Rule Number 2: Be home by nightfall.

Inga has always been careful. Over 30 years working for her company and she has never broken one of the Three Rules… At least not until tonight. She runs her fingers over the strap of her handbag as she stares at the flat tire.

There is a saying: whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. Normally she wouldn't even be out at this hour, but she had gotten caught up in her work and not noticed the time slipping by. Johan, the janitor, always drops by her office at closing to make sure she goes home on time, but today he was out sick. That, coupled with the fact she has never quite gotten around to getting a cell phone, means she is stranded.

Inga takes a shaky breath and climbs back in the car. She's far too old to change the tire herself. She could try to walk home, but it's a very long walk, far longer than she can manage safely in the dark, and at least here, in her car, there's a layer of metal surrounding her. She contemplates turning on the blinkers. Maybe a passing vehicle will notice her and stop to help. She pauses with her fingers on the button. The idea of attracting more attention strikes her as a bad one. She'll turn them on if she hears someone coming.

Inga sighs and whispers a prayer under her breath, nervously crossing herself. She needs all the help she can get tonight.

An hour slowly ticks by, but no cars appear. The road is eerily empty for a town the size of Arcadia. With every second that passes she finds herself becoming more anxious. Other…things… aside, spending the night in a car at her age will not be good for her health.

Her gaze flits fretfully up and down the road. She freezes. Something is moving on the tree-line. Something big.

Acting more on instinct than reason, she crawls into the back seat. Her bones creak and protest against the action. The emergency brake stabs her in the leg. She'll have bruises in the morning.

On the back seat is a blanket she keeps around for winter. Her old Volkswagen takes far too long to warm up. She lays down as flat as she can on the seat and covers herself with it.

Trying to move as little as possible she reaches into her shirt and grabs her rosary. Slowly she begins praying the beads. Her breathing calms down and she begins to think that maybe everything will be okay.

Something bumps the car.

Inga freezes, not daring to even breathe. She grips the crucifix so hard that she can feel it bite into her skin.

Something is sniffing at her car door. Her pulse speeds up. The car tilts for a moment before being dropped back onto all four wheels with a thump. Igna holds in a whimper, tears prickling at her eyes, and starts praying again.

For a moment it's quiet, but before she can even dare hope that it has gone away, she hears something scrape at the door by her head.

Her breath catches and the metal begins to make a sound that reminds her of a can opening.

It's coming for her.

She squeezes her eyes closed. She hopes it will be quick.

It stops. In the ensuing silence she can hear the sound of a vehicle approaching. The sound of pop music playing obnoxiously loud on a radio slowly fades into her hearing.

Inga waits. She doesn't dare to move yet.

There's a low snarl and then the sound of something large moving through the underbrush. It fades away as the car approaches.

Inga lets out her breath and sits up. Pain flares through her joins. She glances around rapidly then shields her eyes against the headlights of the approaching vehicle.

The vehicle, a large red truck, pulls to a halt beside her and the driver opens out. He knocks on her window.

"Hey, Inga! Johan called me earlier saying he was worried ya didn't make it home… Looks like he was right. Ya need a ride?"

It's John Borden. He just started working at Axel's about a month ago.

Inga quickly throws off the blanket, unlocks the door, and darts out.

"Woah! What's your rush?"

Inga is already climbing into the passenger's side of his car and buckling in.

"It's late," She says, voice uncharacteristically terse as her eyes dart around scanning the bushes warily. "We should get going."

"Okay, okay!" He holds out his hands placiatingly. "Just a… Woah!"

Inga's heart sinks into her stomach as she sees him crouch down to examine her car's door.

"Check out these scratches! What did this?"

"It doesn't matter."

Inga's heart rate is starting to go up again. They need to get out of here before it returns.

"Can we please get going? I should really get home and call Johan so he stops worrying about me. He really needs to be sleeping." She injects as much pleading as she can into her voice.

John lets out an annoyed huff and pulls out his phone. He snaps a quick picture of her car door then climbs into the driver's seat.

After Inga gives John her address they talk very little on the ride home. John seems content just to listen to the radio, head bobbing along to the beat. Inga on the other hand is still full of nerves. Every few seconds she finds herself checking to make sure that the truck door is locked.

John pulls up in front of her house and stops there, engine idling. Inga opens the door, but pauses before exiting.

"Mr. Borden? A word of advice…"

"Hmmm?"

"Make sure you delete that picture," She says.

He no doubt saved her life tonight, she owes him at least this much.

"Why?" He sounds genuinely curious.

"Nothing good will come of it," She says and then lowers her voice. "Don't forget Rule One."

John rolls his eyes. Inga sighs and climbs out of the truck.

"Thank you for the ride."

"You're welcome," He says.

She doesn't stay long enough to see him drive away. Inga bolts up her walkway, ignoring the pain from her bruised leg. She nearly drops her keys in her haste to get the door open.

It's not until she's inside, with the lights on and the door locked, that she finally lets herself relax and breathe out a prayer of thanks.

She slowly walks into the kitchen and pulls out her old tea kettle. It's worn from use, but still in good condition. She fills it up and puts it on the stove, then makes sure to call Johan.

Fifteen minutes later she's settling into her reading chair with a cup of chamomile tea.

Before she pulls out her book, she's careful to close the blinds.


Author Notes:

Whew! Finally got around to finishing this one. Bular really does make for a good horror story monster.

I'm really excited for the next one...

John should be more careful.