Michael turned his head to look at the girl to his right. She is much too young to be alone out in the cold night, he thought, and especially without a sweater. She looks about fourteen years old. It would have been wrong to just leave her to walk, and he hoped her parents would understand that he had no ill intentions with her. "Take me home, please," she had asked when he pulled over to ask her if she needed a ride. "I have to go home." Now, he was about to ask her for her name when she cut him off and said again, "I have to go home. Take me home, please. I have to go home."
"Are you feeling alright?" he asked. "Are you...feverish or anything? You look awfully pale."
"Take me home," she repeated. Her matted hair obscured her face and she wouldn't turn to look at him. She hadn't looked at him once this whole time. "I have to go home."
"It's alright, I'm taking you home. I promise. What's your name?" He turned to look at her again as the car pulled out of the tunnel - the moonlight spilled in and illuminated an empty seat to his right.
He slammed on the brakes, pulled over to the side of the road, and crashed into a tree that was hidden by the dense fog. His forehead smashed against the steering wheel and everything went black.
By the time he regained consciousness, the stagnant air was making him sweat although he was cold. He felt a chill creeping into his bones. The right side of the windshield had been pierced by a branch and shattered everywhere. He leaned toward the opening and shouted, "Hello? Can anyone hear me? Is anyone here?" But his cries fell flat, without even an echo.
He sighed, reached over to fumble with the seatbelt, and yelled in pain as he finally felt the shards of glass stuck in his right arm and shoulder from the windshield. As he struggled to regain his breath he heard someone approaching.
"...car accident, yes, by Mersey Tunnel. On the side by the cemetery. ... Just a few minutes ago! I heard it from my house." It was an elderly woman, talking on a cell phone - probably to the police. She went slowly down the hill, crunching every stick and leaf as she did so. "I haven't reached the car yet, hang on a moment." Her face peered into the passenger side window. "Only one man. Hey! Can you hear me?" He suddenly realized she was talking to him and he nodded. "Alright, what's your name?"
"Michael," he said. "Michael O'Fallon. Can you help me out of here?"
"Yes, thank you. I'll stay here. Thanks again. Goodnight." She snapped her phone shut and stuck it in the pocket of her nightgown. "Are you hurt?" she asked as she opened the door.
Michael gestured to his right side. "There's a lot of glass still in me and I can't get the seatbelt off myself. Hurts too much."
She bent over and began working at the seatbelt. "How'd you end up like this anyways?"
"Before I tell you that, I have to ask: did you seen a girl around here, by any chance?" He bit his lip, not wanting to say more until she got him out of the car. He doubted she would help him anymore if she thought he was crazy.
"A girl? Was your daughter in here with you? Here, put your left arm around me and I'll help pull you up, but you'll have to use your legs if you can. I'm just not that young anymore." She laughed a bit at her own joke. "But no, I haven't seen anyone but you."
He winced as she helped lift him out and immediately put all his weight on his left side as soon as his foot touched the ground. "Well, it's a bit of a...strange story. I doubt you'll believe me."
"It's been ages since I've heard a tall tale. I'd love to hear all about it, but how about let's get you sitting down first. We have a while until the police come, there's no rush." Together they hobbled over to the bench next to the cemetery gates. "Let me guess, your lady left you and you got in a few drinks and decided to go have some fun somewhere?"
He smiled. "I wish. No, I was just coming home from work and I saw a little girl walking on the side of the road, a little ways away from the other side of the tunnel. She looked so cold and tired, so I pulled over and asked her if she needed a ride. She told me her address in Birkenhead and said, 'Take me home. Please. I have to go home.' She got in the car, I gave her a sweater, and we were on our way, but... I don't know how it happened, but as soon as I came out of the tunnel she was just...gone. I panicked and tried to pull over to look for her, but I pulled straight into a tree that I didn't see through all the fog." He shook his head. "I know it doesn't sound real but-"
"Oh, I know it's real," the old woman said gravely. "She might be a ghost, haunting that tunnel. There's a lot down here since we're so close to the cemetery." She stopped and cupped a hand to her ear. "Can't tell if those are wolves howling or police sirens coming."
"They're sirens," he replied. "What should I tell them? The same thing I told you?"
The police cars pulled in and Michael quickly shut his eyes against the blinding lights. His head already felt like it was exploding. "You stay here for now, I'll talk to them first. They can come over here to talk to you. They'll understand," she said as the officers began chattering amongst themselves.
"Man, I can't believe we got a fake from an old lady, and especially so soon after the last one. That's just cruel."
"Who brought the scene camera?"
"Why? There ain't nothin' here!"
"We can't just come back with nothing, they'll think we skipped out on it! They're never gonna believe this unless they see a picture."
"Hey, you're wrong. There's something over here."
"What? What is it?"
There was a rustle as one of them picked something out of the shrubbery. "A sweater. Nice, looks about my size."
"Are you gross enough to take it?"
"Dylan is short for disgusting," another one quipped, and they burst into laughter. The sound of car doors slamming was heard, then engines revving, and then total silence.
Michael opened his eyes to see his car still smashed on the tree, and there were no policemen or cars anywhere near it. "What just happened? Why didn't you go talk to them? Did they not see the car?" He expected some kind of response from the old lady but there wasn't one. A breeze finally broke the stagnant air and the heavy clouds above him, letting the moonlight shine through once more so he could see more clearly. He turned to look at her and the moon illuminated the empty seat to his right -
Michael jumped up, ignoring the burning pain in his side. He desperately hoped she was just across the road by the car and he hadn't seen her yet; just as he began to sprint away to find her he heard an anguished wail from behind him. He whirled around, tripped over his own feet, fell on his right side, and let out an agonizing shriek. His vision swam with tears and he kept biting his bleeding lips to keep from swearing. He sat himself up just in time to see the old woman trudge away from one grave, weeping, and stand over another freshly dug one for a moment before sinking down into the dirt. His heart was pounding away in his chest but threatening to jump out of his throat. It couldn't have been real - he must be delirious from the pain, he thought, all the pain and the stress of all of this and he hadn't eaten all day. He carefully laid down on his left side and tried to breathe steadily to keep from passing out. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again. His vision was clearer now. He began to calm down until he noticed the headstone closest to him, just on the other side of the gate and another fresh grave. It read:
MICHAEL JAY O'FALLON. 1973 - 2004.
He stood up and sobbed in pain and disbelief the whole walk there. He stared at the headstone for a moment, half in shock and half in longing, until the dirt finally swallowed him.
Another breeze slowly pushed out the fog and broke up the clouds. The moon shone down on the desolate hillside of Mersey Tunnel and Mersey Cemetery.
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