He grabbed his coat and jumped from the car, crawling as fast as he could to safety along the soaking wet underbrush. It was still raining hard. He could taste blood in his mouth and realized that his forehead was cut. The blood had dripped down his face and onto his lips. He thought he saw the apparition of a woman in blue standing in the road, beckoning him. She had no face.

He imagined his red sports car exploding into a ball of fire and the horrid smell of black smoke, but there was nothing. All he could hear were the raindrops falling on tree leaves and an empty dark road. Jake slowly stood up and put on his coat. He took out his cell phone to call for help. But the phone was dead. How odd he thought.

"Car Lights" Video clip by Wallace Dorian

He went back to the car and tried to start it, but the engine just kept making a whirring sound. It was hopeless. The car was totaled. A car his manager bought him after he won the title for heavyweight champ in a bout against Hugo Rodriguez two years ago in New York. Jake looked up at the dark, night sky. Rain pelted his face with huge drops of water. There were no moon or stars. Jake decided to walk. There must be something down the road he thought to himself. Just how far he didn’t know. He zipped up his coat, still in a state of shock from the impact of the crash.

Jake walked for some time. He suddenly noticed a small light in the distance. He tried to walk faster. He was cold, wet and tired. He saw some buildings as he came closer. Old buildings like he had never seen before. As though he stepped into a time machine and entered the past. It didn’t seem like a town really. Perhaps was small village. There was some music in the air. Jake followed it until he came upon a small pub. The old wooden sign above was squeaking, moving back and forth in the wind. It read, “The Lion’s Lair.” Jake looked through the rain-streaked window and saw what appeared to be locals dancing and drinking. Several musicians were playing their instruments.

As soon as Jake entered the pub, heads turned to look at him, the music stopped and everyone fell silent. Jake felt like he invaded a private party. He shut the door. The men and women were all ages and cultures. An old Chinese man in particular stood out from the crowd and looked very odd. He was very thin, had a gray beard, wizened eyes and smoked a long-stemmed pipe. The smoke engulfed his finely chiseled features and deeply wrinkled brow.

The music started up again as Jake slowly made his way to the bar. A big heavy-set woman came over to him. “What’ll it be?” The voice was deep and husky. Her hair was bright red and she had dark green eye-shadow which was set off with ruby red lips. Her perfume was thick with the smell of lilac.

“Just a beer, please.” Jake took a handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing the blood from the cut on his forehead. The old Chinese man kept staring at him from across the room. Jake looked around the pub. It was quaint. Very cozy actually. It reminded him of the old Irish pubs in Dublin that he had frequented when he was on leave in the Navy. The woman was walking back with his beer now.

“Two dollars. Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you.” Jake took some wet one-dollar bills out of his pocket and placed them on the bar.

“Do you have a phone here?” The woman looked at him like he was from another planet.

“It’s out of order.”

“Would someone be good enough to loan me their cell phone then? I had an accident down the road, and..”

“We don’t use those things here,” She blurted out and then went back to wait on a young Asian couple. The man was wearing what looked like a green army uniform. Jake took a deep swig from his beer mug. Feeling tired, he decided to take a seat at a table near the window. He looked out into the night. It was a dark abyss. The wind and rain pelted the window. He took another sip of beer and almost choked when he saw the old Chinese man with the pipe sitting directly in front of him. He had a big, Cheshire cat grin and bright shiny eyes. He reminded Jake of a big black and white Persian cat his girlfriend used to own named Domino.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He said, taking a long drag from his pipe, blowing a huge smoke ring from his mouth that drifted into the air before disappearing.

“My name is Chang.” Jake just stared at him for a moment.

“I’m Jake. Look, I had an accident down the road.”

“Yes, I see you’ve been cut. A terrible night to be driving.” He said. “Everyone drives too fast today.”

“I know but I had to be somewhere by morning.” Jake felt Chang was being unsympathetic.

“I have to call a tow truck. The car is completely wrecked.” Chang kept smiling at him.

