Hey, I told you it was stupid, but it sure did help to pass the time, and when you’re a trucker, anything that helps to pass the time helps to make you feel—well, less lonesome I guess. I never really thought about it before, but it does get mighty lonely on the road sometimes, especially up there where there ain’t nothing but mountains and sky, and—

Now, where was I? Right!

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that it was a day like any other. I had the road mostly to myself, and I was singing along to the country radio station, and that’s probably why I didn’t notice her. I guess I just wasn’t paying attention. One minute, I was just cruising along with the wind in my hair (or what’s left of it, anyway), and the next thing I knew she was there. By the time I saw her, my rig was practically on top of her. The first thing that crossed my mind was: Good God, where did she come from? Then: You almost killed her dead, you damn fool.

She was standing still, so very still, with her arms by her sides that I swear I didn’t even notice her until she was right there in front of me. When I did notice her, something clenched inside of me and I couldn’t breathe worth a damn. Truth be told, I thought I was having a heart attack, except I ain’t ever heard of no one getting no instant hard-on during a heart attack, so I thought I’d be alright.

I don’t remember downshifting, and I don’t remember applying the brakes either, but I must’ve done both right away. What I do remember is glancing in my side view mirror and seeing a flap of long hair blowing across her face like a—like a black curtain, and the long grass whipping at her legs, as the tailwind from my truck rushed past her.

I probably should have said this upfront, but I was driving my regular route for Soulever Construction, and I was on my way to making my last drop at Buxton Feed and Farm in a little area in the tippity-top of Maine called T-13, just a hop, skip, and jump away from the Canadian border. I used to joke around with the clerk there sometimes. He was one of those longhaired hippy types who was always wearing T-shirts with comic book characters on them, which seemed strange for a grown man. So sometimes I would joke around and say, when is this town of yours gonna get a name? And he’d just shake his head like that was one of life’s great mysteries and say that T-13 wasn’t even a real town, but an unincorporated township or some such thing. One time he said they ought to just call it R2-D2 or C-3PO, y’know? Like from one of those Star Wars movies? Thought it might draw more tourists to the place. I don’t know much about that, but as far as I know, there ain’t no tourist industry in T-13, so it sure as hell couldn’t hurt none.

Anyway, getting back to the story, probably every truck driver in the world dreams about picking up a beautiful damsel in distress and falling in love, or lust, or both. Probably every guy dreams about being a hero of some sort, and being rewarded for it in a way that don’t cost nothing. It doesn’t ever happen, though. At least, it never did for me, until that day.

I guided my rig to the shoulder of the road, the jake brake spitting out a sound that always reminded me of machine gun fire, as it slowly sputtered to a stop. I watched her in the side view mirror and waited for her to come bouncing up to the passenger door, figuring I would catch an earful on account of me almost running her down. It also occurred to me that I would likely catch an eyeful at the same time and suddenly I could breathe again. The tires did their last little two-step stutter before arriving at a full stop, and it was at that point that it occurred to me that I had applied the brakes without really thinking about it, maybe without even meaning to. Anyway, I did stop, so I sat there for maybe half a minute or so, still watching her in the side view, and she never moved from the spot where she was standing. She only turned and looked at my truck, and even from fifty or so yards away, it seemed as though she was looking right at me in the mirror, looking right through me, as though even that tiny little reflection could see straight into my soul. That’s when I realized that I was still excited. Sexually, I mean.

After a time, I decided that something must be wrong with her, so I climbed down out of my truck to see if she was okay. The thought occurred to me that maybe this was some kind of trap, and that someone, or maybe even several someones, might be waiting in the woods to mug me and hijack my rig. It seemed pretty farfetched, it being daytime and all, but it was enough to make my erection go away. Besides, it’s not like I was carrying the king’s riches, if you get me, unless the would-be hijackers were a couple of renegade halfwit farmers who needed several hundred pounds of fertilizer. And I didn’t think she looked like that sort. One thing was certain; she sure didn’t look like she belonged in the woods of Maine, or anywhere else, for that matter.

