I Am the Highway Who: Celeste Henry What: Ritual Where: Nevada, Desert When: Present Day, Night Ratings/Warnings: Drugs, gore, body horror
Celeste drove far into the desert night. The instructions were specific. One must be completely alone, uninterrupted. No chance of a bystander stumbling upon the ritual. This meant going off-road. In her trunk, the supplies, plus: water, blanket, flare, solar-powered charging bank.
When she couldn’t see open road or civilization on any point in the horizon, Celeste brought the car to a stop. She stood and stretched, thoroughly took in her surroundings. She was somewhere halfway between Las Vegas and Searchlight, now.
The brunette popped the trunk, removed two small items. She took a swig of warm water.
Time to begin.
With a small tree branch, Celeste began tracing out the symbol in the sand. When that was complete, she removed her boots and socks, throwing them in her backseat through the open car window.
She stood, letting the night air caress her body. She was wearing denim shorts, and a plain black tank with large armholes, the material of a purple bra peeking out. Two necklaces, one made of brown leather cord with a seashell hanging from it, the other a blank silver dog tag sporting a bullet hole. Her toes dug into the cool sand.
Celeste wiped the back of her mouth with her forearm, and gingerly stepped inside the perimeter of the symbol, pulling a small folding knife out of her back pocket. From the other pocket, a plastic baggie filled with rust-colored powder.
It was the package Shimmer had delivered for her. A proprietary blend of psychedelic, hallucinogenic power. It was expensive, and it was produced by an elusive, shadowy figure notorious to the Vegas underground. At least, that’s what she had been assured.
For all she knew, it could be Ajax and food coloring. But sometimes a person had to weigh risk against reward.
Celeste shook open the bag and tossed it down her waiting throat. She wanted to take it with water, but the written instructions had been very clear. She expected her throat to go dry and to gag on the stuff. But it somehow went down as easy as liquid.
It tasted fucking awful, though.
Then, she carefully laid herself in the center of the circle, making sure not to smudge the smaller symbols within. Brown hair fanned out around her. Arms rested lightly against the dirt. Celeste inhaled a deep breath and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I knew it. This was a complete waste of money. This is what you get for trusting someone you’ve never even met face to face. Was anything happening? She watched a bird flying above her in the night sky. It was weaving its way through pinpricks of white light. It was nice, he was spelling her name for her with the stars.
Wait, was something happening? Maybe she should ask the bugs crawling under her skin. She sat up straight. The bugs crawling under her skin?
Celeste looked down at her arms. She could see slowly moving forms straining against her pale skin. One moved like a caterpillar, undulating and twisting. The other was dark and round, and her arm started to crack open like an egg, black legs forcing themselves out of their fleshy prison.
A snatch of laughter distracted her from this current predicament. She turned around, trying to stand on legs that felt made out of jelly. Orange Jell-o with pimentos and celery. Who had said that?
When you use what’s up there, you’re the prop.
There was a man hunched over her car, trying to tug the driver’s side door open.
“Hey!” She shouted, and her voice echoed through the empty desert. “That’s my car.”
The man kept his back toward her. He was panting and grunting. The knob rattled, then shrieked, then distorted into a baby crying. “This was my car,” he said quietly. Or maybe he hadn’t said it aloud, only thought it, and Celeste had read his mind.
“This was my car first.” Finally, he turned toward her. She jumped back. Half his face was missing, blown off. “You want the keys that bad, just take them.” He held out his palm toward her, shiny keys offered like a present. “No, put the gun down, you don’t have to—“
A gunshot so loud it boomed inside her head, and she fell to the ground. Searing hot pain. She clutched at her face, it was wet, hot, and sticky. Strands of tissue stretched between her fingers. Pain so merciless, she begged to pass out or die, oh god, pass out or die.
Then it stopped. Silence. No pain. Celeste blotted at her face. Everything intact. She looked down at her palms. No blood. The man was gone. And she began laughing.
It felt so good, she couldn’t stop. Tears streamed down her face. Laughing hysterically. Then slowly, her throat tightened. And tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Someone was choking her.
She looked up at the figure straddling her. It had no form, yet felt as solid as anything. She wasn’t being choked, after all, but the figure was bearing down on her so hard, Celeste was being crushed. Just darkness and floating tendrils of black.
It leaned down, and Celeste felt lips against hers. This was dying? No big bang apocalypse? No fiery chariot? The air was almost all gone now. The figure kissed her. No.
No. She wasn’t going to die like this.
Celeste’s hand searched blindly in the sand until she found her blade. She brought it up as hard as she could, trying to find something on the figure to stab. She screamed in pain, felt blood gush over her. Stabbed again.
The blackness disappeared, but why did it still hurt?
To anyone witnessing the scene, they would have seen Celeste lying on the ground, cutting into her own shoulder with a knife as she screamed and writhed.
The blood seeped inside the drawn ridges of the symbol. The brunette managed to stand again, a hand pressing against the wound on her arm. She staggered to the car. In a daze, she ripped off a strip of the blanket. Tied it around her arm, tightened it with her teeth. Got behind the wheel, started the ignition.
Celeste drove wildly, pressing the accelerator down. She was still high, she could feel it. But she needed to get away.
She wasn’t sure how far she had driven. How long it had been. The brunette stared into the rearview mirror to check if she could still see the circle. She didn’t see the oncoming utility pole at first but jammed on the brakes when she finally noticed it.
Celeste tried to swerve. The left corner of the car crashed into the pole with a metallic shriek that rent the night. The airbag didn’t deploy, and her torso slammed into the steering wheel.