“You should rest now. Relax. When the rain stops we’ll see what we can do. No one can come out in weather like this anyway.” Jake was feeling anxious.

“Maybe you’re right.” Jake looked around the pub.

“I’m always right.” Chang said flatly.

“This is a nice place. Do you own it?” Chang just looked at him.

“Yes and no.” He pointed to the big redhead behind the bar who served Jake his beer. “She’s my partner. Roberta.”

“I see,” Jake said.

“You’re just in time tonight.”

“In time for what?” Jake was confused.

Chang smiled broadly again.“For our storytelling contest.”

Jake looked at him incredulously. Here he was reeling from a car crash that almost killed him and this guy Chang talks about storytelling contests. “What’s the prize?”

Chang picked up his beer mug holding it high. “Free drinks, of course!” He laughed loudly and quickly got up feeling excited and began calling out.

“Okay, everyone! It’s storytelling time!” A thunderous applause broke out in the pub. Chang walked over to the bar and snapped his fingers. Roberta produced a wooden cane and handed it to Chang.

“This is my magic wand. As I move it around the room, I will stop and point it at someone. That person must then tell us his or her story. Is everyone ready?”

Everyone agreed. The room fell silent. The door suddenly burst open, the wind whipping it’s way into the pub. Standing before the patrons was a little girl, maybe ten years old and an attractive, middle-aged woman wearing a black cape and large brimmed hat. The little girl wore a yellow dress beneath her tattered brown coat. They both looked very pale, almost chalk white and walked over to a table in the corner of the room and sat quietly.

Chang, no longer smiling, kept his eyes trained on the little girl feeling compassion. He walked over to the little girl.

“Hello.” The little girl looked up at him with sad eyes.

“Hello.”

“What is your name?” The little girl looked at the woman sitting across from her waiting for a nod of approval. She looked back at Chang.

“Monique.”

“Ahh, Monique. What a beautiful name. It’s so French. Are you hungry?”

“Yes.” Monique said.

“What would you like to eat?” Monique hesitated a moment and then spoke in a quiet little voice.

“An apple.”

“An apple? That’s no problem. Here.” In a moment, Chang produced an apple from thin air and handed it to Monique.

“Here you go. Enjoy!” Monique took the apple and then looked at the woman who smiled. She bit into the apple, savoring its tangy crispness.

Jake was mesmerized by this. He thought that Chang was an expert at magic. Surely this was an old trick like making quarters appear from behind someone’s ear.

“Let us begin!” Shouted Chang. He walked to the center of the room as everyone nursed their drinks. Chang lifted his cane as though it were a magic wand and started sweeping it around the room, pointing the cane as he turned. Everyone sat quietly wondering if the cane would stop on them. Chang was in a devilish mood, laughing loudly and shouting like a carnival barker.

“Round and round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows!”

The cane suddenly stopped on Monique. Everyone’s eyes were glued on her as she put her apple down, feeling self-conscious. Chang walked over and kneeled down in front of her.

“Do you like stories?” He said.

“Oh, yes.”

Chang smiled and then looked at Jake who was sipping his beer enthralled by all of this.
“Yes. Everyone likes a story. Especially a scary ghost story.” Chang looked at Monique again.
“We’re having a little contest. Who can tell the best story. You’re first. Okay?” Monique put the apple on the table.

“Okay.” Everyone in the pub sat in great anticipation to hear Monique’s story. She looked at the woman across from her and then at the patrons in the room.

“Once upon a time there was a little girl. Her name was Monique. Just like my name. This was a long, long time ago. The little girl had a mother and father but they were very poor farmers. They lived in the country and Monique’s father worked very hard day and night. One day, Monique’s mother was walking her home. They crossed a little wooden bridge. Below was a brook with rushing water. On the way home, Monique noticed an old dilapidated house. They had to walk near the house to get home but on that day a friend of Monique’s mother was also walking home in the opposite direction and they stopped to talk. Monique, feeling bored noticed a woman wearing black coming out of the house. She walked with a limp and went over to an old apple tree to pick apples. Monique decided to go over and see. She was putting apples in her large apron. The woman noticed Monique.”

