Christina Sanders’ flip-flop wearing foot slammed harder onto the pedal, pushing the busted-up, mud-soaked, navy blue minivan closer and closer to its limits. She was already sailing down the road at 88 miles per hour. A bright, almost neon, yellow sign appeared from hiding behind branches of a skyscraping-tree. The sign indicated that a twisty road was coming up. She glanced at the sign, but then back onto the road. Mrs. Sanders had already driven down curvy roads, steep hills, and even a one-car bridge over a river. She figured she would encounter all of those things since she was in the Poconos. Mrs. Sanders continued pressing down on the pedal -- she was now doing 93 mph -- even though she knew one slip of a tire on the twisty road could be the end of her. That didn’t stop her from her mission: she must save her son!
That’s what kept her motivated since she received Joe’s phone call last night around 2 am.
I guess it was this morning, a voice told her.
This isn’t the time!, another voice (slightly higher) said to the first voice.
Yeah? Who asked you!?!, the first voice responded.
Mrs. Sanders sighed to herself, and said in a light whisper, “I’m going to drive myself crazy.”
Just like the mental patient with your son, a voice said. Although this time it didn’t seem to be in her head. It seemed to be the squeaking tires under the car. The branches that sightly scraped the top of the van. She fastened her fingers onto the steering wheel tighter, turning them as white as snow. She tried to stop thinking and pay attention to the twisty road. The road reminded Mrs. Sanders of her own brain since her son’s call: wild, uneven, twisty and scary. She thought back to that frigid and damp 2 am morning.
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Mrs. Sanders had been seated behind the decaying desk in the back office of Wicher’s Waffles. Wicher’s Waffles was the most popular diner in Bellston, and she was lucky enough to be the manager. She liked being the manager because she knows everyone by name and it paid the rent. However, this day was different. For starters, it was a dark Friday and her oldest son, Joseph, had gone camping for the first time with his Boy Scout troop. Next, six employees called out sick, and she was forced to call in the ones off for the day. Then, all of the workers that come in for lunch hadn’t come through the door. It wasn’t like they weren’t working, either. She passed the construction of a new preschool that morning! Around noon, gloomy, low-lying clouds started to gather and by 5 pm, the skies opened up and poured the heaviest-looking drops she had ever seen. She considered closing early, due to no service and she didn’t feel like staying til ten tonight. As she was about to make her call, an abnormal rush occurred. Everyone came to eat their dinners at 8 PM! They were forced to stay open until midnight, when the last customer left. All of the employees hastily cleaned up and dashed to their cars. Mrs. Sanders stayed, however, going over some simple paperwork that soon turned into a mess of files. When it all became too much to handle, she decided to step out to have a cigarette.
As she went through the backdoor, she noticed the time was 1:55. She sighed, knowing she’ll pay for this when she got up at 6 a.m. The weather outside was frigid, as if this small Pennsylvania town was inside an ice cube. It was also damp, most likely from the rain earlier. She pulled out a cigarette from her Marlboro pack and lit it. She noiselessly sat there on the curb, waiting patiently for her body to calm down. That’s when her Samsung rung.
Mrs. Sanders thoughtlessly pulled out the rectangular device from her pocket, a reflex she had developed. The phone number 267-745-3625 read across the screen. She didn’t know who it was or it would’ve been in her contacts.
More importantly, a voice said in her blank mind, who would you know that would call this late. She swept the red button on the screen, ending the ringing tone. It was now 1:59, as she put the shriveled cigarette butt out on the scratched-up curb. Then her phone rang once more. It was the same number, not even 30 seconds later. After a moment of thought, she answered and put the phone against her ear.
Panting endured on the other side of the call. A person cleared its throat and in a whisper said, “Calm?”
Mrs. Sanders thought, Calm? What should I be calm about?
She answered back, “What? Who is this?”
The only answer was a snap of a twig, and a wincing sound. Mrs. Sanders was now on edge, and was going to hang up when movement sounded. It was quite low at first, only a thud once and awhile. Soon, it became constant and seemed to get closer to the person on the other side of the phone. Mrs. Sanders realized with stunned horror that it was footsteps, but they  weren’t normal. The footsteps were as if they were being quiet on purpose. Then, she heard a voice that would have even gave Freddy Krueger nightmares. It tagged her soul and followed her every step anywhere in the world. It would never leave her side, as if a shadow. This voice would lead her down a twisted road, mentally and physically.
A husky man’s voice said, “Little pig, little pig, you have left your pen...” The voice trails off, and Mrs. Sanders can no longer hear anything. After a moment, heavy breathing enters her ears, indicating that the call is still going. Then the person on the other side continued talking.
“Mom?!?! Are you there?! It’s me, Joe!!!”
Mrs. Sanders heart completely stopped. Her brain froze without ice cream. Her breath sucked in, but none left her body. She would have fainted if this wasn’t such a dire situation.
“MOM!!! PLEASE LISTEN!!! I KNOW YOU’RE THERE!!!”
