“Betsy, you know I love you, but this is not the time to get dramatic. If you had a union, I’d let you strike, but you don’t. So, let’s go.”
Another five minutes, and I try the engine. It growls, sputters, and finally turns over with a noise so terrifying it makes me jump.
“Jesus Christ, Betsy! Are you trying tokill me?”
The smell is still there but less intense, so I grit my teeth and pull back onto the road. The rain is coming down harder now, making the wipers work overtime. They squeak and smear uselessly across the glass, which just feels like a final insult at this point.
The road is quieter now, almost eerily so. The occasional car that zips past doesn’t bother honking anymore, probably because I’m the only idiot still crawling along in this weather.
“Just you and me now, Betsy,” I mutter. “Thelma and Louise. Except I don’t have Louise. Or cliffs. Hopefully.”
The minutes tick by. The rain starts to ease, but my nerves don’t. Just as I’m about to give up hope entirely, a sign appears in the distance.
Shadow Hill – 1 Mile
My entire body slumps in relief. “Oh, thank God. Hallelujah!” I cry, throwing my hands in the air for a moment before gripping the wheel again. “We did it, Betsy! Against all odds, we—”
I turn the corner and freeze.
A steep, winding hill stretches out before me, its incline so sharp it might as well be a wall. The road twists and disappears into the fog, taunting me with its sheer audacity.
I stare at it for a moment, completely dumbfounded.
“Well, fuck this,” I mutter, leaning back against the seat and glaring at the hill like it personally insulted me.
Betsy lets out a low groan as if she agrees.
7
Bella
The hill stretches on like it’s laughing at me. Betsy wheezes up the incline, her engine groaning louder with each twist and turn. I hold the steering wheel tighter, muttering, “Just get me up this hill. That’s all I’m asking.” The dashboard lights flicker in response, an ominous reminder that she’s not long for this world.
The rain pounds against the windshield like tiny fists of judgment, the wipers doing their best impression of a dying metronome. I squint through the fogged glass. No sign of a road marker, no streetlights, no signs of life—just endless, suffocating trees that seem to close in tighter the higher I climb.
“This can’t be right.” I glance at the GPS, which has officially given up and defaulted to a spinning wheel of death. Of course, no signal. Why would there be? Shadow Hill isn’t exactly Starbucks-adjacent. I should turn around. Except if I stop, Betsymight decide this hill is her final resting place. The engine sputters, almost as if she’s considering it.
“No, no, no. You are not dying here, Betsy. Not today.” I slam my hand on the dashboard like I’m scolding a toddler. “If you’re gonna quit, at least make it somewhere I can get cell service, okay?”
The road splits suddenly, the left fork leading to what I assume is hell and the right fork… probably also hell. But the left side has a barely visible sign: “Shadow Hill” in faded, chipped paint.
I groan. “Of course. Left it is.”
The incline sharpens, and the fog thickens until the edges of the road blur into nothingness. Then I see it—or at least, what’s left of it. The ruins of a Victorian-style mansion rise out of the mist like a haunted Pinterest fail. One turret leans precariously, the roof caved in on one side, and the windows are hollow sockets staring into the abyss. No lights, no movement. Just blackened, rotting wood and a creeping sense of regret for every life choice that brought me here.
“That’s it?” I say to no one because I’m officially alone in this nightmare. “Sandra sent me to listthis?”
I swear to God, she’s dead to me. Dead. To. Me.
And then Betsy lets out a final, mournful cough and dies. Right there. No dramatic explosion, just a defeated little wheeze. The lights flicker off, and the silence that follows is deafening.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I twist the key in the ignition, but Betsy doesn’t even pretend to try. “Oh, you bitch. You absolute traitor.”
The rain picks up, each drop colder and sharper as it seeps into my already damp jacket. I grab my phone, praying for even a single bar. Nope. Not a flicker of service. Because why not?
I glance back at the ruin. No way am I stepping foot in there. I’ve seen enough horror movies to know how that ends, and I am not getting murdered by a Victorian ghost named Abigailtonight. But just as I’m about to resign myself to waiting in Betsy until I freeze to death, I catch sight of something through the rain.
There, to the right of the haunted disaster, stands… something. It’s hard to make out through the rain and fog, but I catch a flicker of light. My first thought is relief, like maybe this isn’t the end of the line. But the more I look, the less comforting it seems.