“Hello. Would you like an apple?” Monique was scared at first. Her mother told her not to talk to strangers.

“What are you going to do with all those apples?” Monique said.

“I’m going to bake a big apple pie.” Monique was very hungry.

“Okay. May I have an apple please?” Monique held out her hand. The woman came over and gave her an apple. Suddenly, her mother grabbed the apple from Monique’s hand and threw it on the ground. Monique’s mother was furious.

“Child! I told you not to go near this woman. She’s a witch!” She grabbed Monique’s hand and hurried her home. That night at dinner, Monique asked her mother why she thought the woman was a witch. Monique said witches have broomsticks and she didn’t see one.

“Her broomstick is hidden in the house.” Her mother said. “She’s a widow woman. She casts evil spells and her husband vanished. Never go near her again!”

“But she only gave me an apple, mother,” Monique said innocently. Her mother told her the woman puts poison in her fruit and that everyone in the village knows she is evil. Witches cast evil spells. She also told Monique that witches like to eat little girls and steal their souls.

That night, when Monique went to sleep, she had a dream. She awoke to hear a woman laughing loudly. She ran to the window and looked up at the night sky. It was the same woman she had met that day near the bridge. She was riding on a big broomstick and wearing a huge, black-pointed hat. Her long black clothes blew in the wind. The woman landed near Monique’s window and told her that she would give her a ride. The woman said, “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” Monique climbed out of her window and jumped on the broomstick. The woman took her high in the air. The broomstick moved very swiftly. Monique looked down. Far below her she could see all the farms dotted along the countryside like little black specks. She asked the woman if she was a real witch and the woman just laughed. Monique said, “Please don’t eat me or steal my soul.” Then, she quickly woke up. It was morning. She didn’t know if the dream was real or not. She ran to the window and looked down. She saw some straw lying on the ground and thought the dream must have been real. But a young boy quickly came over and picked up the straw taking it back to a small horse-drawn cart filled with straw. Yes, thought Monique. It was only a dream.

A week later, people in the village started getting sick. Many were dying. Even her mother fell ill. There was a strange Shaman priest doing a ritual over her mother’s body. He was chanting and using smoke to heal her and shook some old bones in a wooden cup. Monique’s father was angry with her because her mother had told him about the woman down the road. “This is all your fault, child!” He yelled. Then he struck her

Monique, hurt and crying, ran from the house down the road. The other neighbors knew that a witches curse had been placed on their village and blamed the woman down the road. Monique finally came upon the woman’s house. She was apprehensive but knocked on the door three times. The door opened and the woman appeared.

“Yes? Oh, I remember you. Is there anything wrong?”

“Some people want to hurt me.” Monique said.

“Oh, poor child. Please, come in.” The woman’s voice was very gentle. She led Monique to a small wooden table in the kitchen area.

“You can sit here. Would you like some apple pie?”

“Yes, thank you.” Monique felt sad. She looked up on the wall and noticed a painting. A man with a sailor’s cap, with a big, dark beard. The woman saw her looking at it.

“That was my husband. He died in a shipwreck one night many years ago. There was a terrible storm at sea. I miss him so,” She said. Monique could feel her sadness.

“Is he with God?” The woman looked at her warmly.

“I hope so.” She brought a piece of pie over to Monique and placed it on the table. Monique began eating the pie as the woman sat and watched.

“I’m afraid to go back home,” Monique said with a full mouth. “Everyone in the village thinks you’re a witch. Even my mother is sick.” The woman looked at her and realized what was happening.

“Yes. It’s the plague again. Cholera.” Suddenly, a huge crowd could be heard from the distance getting closer and closer. The woman stood up quickly and ran to the front door, opening it. She saw torches. Many torches coming toward her house. She could hear men yelling, “Burn the witches!”

