“Software malfunction detected,” a calm robotic voice announces. “Attempting to correct…”
Davey frowns. “That’sweird. It’s never done that before.”
The screen flickers, resets, and then the charge indicator flashes up.
Zero percent.
“What the…” Davey says, his eyes darting back and forth between the road and the touchscreen.
We both stare at it in disbelief as the car begins to slow down on its own, the electric motor whining softly before goingcompletely silent. The little mint-green car rolls to a gentle standstill on the shoulder of the empty road.
For a second, we just look at each other.
Then we burst out laughing.
“Oh my gosh,” Davey giggles, covering his mouth. “Of all the times for this fancy eco-car to betray us!”
“I thought rich-boy cars were supposed to be reliable!” I tease, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Come on, let’s stretch our legs while we work out what to do.”
We step out into the night. The laughter dies almost immediately.
It’sdark. Really dark. The only light comes from the weak interior glow of the car and a few distant stars. On both sides of the road, tall trees loom like silent watchers. The air is cooler now, carrying the rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl somewhere deep in the woods. Every small sound feels amplified—twigs snapping, something scurrying in the underbrush. My skin prickles with unease.
“Okay… this is suddenly a lot less funny,” I whisper, moving closer to Davey.
He nods, pulling out his phone. “Yeah. I’m calling the emergency collection number my parents set up. They said a car would be here in under an hour, no matter what.”
He dials and speaks quickly to the operator, giving our location. When he hangs up, he forces a smile. “They’re sending someone. Should be here soon. We’ll be fine.”
“Uh-huh,” I reply. “Did I ever say I hated horror movies?”
“No,” Davey answers. “Me too.”
We stand shoulder to shoulder, arms linked, staring down the empty road.
Ten minutes crawl by.
The owls keep hooting. The woodland rustles again, louder this time. My imagination runs wild. Every shadow looks like a person. Every distant car sound, and there aren’t many, makes my heart jump.
Then headlights appear in the distance. A car slows down and pulls up behind us.
Relief floods me for half a second… until I really look at it.
It’s not a tow truck or a service vehicle. It’s a sleek, dark saloon car. A BMW, blacked-out windows, tinted so heavily I can’t see inside. The kind of car that looks expensive and menacing at the same time. My stomach drops.
“Davey…” I whisper, grabbing his arm tighter. “That’s not the pick up car is it?”
“I don’t think so,” Davey replies, his voice laced with fear.
We both step back instinctively, huddling together. My mind races with every horror story I’ve ever heard about boys stranded on dark roads. We’re ready to scream, to run into the trees if we have to. My legs feel shaky. Twist is still in the car and I feel a strong pang of guilt for even considering leaving him behind.
The driver’s door opens.
A man steps out. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark clothes. He raises his hands slowly, palms open, as if trying to show he’s not a threat. But in this setting, it does the opposite.
“Don’t worry,” he calls out, voice calm but carrying a faint Irish lilt. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Davey and I stay frozen, hearts hammering.