She was easily the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She had a heart-shaped face with dark, almost almond-shaped eyes. Not quite Asian, but definitely exotic. Her hair wasn’t just dark but black, as I already said, and long enough to reach her waist. And, my God, that body! She was wearing a kind of summer dress that ended just above her knees. It was obviously a bit loose on her, but you still had no problem seeing the shape of her body underneath the thin fabric; her flat stomach, her perfect little breasts. And those legs; long and smooth, with just the right amount of muscle tone. Legs any dancer would be envious of. Another thing, and I’m not one of those foot fanatics, but she had the prettiest little feet and the prettiest little toes in the world, in spite of the fact that she wasn’t wearing nothing in the way of shoes. Needless to say, I have seen a great many hitchhikers during my time, but I had never in my life seen anyone who could compare to her.

“Hi, there,” I said, simultaneously sucking in my gut and puffing out my chest. I was already feeling like it was all just a part of some sexy dream. “Do you need help?”

She barely moved but to breathe. She simply stared at me with those pretty eyes.

“Are you okay?” I asked, already sensing that I would not receive a response.

She just looked at me calmly. Didn’t react to what I was saying. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“I have my truck here,” I offered, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder, as though she couldn’t already see the sixteen wheel semi parked behind me. “Would you like a ride?”

She looked past my shoulder, toward my rig, and somehow seemed to nod without moving. Something inside me told me that she understood, and before I knew it, I was leading her to the truck, opening the passenger side door, and ushering her safely inside. Everything was slow and somehow hazy, like a dream.

I felt like a virgin who had somehow gathered up the courage to ask the town belle to the senior prom, only to find that he doesn’t quite know what to do with her when she actually says yes. As I was closing the passenger side door, I saw her looking down at me, so I smiled at her, thinking, once again, My God, she is the loveliest little thing I have ever seen. This thought had just crossed my mind when I heard her say, Thank you. At least, I thought I’d heard her, but the moment before the door snapped shut, I realized that her lips had never moved. Or maybe, I tried to reason, I just hadn’t seen them move. Either way, she was in my truck, waiting for me, and I wasn’t going to blow it. Besides, it seemed like a small matter at the time.

“Name’s Tim,” I told her, settling into the driver’s seat. “Tim Black. But my friends just call me Blackie.” We were back on the road now, and she was sitting stock-still with that perfect posture and her hands folded like two napkins in her lap. “What’s your name?” I asked her, realizing that I was speaking to her as though she were a child. At this, she turned her head slowly toward me and simply stared at me. Her face was perfect, like a doll’s. There was not a trace of a wrinkle or blemish or anything. She could have been eighteen, or she could have been twenty-five; it was impossible to tell. I thought, maybe over the sound of the engine, she couldn’t hear me, so I repeated my introduction, but her face never changed.

Then I asked her if she understood English, and even tried to get her to write something down, you know, in case she was deaf or something, but she just kept right on staring away. Finally, I asked where she was going, and told her that she was welcome to come with me as far as my drop off, in T-13, Maine. Somehow, in a way I can’t quite explain, she seemed to agree that this was what she wished to do. It was as though she shimmered in some way, or maybe it was something in her eyes. Either way, it was agreed, but I just went right on returning her gaze for a few seconds. I remember thinking, how does she do that? Then the thought occurred to me that I was losing a staring contest with a girl who couldn’t have been more than half my age. I turned back to the road, and from the corner of my eye I could see that she continued to stare at me for a few seconds. It seemed like she was deciding something; whether or not she could trust me, maybe. When I think about it now, it was more like she was inspecting me. Then she turned her head slowly so that she was facing forward again. Neither of us said a word for a long time.