The woman quickly closed the door and turned to Monique who was standing now with fear in her young eyes.

“What is it?”

“Some men are coming. They want to hurt us. Quick, come with me!” The woman grabbed a large knife as Monique stayed close to her.

“Hold this knife!” She yelled. The mob was getting closer and closer. The men’s voices were eager for blood.

Monique hesitated a moment and then took the knife in her trembling little hands. The woman rushed over to a small closet and took out a long rifle, cocking the trigger.

“Where can we hide?” Monique shouted.

“There is no where to hide. They will find us sooner or later. Don’t be afraid. Just stay close to me.” Monique grabbed the woman around the waist, clutching her tightly.

Suddenly, they heard loud thuds at the door and the shouts of the men.

“Burn the witches! Kill them!” The banging on the door became louder and louder. The wood began splitting more and more. The woman raised her gun high, aiming it at the door. Monique was blanche with fear.

The door finally collapsed and the men streamed into her house like cockroaches, massing together, getting ready for the kill.
The woman stood her ground.

“Which one of you will die first?” She said with a stone cold face. A big, burly man stepped forward holding a pitchfork in his hands. He was sweating profusely. There was an evil look in his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re a witch all right. Kill them!” He shouted. No sooner had he said that, the woman let go with a round from her rifle putting a large hole in the man’s chest, falling him to the floor, dead.

The men quickly pounced upon the woman and Monique. Some men clubbed the woman to death. Monique quickly placed the blade of her knife into one of the men’s legs as he yelled in agony. Monique suddenly felt the impact of a huge club land on her head. Everything went black. She was dead. The men then set fire to the house, burning it to the ground. The end.”

The room was silent. Chang walked over to Monique.

“That was a very nice story. Thank you.” Chang stood up and looked over at Roberta from behind the bar wiping away a tear.” I think Monique deserves a prize for this story.” Everyone agreed. Roberta came out from behind the bar and gave Monique a bouquet of lollipops.

“Thank you.” She said, taking them. She looked over at the woman who smiled. By this time Chang was in the middle of the room again moving his magic cane.

“Round and round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows.” The cane stopped on Jake much to his surprise..

“Now wait a minute. I just got here. I can’t do this.” Chang just looked at him.

“Why not? Surely you must have a story to tell. We all have stories.”

“Yeah, come on! Don’t be a baby,” Monique shouted from the other side of the room.

“Look, I just don’t want to do it. I was in an accident and I’m tired.” Jake looked around the room. A tough-looking sailor stood up and made a fist.

“Maybe he needs one of these!” Chang looked at him.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” He turned to Jake again, knowingly. “Besides, I don’t think it’s a fight you’d win.” Jake stood up on this.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a fighter, right?” Chang gave him that sly look.

“A fighter? Yeah, maybe. How did you know?”

“I know many things. That’s what I’m here for. I’m sure every one is eager to hear your story.”

A hush filled the pub. All eyes were on Jake. He sat down at his table and finally relented.

“I grew up poor in the streets of Los Angeles. Fighting was always in my blood. Even when I was a kid I had to fight the toughest bully in the neighborhood. I always won too. When I was teen-ager I got involved in a barroom brawl. When the cops came, I hit one with all my might, and broke his jaw. They gave me two years in reform school. Even there it seemed I was always fighting, always getting into trouble.

Later, after I came out, I was still angry at the world. My friend, Bob, told me one day that I should seriously consider boxing as a career. That I should put my anger to good use. I soon began boxing everyday. Later, as my boxing improved I was getting real good and winning every bout. One day Bob set up a match with one of the world’s heavyweight champs, Hugo Rodriguez. But Bob had gambling debts and close ties to the mob. He asked me to take a fall against Rodriguez one night. He begged me. I told him no and then agreed, but in round six I changed my mind. I didn’t fall. It was the principle of the thing. The mob boss lost a lot of money and one night they found Bob’s body riddled with bullets in an alley.

