He wondered how he’d explain this to anyone, then realized it was impossible. No one would believe him. How could he convince others if he didn’t even believe it himself? The first thing that would happen to him if he told his mother would be a recommendation for a mental ward. Andrea would believe him initially, but she’d have questions, too. Oh yeah, there’d be a ton of those. And Ron? He could just picture the look of disbelief, as if Matt was setting him up for a joke, much the same way Ron and his father used to do to him.

As he sped at unsafe speeds down Julip Road, Matt watched for animals, fearful he might smash into a moose. At such high speeds, that would be a death collision. And his mother had worried about the death lane? Ha. What about the moose lane?

“Stay back, moose!” he shouted for good measure.

Verdant birch and maple blurred by him. He licked his dry lips and reached for the jug of water in the passenger footwell, removing his eyes from the road ahead. When he checked the side view mirror, the tree canopy over the road parted as branches flew through the air. The engine thudded and he quickly sat back up.

The truck hesitated and lurched, making his stomach queasy.

Inexplicably, the truck grinded to a stop, dust and gravel billowing in front of the hood, pinging the paint like a kid throwing beach sand at a pail. Matt stomped the gas pedal all the way to the floor, producing a metallic whine from the engine. The meaty wheels spun in place as stench of burning rubber wafted into the cab.

The truck began to move backwards.

He stomped the pedal, pushing the old four-cylinder into a fit. The truck reversed faster and faster as the gear box rattled and whined. Smoke curled all around him, obscuring his view. The stench grew nauseating as the truck groaned and shuddered like a dying whale.

Should have followed your friend, the little voice chimed in his head. Follow friend, friend follow, follow friend, friend follow.