Small Town Murder


Every Friday night, I take the same trip home to Hernando, Mississippi. Driving through the Delta at night is always so dark. The long drive gets lonely, so I always listen to my favorite podcast, Small Town Murders. James and Jimmy fill my speakers with mysterious murder cases and humor as I pass by all of these similarly small towns. I have my window down, smoke billowing out from my menthol cigarette. These drives always make me want to smoke more.

I pass Mound Bayou, and the drizzling rain streams down my windshield. My wipers never seem to work very well. It just smears the water across the window, making me strain to see what’s in front of me. The story on the podcast starts to give me chill bumps. A lady was murdered on her way home from work late at night. Even Jimmy seems freaked out, as he yells, “Sweet Pete!” as James continues the horrific story.

I see something from the corner of my eye. There’s a large cotton field to my right and left, and something is emerging toward the road from the overgrown cotton. My heart is racing, and I speed up, because honestly, I don’t want to know what this looming silhouette actually is.

Suddenly, I hit a huge puddle of water, and my car hydroplanes into the cotton field. The car rolls over the sea of white fuzz coming from the ground. The airbag smashes into my face, and I struggle to hold my consciousness. I glance down and notice that the steering wheel has my legs pinned in. I struggle to remove myself from the car with no luck. Someone is coming towards me. In this instance, I have completely forgotten about the creepy figure I saw for a split second before the crash. I figure it’s someone coming to rescue me. I yell for help, so that they know I’m still alive. Everything looks blurry, and blood trickles from my nose and forehead.

I see this person walking slowly towards me. I don’t see his face. There’s a mask. My mind is racing from confusion. He starts running. He runs immediately past me. I feel almost relieved. I can’t keep my mind steady.

*Thump Thump Thump*

He jumps on the top of my car. I scream for help. My radio is still playing the podcast. Jimmy is laughing, “Jesus Christ, that’s awful, I can’t even imagine.” I feel you Jimmy. What the hell is happening? He breaks each window, starting from the back, moving forward. Glass lands in my lap. I see a hoe in his hand. The windshield smashes, and glass flies into my face. I can no longer see anything. I hear a swish, almost as if the man is swinging the hoe through the open air. After two swift swings, I feel a sharp pain from the back of my head.

As I gasp for air, the last conscious thought I have is, “God, I don’t want to be just another case of Small Town Murders.