There was nothing I could do. I was paranoid and thought that some goons would come looking for me too. I ended up walking away from the boxing world. I decided I would leave forever, start a new life. Somewhere. Anywhere. Then, my mother died. After her funeral I left. I drove and drove, wanting to forget everything. It started raining hard and night was falling. I remember something my mother said to me before she died. She said to be aware of the woman in blue with no face. Because on that day I would die. I didn’t know what she was talking about. I thought she was delirious. That night, I saw a woman wearing a blue gown, almost transparent with no face standing in the middle of the road. She appeared suddenly. The road was wet and I swerved hard. It was too late. The car skidded off the road and into a huge tree. So, here I am. That’s why I’m here. I have to be in Santa Fe early tomorrow morning about a job. My car is wrecked and I need to rent a car or something”

Chang looked at Jake intensely a moment.
“Where is your car now?”

“About a mile down the road,” Jake said.

“How far is this Santa Fe?” Chang was curious.

“Come on. It’s about fifty miles from here. Santa Fe, New Mexico.”

“There is no place called Santa Fe near here that I know of.” Everyone in the room agreed with Chang.

”Perhaps you’re mistaken.” Jake jumped up, adamant.

“Look, I’m not mistaken. I know where I was driving.”

“Sit down. Don’t get excited.” Jake sat down trying to compose himself.

“I should have been more careful when I was driving but that woman came from nowhere. Maybe next time I’ll be more careful.”

“There won’t be a next time for you.” Chang was positive about this.

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Know what?” Jake said, His voice was filled with anxiety. Chang moved closer to Jake, reassuring him in a calm manner.

“This village does not exist in your world.” Jake looked at Chang trying to comprehend what he was saying.
“Your world was the world of the living. This is the world of the dead.”

Jake jumped up again. A sense of panic overtook him as he looked around the room. Somber, blank faces stared back at him.

“What are you saying? Are you crazy? What do you mean this is the world of the dead? Are you saying everyone in this room is dead?” Chang looked at Jake without emotion.

“Yes. We are all dead. This is the place for lost souls. Everyone here will tell you the story of their deaths.”
Jake started moving around the room. He was feeling claustrophobic.

“But I’m alive! I’m real. Look, I can feel myself.” He walks over to Chang and grabs his arm. “I can feel you. You’re real. Made of flesh and blood.”

“Of course, I’m real. We’re all real but we have no material form. Go to the mirror and see for yourself.”

Jake moved quickly to the large mirror behind the bar. He saw nothing. No reflection of the bar patrons nor himself. He turned around.

“This can’t be. No! I’m not dead. I’m alive! I’m alive!”

As Jake made a dash for the front door, several men grabbed him, pulling him to the floor. Jake began screaming.

”Help! Someone, help me!” The men finally had him pinned down on the floor. Chang walked over and looked down at him.

“It’s all right, Jake. You’ll get used to it. We all do sooner or later. You’ll be with us for a long, long time.” Jake started throwing his fists at the men but a powerful blow from one of the men found its way into Jake’s face, knocking him unconscious. Chang shook his head pathetically.

“Knock-out.” He looked around and noticed the rain had stopped. Twilight was approaching.

“My, how time flies. I’m sure you all had your stories to tell. Maybe another night. We must be going.”

The patrons began walking out of the pub and down a long, dark road, disappearing into thin air.
It was morning now. The sun’s rays streamed through a blanket of thick clouds. Two policemen sitting in their cruiser moved down the highway.

“That was some storm last night.”

“Yeah, biggest one in a hundred years they said on the news.” The other officer looked out his window.

“Stop! Looks like an accident. Pull over.” The officer stopped the car near the side of the road. It was a secluded area thick with trees and brush. The police officers walked over to the small, mangled sports car wrapped around the tree.

The two police officers looked inside the car and saw the body of a man slumped over the wheel. Dead. It was Jake.

“He’s a goner.” The young officer looked closer at the huge gash on Jake’s forehead.

“He must have died on impact. Call central and tell them to send the coroner.”

“Right.”