove away, and he was soon right behind me.

I pulled over and stepped out of my car. I was going to tell him to back off, leave me alone and threaten him with the police. I nervously walked towards the car, it had a customized grill, it seemed like it was gritting its teeth at me. I noticed hatch marks scratched into the left fender. The tires screeched. The car left a cloud of smoke that hung in the air as I watched it disappear into the distance.

Later as I was traveling down a dark road, I saw headlights in my mirrors, speeding towards me. The car from earlier was right behind me, moving erratically as it blared its extra loud horn.

He rammed his car into the back of mine. My head jerked back into the headrest as I struggled to maintain control. I knew I needed to do something; he was trying to run me off the road.

I saw the turn and my tires screamed in protest as I yanked the steering wheel to the left. The other driver missed the turn I’d taken, and I could hear his car laboring as he quickly turned around to follow me.

There was an abandoned farm ahead; I thought I could hide there. I parked inside a dilapidated barn and turned off my engine. I listened. With my small advantage, I had entered the farm unseen. I could hear the car in the distance, getting closer.

It passed by the farm. I tried to think what to do next; I couldn’t stay in this barn forever. He’ll realize I’m not on the road and turn around. He’s bound to look for me here.

What should I do? Should I go? He’ll catch me up in no time. I can’t outrun his car. He’s got some kind of supercharged engine.

I panicked as I heard the car coming back. I held my breath as it drove past the farm. The sound of the car echoed as it sped past.

I looked at my phone, no signal. I wanted to call the cops; I should have called them earlier. There’s a town not far from here, I could try to find a cop there. I waited in the barn, letting the driver put some distance between us.

After thirty minutes of stress and impatience I left the farm. I could see the skid marks that both cars had left behind earlier, as I pulled back onto the road.

I drove as fast as I could, spending more time checking my mirrors than looking ahead.

I couldn’t find anyone in the town and nowhere was open.

I headed back out to the same road as before, thinking I’d find a cop somewhere else.

I felt it was over. It was insane. I don’t even know what his problem was. How did he find me? Was he following me the entire time?

I was so relieved, I hadn’t noticed the headlights gaining on me until it was too late.

My car was forced off the road, rolling over and over.

As my car came to rest on its roof, I saw the man standing by his car.

I pleaded with him to help me as he scratched a new hatch mark on his fender.


Bio: Jason Smith writes out of the Pacific Northwest. He’s married and a father to a special needs boy. Originally from England, he has lived near Seattle WA since 2009.

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