Two, three hours later, I made my drop and decided to stop at Ruthie’s East Branch for a bite. Ruthie’s is this little greasy spoon in Millinocket, not too far from my drop. I’ve been going there off and on for, oh, maybe five or so years. Before that, it was the Sunrise Café, but Ruthie’s serves up better food, and the portions are so big that I usually end up taking half my meal home. But not that day. That day, I was ravenous. Thinking back, I guess we both were.

My mysterious passenger had not uttered a peep, but still she somehow seemed to acknowledge certain questions or comments without a sound or describable movement. When we parked in the big dusty side lot outside Ruthie’s, I turned and asked her if she would like to grab something to eat, my treat. Nothing. A few seconds passed. She turned to look at me with those deep, dark eyes, and not a flicker of an expression passed over her face.

“Good food,” I said, making an awkward gesture of bringing an invisible spoon to my mouth. “Greasy, but good. Mmmmm.”

She must have understood some of what I said because her long-fingered hand suddenly appeared on my forearm. This struck me as being strange because I never even saw her move. I just felt that soft, feminine touch, and when I looked down, her hand was there. “It’s okay.” I smiled at her with what I hoped passed for a winning smile, showing lots of teeth. Then I placed my big clumsy hand, my ugly old working man’s hand, on top of hers. Her hand was small and soft, as I said, but it was more than that; it almost felt too soft, too smooth, like it wasn’t really a hand at all. Like it was really just some sort of glove; something that was meant to resemble a hand. Anyway, those thoughts went in and out of my head just as fast as they come, because as soon as I touched her, I felt something swell up inside of me, something that made me want to weep with joy. I know it sounds crazy, and I don’t blame you none for thinking so, but touching her was like—well, it was like touching something divine. Maybe that ain’t the right word, but it’s the one that comes to mind.

Anyway, I finally coaxed her into the diner, where I ordered myself a big old burger with bacon, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles, with a pile of greasy onion rings on the side. I ordered the exact same thing for my lovely companion because, when the waitress tried to take her order, the shy little thing just sat there, not saying a thing. Heck, she wouldn’t even look at the waitress. Those big beautiful eyes were fixed on me the whole time and, hey, I won’t lie to you; it was a turn on.

Well, if she didn’t understand how to order, she certainly understood how to eat. When the food came, she watched me for a moment, as if learning how to eat for the first time. She watched me pick up my burger and take a bite, and then she did the same. She watched me dip an onion ring into a little blob of ketchup, and then she did the same. She waited until I took a bite of the onion ring, and then she did the same. I washed it down with a sip of Coca Cola and—well, you get the point, right? This went on for a bit, until she finally seemed to get the hang of it, and then she was off to the races, as they say. She polished off her burger, then her onion rings, and then guzzled down her drink, before I was even halfway done with my dinner.

When she was done, she just stared at me, watching me eat. Her mouth was all shiny from the onion rings, and when I reached over with a napkin to wipe the grease off, those pretty little lips popped open with a little wet smack. As I was wiping her mouth she leaned in closer and deliberately brushed her lips against my fingers—sort of like a kiss, I guess—all the while staring me down like a cat.

I am not ashamed to say that I would have gladly traded every sexual experience in my life for that one sensual kiss. I remember looking over and seeing our waitress, along with a couple of roughnecks and two old-timers who were sitting at the bar, looking over at us in quiet wonder. I suppose they were trying to figure out how a mostly bald, forty-three year old truck driver had ended up with a girl who looked like she had wandered off the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. I had to smile at that, because I was sort of wondering the same thing myself. I know I ain’t much to look at, but I’m usually not the worst looking guy in the room, either. And I have my G.E.D. and even a few college courses under my belt, so I’ve never really thought of myself as your average dummy. I would’ve finished, too. College, that is. Only my dear wife, Liza, died in a car accident, and suddenly higher education lost its shine, if you know what I mean. Liza was the one who pushed me to go to college, anyhow. Said it was a step toward a better future for us. I guess that’s why I really took to being a truck driver. Being on the road always seemed to take my mind off things. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve always been a little restless, even before Liza passed on. Sitting in that diner, it felt good to be in the company of a woman, even one who didn’t speak.

