Route 61

The nights were always the worst times to be a transport worker. Francis knew this more than anyone. You had all sorts of individuals coming into your vehicle: the crazy ones who got drunk too early at the party, the suspicious looking things that were almost always arrested at a checkpoint, the prostitutes that did nothing but chew gum loudly; they always loved to seat in the passenger seats, much to his chagrin.

It wasn't the créme de la créme of the society that entered his minivan as the last passengers for the day. By 9:50pm, the only people you'd see are people of the underworld and everything in between.

But he'd do anything.... Even dance with the devil, just for an extra buck. He'd been playing this dangerous game for five years now, and he knew the ropes. Or so he thought.

He believes he had finished dropping off all his passengers, and was about heading home when he heard a high-pitched.voice behind him "Driver, Route 61."

Who the hell was still inside his minivan?

He looked into the overhead mirror and saw the man seated in a dark corner of the back seat, his face obscured by the darkness. Francis had to stop himself from switching on the lights.

The man seemed to be a well-dressed man; the little light that shone reveal6 his tie hanging loosely from his neck as though he had just got back from work. But this wasn't rush hour, so why was he still in his work clothes?

Francis didn't bother. You could never really expect the normal group of passengers at this time. He had his problems, and everyone else had theirs.

"No problem. But you're aware you will have to pay extra; that place is far." Francis said, greed taking the best of him.

Silence.

"Bro?" He called out.

"I've heard you." the voice called out.

It was a bit unnerving how he couldn't see the man's face, but he put that aside. The man may have lost his job today,.anyway, and it wouldn't be a pretty sight to see him crying there.

He turned towards the expressway as he headed for the destination, already doing the math of the day's earnings within. Once he was home, he'd get a cold bottle of Guinness and watch his football match. No better way to end a good day...

"Don't worry, we are coming..." The man behind said suddenly.

Francis couldn't deny the fact that he was shocked. He couldn't see the lights of a cell phone from his mirror, so who was the man talking to?

"Sorry?"

"Oh! I'm just telling my people that we are coming."

Telling them with what? And more importantly...

"We?" Who is we? Francis thought

"My friend and I. We're both coming differently."

"Oh, he's in a different vehicle?" Francis breathed a sigh of relief.

"You could say that."

Francis ignored the cryptic overtones and mild amusement in the man's voice, and switched on the radio. Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' was playing. Great one! Right song for the current mood, he said, switching it off.

As he turned into Route 61 and drove for a bit, he was met with a shock. Slowly, he angled his head towards the mirror, and to his shock, the passenger wasn't there.

He had completely forgotten when he was counting money. Route 61 had only one destination: the city cemetery

Something moved on the passenger seat. He turned in fright, noticing the car was as cold as the Arctic.

"You can't leave now. I already told them we were coming, my friend." The voice said. "Just in different vessels."

As he looked at that face, he knew it was going to be the last...

**********

The next day, a young driver stopped for a well dressed man with a sagged tie who wanted to go to Route 61.

*************

Halloween in July 💀

Inspired by @Leo_kitti