Dead Man’s Curve
by Thomas Kleaton
The white moon nestled over Clermont County resembled the headlights rushing toward them.
“Whoever that is better slow down,” said Dan, tapping his high beams. “222 meets State Route 125 right up here. Five teenagers died there in 1969. Got hit by another car doing over a hundred.”
“Yep,” the hitchhiker said. “Death and dying, man. What’s that saying? The one about crossing that bridge when we come to it?”
He paused. Dan locked the brakes and screamed as headlights filled the windshield, illuminating the bony skull grinning at him from the blackness.
“I’m here to help you cross it.”