Duncan Blood’s Journal: 1926


I killed an automobile today.

I was out on North Road, enjoying the late evening air when Sergeant Anthony Dawes rode up on his motorcycle, the Cross Police Department’s most recent purchase. He was showing me the finer points of the machine, which were impressive when we heard the rumble of an engine.

Since autos are few and far between in the area, both he and I looked around, attempting to ascertain where the noise was issuing from.

To our mutual surprise, it was coming from Gods’ Hollow.

Leaving his motorcycle on the side of the road, we approached the stonewall and peered into the Hollow, seeking the machine, and soon enough, we saw it.

I’m not sure if the automobile was of our world or perhaps of another, but it came barreling out of the tree-line. Dirt and grass were thrown up behind it as the wheels cut into the sod, propelling the auto towards North Road.

I doubted the machine could make it through the stonewall, and Sergeant Dawes voiced a similar opinion.

But as the automobile approached, I saw the Hollow do something new and terrifying.

The wall around it changed.

A section of the stonewall shifted, twisted, and then collapsed, rebuilding itself to either side and leaving a gap large enough for the automobile to pass through, and pass through it did.

In moments it was on the road, cutting hard to the left and racing toward us.

It took only a heartbeat for me to see that the machine was driverless.

I had my Colts out and fired at the tires and the engine, not sure what would do the trick.

The left front tire exploded, and then steam erupted from the engine. The automobile slalomed, then peeled off to the left and down the side of North Road before crashing into a tree and coming to a violent stop.

Sergeant Dawes and I approached the automobile with caution, and as he went forward to gather any information about the vehicle that he could, I reloaded my Colts.

There was nothing to be found in the machine, and we returned to the road.

Across from us, the wall had reformed, and all was quiet again.

Then, the silence was broken by my mother’s high, sharp laugh as it rolled out from the Hollow with all the mindless hatred of the destroyed machine.


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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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