Murder. We were going to get murdered; I was sure of it. The dark and empty parking lot at the end of HWY 130 eerily reminded me with every rustle of the leaves of our precarious state. There we sat, in the middle of nowhere with no civilization for miles, in our rental waiting for our supposed tour guide at 3 AM in the morning. The flickering of a lonely light bulb in a sea of light poles with broken light bulbs sent chills up my spine. I clenched my fist firmly on the only available object that could be used as a weapon, a half empty coffee mug. Now and then my eyes played tricks on me and I would see a young girl in white pajamas strutting across the road and disappearing into the dense forest. I always joked that characters in horror movies deserve to die because of their stupid curiosity, always running into dark and ominous settings. But here we were, decidedly staying in this prophetic scene, hoping for the best.
We waited. No one came.
I got annoyed and grabbed the key to turn the ignition. A bright light shot around the corner and stopped my heart momentarily. Time stood still. Was this the bright light people always suggested before you leave the mundane world?
As the light inched its way closer to us, I made out a man rolling down the window. Who has manual windows anymore these days? Murderers! His beastly arm shot out. These windows better be bulletproof!
He waved and signaled for us to follow him. “Come on! Follow me!”