The Figure on Route Seven

I was returning from a long journey, heading north on the interstate towards my home in Vermont. It was the deepest part of the night, well past three, when I finally crossed the state line. The road was empty and dark.

Just as I turned onto the old Route 7, my headlights caught a shimmer in the distance. It was on the right shoulder, maybe a quarter-mile ahead. At first I thought it was a patch of low-lying fog, but as I drew closer the light seemed to gather itself into a shape.

It was the form of a man, tall and solid-looking from the waist up. But where his legs should have been, there was only the dark pavement of the road. He was perfectly still, facing the empty fields, and did not turn as I drove past.

I was going a steady sixty miles an hour, so it was only a brief sight. But I checked my mirror immediately. The figure was still there, a pale shape in the red glow of my taillights. I was wide awake, and I know what I saw.