THE SIXTH GUEST: Chapter Three - Part Two

“Rosie baby, what’s the matter?”

Mike’s daughter rocked forward then slammed back against the passenger seat. Her teeth chattered, foam coming out over her lips. Mike put his hand on her chest, swerving the van but keeping it on the road.

“What’s wrong baby, talk to me! Rosalie!”

Touching her chest felt like plunging his hand into freshly boiled water. It flinched back of its own accord. The entire van was blisteringly hot – a spiking temperature that had come from nowhere. He could hardly breathe. Rosalie’s knees were knocking together. She was giving out a pulsing moan. Her eyes rolled up until there was nothing but white then her head dropped to the right and slammed left against the window.

“Fuck! Rosalie!”

Mike grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the glass. The van swerved across into the other lane. Oncoming horns blared. Mike looked forward and spun back the wheel, clipping the front of another car against the back of the van. Something was parked on the side of the road. He sideswiped that, sparks flying up against the window but the impact bounced him back into the other lane. The roof-up convertible shooting toward him went up on the curb to avoid a full-on collision. Mike got hold of the wheel with both fists, swinging it hard left then clockwise to get back onto the correct side of the road.

Rosalie’s arms rose slowly in front of her. The sound in her throat was ghastly: a gargling with far too much air forcing the noise out across her vocal chords. Mike stared at her little fingers, each one stretched as far from the next as they could go. He didn’t know what to do. He had no fucking clue how to stop this or what damage it was doing to her. But he knew he had to stop; get help; call an ambulance; something!

Then he felt it come into him.

He didn’t know what it was but it wasn’t natural. It touched the skin of his arm – that was where he felt it first. It passed through the flesh, and the muscle from his elbow to his wrist contracted, tightening his grip on the wheel. It spread into his bicep and up to his shoulder then came into his chest. All the while he stared down at this invisible thing as it passed through his clothes and into him, and he stared past it as his daughter, still convulsing on the seat beside him.

The heat was unendurable in those close confines. He was about to pass out anyway but the temperature threatened to do it first. He could feel the entity – because that’s what he knew it was – drop into his stomach and crotch, swell up into his other shoulder and start to climb his neck. He knew what was about to happen; knew that what was done to Rosalie was being done to him now; but he couldn’t prevent it. His arms; both of them; started to quiver. His fingers slipped on the wheel then gripped harder again. His left arm, the one that had gone first, clenched and jerked, spinning the wheel round and rocking the car onto the other lane. It was empty for now but there were headlights up ahead, coming fast.

He had to hit the brake and stop the car. Maybe they could both survive this if only they were stationery. But the entity was in his legs and the muscles there were spasming like his stomach and chest were starting to. He concentrated, willing himself to control his right foot and jammed it down. But he had no coordination anymore down there. He hit the accelerator.

The van shot forward, swinging side to side across the lanes. The driver of the car ahead was hammering their horn, probably slowing down but it wasn’t going to help if he hit them head on. He wasn’t in control at all. His limbs were doing what they wanted, flailing all over, banging against the dashboard and the side window, against the steering wheel. All except his right foot. It remained jammed down on the gas pedal. The van was a hunk of junk but its speed was creeping up. It was already past sixty, double the limit on this sleepy wooded suburban road.

It didn’t hit the oncoming car full on but it raked down its length and then cracked against the car behind it.

Something was happening to his mind. Random thoughts were sparking, reactivating memories, bringing them to the fore. He could barely see anymore but he made himself keep looking, turned his head sideways, so he could see his daughter. Tears were coursing down his cheeks as he started to give off the same moan that she had. The inside of the van was blurring.

Traffic lights lay ahead on a shallow bend. They were on red. From the feeder road to the right a blue Volvo was slowing to turn into the same direction of travel that Mike’s van was going, now at almost seventy.

Clinging onto consciousness, Mike roared, wrestling for control of his own arms, his own legs. Straining every part of his body and mind he focused on his right foot. He forced his will down into it, demanding it did what he was telling it. For Rosalie. Not him. For Rosalie.

His foot came up off the accelerator. It smashed down on the brake.  The seat belt cut into his shoulder. Then he was gone; his mind closed off, his body convulsing freely.

The van skidded, turning sideways, almost beginning a spin. Ahead the Volvo had made the turn. It was in the lane in front, starting to accelerate. It was twenty yards past the junction when the back corner of Mike’s van slammed into the centre of its rear, then seconds later, both vehicles came to a stop.