Wheelhead

  After a long day at work, there was always one thing that could lift Matt’s spirits. Speed. As he raced down the dark highway, the stress and frustration melted away. By the time the speedometer hit 100, he’d forgotten about his irrational boss, the rude customers, and the incompetent co-workers. All that existed now was him and the road. 

  And the oversized metal chain lying across the pavement up ahead. 

  He slammed on the brakes and swerved, but the front right tire hit the chain. The car bounced, as a series of heavy thunks and clanks rang out. Matt fought the steering wheel, barely able to keep the car from slamming into the median. A metallic grinding intensified beneath the car, and a moment later, the right front tire was ripped away, flying off the car in an explosion of sparks and metal. Matt yelled as the car went into a spin. It veered right, off onto the grass, shaking violently. Grass and dirt flew into the air as the car spun. Finally, it came to a stop. 
 
  Matt let out the breath he’d been holding. His heart was beating a mile a minute, and he felt like crying, laughing, or both. 

  “I’m alive,” he said quietly. 

  His hands were shaking as adrenaline coursed through him. He took a few deep breaths, then got out of the car to see the extent of the damage. As he came around to the passenger side, he winced. The entire wheel was gone, and it had done considerable damage to the car when it was ripped away. He knelt down and craned his neck, trying to get a better view. 

  “You was goin’ pretty fast there.” 

  Matt jumped, almost pulling a muscle as he twisted around, eyes searching the dark for the source of the voice. A layer of fog was blowing in, obscuring his vision. A scraping noise drew his eyes back up toward the road. He could see a figure there, moving closer. 

  “I hit something on the road,” Matt said. “It wrapped up my wheel and tore it off.” 

  The figure stepped into the grass. Matt couldn’t make out any details yet, but it seemed like the man was dragging something heavy. 

  “Lost a wheel, you say?” the man asked. “How about I take a look?” 

  He rushed forward several steps, emerging from the fog. Matt screamed and stumbled back as he finally saw the man. 

  “Wheels are my specialty, after all,” the man said with a sinister hiss. 

  Matt fell onto his rear, eyes fixed on the figure’s inhuman form. There was a full wheel where his head should’ve been. It connected grotesquely to his body, the rubber from the wheel melted and meshing with the skin on his neck. He held a chain attached to a coffin. He pulled it along behind him as he stepped closer. The chain looked exactly like the one Matt had hit on the highway.

  Fear gripping him, Matt scrambled backward, trying to put distance between himself and the wheelheaded monstrosity. But the Wheelhead turned his attention to the vehicle, pulling the coffin around to the passenger side of the vehicle. He whistled as he saw the damage. 

  “The higher the speeds, the greater the devastation.” 

  Somehow, his words rang with accusation. Matt shook his head. 

  “I didn’t… nobody was hurt,” he muttered. 

  Wheelhead knelt and pulled on the chain connected to his coffin, dragging it closer. It opened with an ominous creak, and he peered into it. Matt couldn’t see what was inside, but a wave of torment and death seemed to rise up from the coffin and mix with the fog. In an instant, it was everywhere, and Matt’s instincts screamed at him to run. 

  “This will do nicely,” Wheelhead said. 

  He lifted a spectral wheel from the coffin. It glowed a pallid blue, and drops of blood fell from it. Wheelhead turned and pressed the ghostly wheel into position, making sure it would fit. 

  “Yes, this will do.” 

  He retrieved tools from the coffin, then began installing the wheel where the old one had been. 

  “I got this wheel from a station wagon, must’ve been 1982. Belonged to a family, the Watersons. Good people. They were on their first-ever family vacation, heading to a cabin in the Ozarks. A man local to that area was also on the roads that day. He thought himself an expert driver, thought himself a master of those roads. Thought himself in control. He was doing 150 when he came around the bend and lost control. Skidded out of his lane, hit the Watersons head-on.” 

  Wheelhead worked in silence for a moment, then shook his head. 

  “As I said before, devastation.” 

  He continued affixing the ghostly wheel to the car, but with every passing moment, his movements became more violent. He slammed his wrench against the car's frame, then thrust it against the wheel. With every movement, the amount of spectral blood oozing from the wheel increased. 

  “This wheel will serve you well, you wait and see,” he said, malice in every word. 

  Matt had heard enough. He got to his feet and ran. Leaving the highway behind, he headed into the nearby woods. He could come back for the car some other time, or better yet, leave it forever. Living was all that mattered now, something he wasn’t certain was guaranteed if he stayed in the presence of Wheelhead much longer. 

  He ran until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to cramp up. Among the darkness and heavy fog, it was impossible to know where he was, but he was just glad to be alive. He sat down on a fallen tree and tried to catch his breath. Just when his pounding heart started to slow down, a voice hissed at him from the fog, coming from all directions at once. 

  “Speed again, and I’ll take more than your wheel.”