I paid the tab, and we headed for the door. After that little kiss on the hand, I felt a surge of confidence. It seemed to me that there was at least some suggestion of mutual attraction, so I put my hand on the small of her back as I opened the diner door for her. When she actually seemed to nuzzle back against my hand, I felt a little more bold, so I draped my arm across her shoulders in that sort of careless way that guys do when they’re trying to show everyone that a girl is theirs. Then she leaned into me a little, and I began to feel sort of lightheaded, like it was all some crazy dream. One I didn’t want to end.

By the time we had walked across the dusty lot to the truck, I was really feeling light on my feet. As I opened the door and ushered her up into the passenger seat, I was so dizzy that I bumped my head on the corner of the door.

“Shit!” I said, embarrassed. I touched the spot, which was just above my hairline, and I could already feel the beginning of a big old goose egg rising there. Even worse, I felt my face heat up as it turned about a dozen shades of red. Meanwhile, the girl just sat there in the passenger seat, looking down at me with that same blank expression. “I wonked myself pretty damn good there!” I smiled at her, trying to make a joke of it, trying not to let on how much it really hurt. I shut the door slowly and made my way back around to the driver’s side. I was so dizzy that I barely made my way up into the driver’s seat. Once there, she leaned over, as if meaning to touch my forehead, but I caught her hands and smiled at her. “It’s fine.” I held her hands and rubbed them with my thumbs. “Just a scratch.”

I’m not sure how long we were on the road, but I remember that we’d made it at least as far as Bangor. That part I remember clearly. Shortly after that, I began to feel dizzy again, so I suggested that we pull over at a little motel I used to stay at sometimes when I was too tired to make the drive home. I wanted to check out my head and make sure I was steady enough to make the run home. Or maybe she suggested it. Now that I think about it, I’m not so sure she didn’t, though I can’t recall her ever actually speaking out loud.

To be honest, I felt sort of sleazy walking back to the truck with the motel key jingling in my hand, because in the back of my mind I knew that this was what I had wanted all along. The two of us shacking up for the night, I mean. When I got back to the truck, I half-expected that I would find it empty, thought that maybe she suspected I was playing up the whole dizziness thing in order to get her into the sack. But there she was, still sitting there, looking through the windshield with that thousand yard stare. Looking at me. Looking through me. The way she was sitting, it seemed to me like she’d wait there until Kingdom Come, never moving a muscle, never even blinking. As if I was the most fascinating thing in the world to her. Me, of all people!

Next thing I knew, we were inside the hotel room, and I was looking at my head in the big mirror that hung behind the dresser. It wasn’t that bad of a cut, but there was a little line of dried blood that ran from my hairline down to my chin. Then I set off to thinking how crazy I must have looked, checking into the hotel with blood running down my face. Well, that explained why the old couple who ran the place, the ones who had checked me in not five minutes earlier, had been looking at me so strangely. I was thinking that very thought when I felt her fingertips caress the bloody side of my face.

I turned to her, then. In my mind, I had already lived the next few moments a thousand times, but now it was happening for real. Her eyes never left mine, just stared away with that unblinking, untranslatable expression. That’s when I noticed that her eyes were not as dark as I’d first thought. There were little pinpricks of light in there, like swirling constellations. Not just constellations, but entire universes. They seemed to go on forever, and I could feel them pulling me in like a whirlpool. Then she leaned in close, and from the corner of my eye I saw a long pink tongue flick out, and then I felt a tingle in my groin as she slowly licked the dried-up blood off my face. When she finally brought that beautiful mouth around to kiss me, that tingle became a full-on erection. She kissed me and kissed me. Her mouth was cool and sweet, and her lips were just as soft and gentle as I had imagined they would be. She pushed herself against me, sliding her palm up and down against my crotch.