That snapped her out of the spell the man’s voice put her under. She released her breath. A quintillion questions shot through Mrs. Sanders’s head, but she knew they all couldn’t be answered.
“I’m here, honey. What’s going on?” Mrs. Sanders said in her most calm voice.
“Some insane guy with an axe is attacking the troop!!! He’s already killed Mr. Miller!” Joe said in a upset whisper.
“It’s okay, baby. Everything’s gonna be okay.” She knew she was lying to her son. Sometimes the truth hurts TOO much. Then, God planted a beautiful idea inside Mrs. Sanders head.
“Joe, where are you?”
“What?”
“WHERE ARE YOU!!!” Mrs. Sanders yelled into her phone, standing up from the curb and sprinting through the backdoor of Wicher’s Waffles.
“Why does it matter, Mom?”
Mrs. Sanders was now inside her office, hovering over the keyboard, ready to type in the Google search bar.
“JOSEPH SANDERS, YOU ANSWER MY QUESTION!!! I CARE ‘BOUT YOU!!!” A tear was forming in the corner of her eye, but she blinked it away. This wasn’t the time for getting emotional. That could come later.
Joe cleared his throat once more and said to his mom, “I think I saw a sign that said ‘Carl’s Cabin Campground’. I know for sure that we’re in the Poconos, though.”
Mrs. Sanders slams her fingers against the keyboard, typing in what her son said. She clicks on the magnifying glass, and the first link is Google Maps. It tells her the address and that the ride is two hours in the middle of nowhere. She swiftly scribbles the address down as her son’s voice comes over the other end.
“Mom, I called you because I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for any trouble that I ever caused. I wanted to let you that I - AHHHHHHHH!!!!” Mrs. Sanders had to move the phone away from her ear, because Joe’s screaming was bloodcurdling. She now lets the tears flow down like a waterfall, onto her work uniform. She hangs up on the call, because she subconsciously knows Joe isn’t at the phone, and she doesn’t want to hear who picks up. Mrs. Sanders leaves the office with files scattered across the room, exits the front door, locks it and runs to her minivan. Before starting on her journey for her son, she types the address into her GPS and changes out of her heels into her flip-flops, because she doesn’t want the madman’s blood all over her work heels after she ends him.
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A bump in the road brings Christina Sanders back to the reality of the situation. She looks at the clock to see it’s 3:30 am, and she has gotten off the twisty road safely. She continues driving at rapid speed, trying to shave as minutes off of her arrival time. I just want to see my son!!, she thinks to herself. She checks her GPS to see that the road is straight from this point, and that it’s just another 25 miles. Mrs. Sanders smiles for the first time the whole night. Her determination increases as her speed does.
She turns on the radio to 96.6 FM, for the silence is nagging at her. The man is talking about the rumors of a new “Halloween” movie, set for a release in October 2018. This gets Mrs. Sanders mind thinking as she leans her elbow against the windshield.
What could've caused this lunatic to snap and attack an innocent Boy Scout troop? Was he picked on due to his disfigurement and vowed revenge on everyone like Jason Voorhees? Was he mentally handicapped like Leatherface? Did he go crazy from cabin fever like Jack Torrance? Was he a cannibal and loved the taste of human skin like Hannibal Lecter? Or did he become inspired from horror movies and wanted to star in one like the teenagers in ‘Scream’? What!?! What could’ve took this man down such a dark path of life?? Made him so twisted and insane!!! What could’ve took him down… a twisted road like I’m on?? After another few minutes of having a full conservation in her head, she decided it didn’t matter. As long as she got to Joe in time.
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Mrs. Sanders finally saw the constant flashing of red-and-blue-and-red-and-blue. It was now 3:56 am. She had followed the signs pointing cars in the direction of the cabin campground. She prayed to the Lord that Joe had called the cops before talking to her, and her prayer was answered before her eyes. She pulled up behind a cop car, jumped out leaving the door wide open and ran under ‘DO NOT CROSS’ tape to the nearest cop. She tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to reveal a deeply tan and wrinkled face, with a whiskery gray mustache. He was opening his mouth to say something, but Mrs. Sanders cut him off.
She said to him, “I’m Joseph Sanders’s mother. He was staying here with his troop. Where is he? Is he alright? He’s not -”
The cop cut her short of her sentence by placing his meaty hand on her shoulder, pulling her closer.
“M’am, I believe your son is over here in the ambulance. Follow me please.” He turned and headed towards the middle of the campground, where a large vehicle sat without its lights on. Along the way, the cop explained to Mrs. Sanders that six recently-deceased bodies had been found scattered across the property and that the main cabin was littered knee-deep in decaying bones. Once they reached the ambulance, Mrs. Sanders was overly joyous when she heard the voice of her only child - Joe.
“Mom!” was all he had to say before they were wrapped in each other’s arms, inseparable. They were happier than any woman getting married or any senior receiving his diploma. They stayed like that for what seemed like an hour before Joe had to be asked questions by the police captain. As her son left with the captain to his cruiser, Christina Sanders knew that she could travel down any twisty roads as long as she had the will.