Some time passed. When I think of it now, I wonder if I might have lost consciousness. I am not sure about that, but it seems as there was some missing time there. When I came around, I realized that she was now kneeling in front me. My pants were unbuttoned, the fly down, and she had her fingers wrapped around me like she was holding onto a microphone or something. God, I don’t feel right giving away my bedroom secrets. I have never been one of those Swinging Charlies who likes to kiss and tell, but I want you to understand. Do you see? It was probably the single greatest thing that has ever happened to me, and I don’t want to…to cheapen it, somehow. But I want you to understand, you see. I just want you to know that’s the only reason I’m telling you any of this.

After she knelt down, she was looking up at me with those blank eyes. Her mouth opened and out came her lovely pink tongue, wrapping itself around and around my—my—well, Jesus, I don’t have to spell it out for you, do I? Her eyes gleamed, and her tongue began to constrict around me; a warm, wet muscle, squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and relaxing. I cannot describe how good it felt. Finally, that tongue drew me into her awaiting mouth, and she kept it there, until she had her fill.

This went on for I don’t know how long. The next thing I remember is undressing myself. I waited for her to undress too, but she only pulled at the clothing, as if she couldn’t figure out what to make of it. I ended up watching her struggle for a minute or two before I finally decided to give her a hand. After I undressed her, she guided me back to the bed and climbed on top of me. There was not a bump, a mole, a freckle, or even a hair on her body; it was perfect, flawless, just as smooth as fine china, and cool to the touch.

She took me in her hand and slowly eased me inside of her. Immediately she started rocking her hips against me in a slow circular motion. Then I felt something I had not expected: she squeezed me. She was squeezing me with the muscles inside of her, flexing and pulling me wetly, and I began to feel something like a static tingle down there. Soon, the tingle became something like a mild electric shock that made my balls tremble. S-sorry, I meant to say “testicles.” But I gotta admit, doc, I’ve always thought that those two words sounded equally as crude.

Anyway, this went on for several gloriously agonizing minutes before I felt a rising pleasure that began to unfold in waves that made me shudder to the core, and I began to come inside of her again and again in rapid succession. The more I spent myself, the more she wiggled with pleasure, the more passionately she kissed me. These multiple orgasms continued for perhaps three or four minutes before she finally collapsed against me. After that, I know I felt dizzy enough to faint, but I didn’t.

Instead, we both just laid there, facing one another. I know I was grinning like a fool. Hell, I felt like I was positively glowing. But her expression was still blank. She simply stared at me, and I at her, until I finally lost myself in those bottomless eyes and tumbled down into sleep.

***

When I awoke the next morning, it was as though she had drained me of every last drop of fluid in my body. I felt like one of those Egyptian mummies, like if someone was to touch me, I’d just fall apart and crumble into dust. As I rolled over, I saw that she was still lying beside me, eyes wide open. She had not moved or slept a wink. The way she was looking at me, it was as though there was something else inside of her, something looking out at me from behind her eyes. Looking out and studying me. Though that was strange enough, it was nothing compared to my surprise when I stumbled into the bathroom for a drink of water.

I turned on the tap, stuck my head under the stream, and started guzzling away. I closed my eyes in ecstasy, it tasted so good. Nice and cold, the water shocked me wide awake. I had been drinking that way for I don’t know how long when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. That nasty gash on the side of my noggin, the one I got when I bumped my head on my cabin door, was gone. There wasn’t a scab, or even a scar. It was as if it had never even been there at all.

The three or four hours it took to get from Maine to Massachusetts passed by with that same fluid sense of it being all a dream. I played the country station and serenaded her. I told her about my life and asked her about hers (not expecting a response, and not receiving one). As if no time had passed, I found myself pulling my rig into the gated lot at Soulever Construction in Hevven.

I couldn’t begin to describe the looks I got when I pulled in with my beautiful passenger, and I cooked up some half-baked story about her being my brother’s kid who was visiting from out of town. Well, that seemed to lower the eyebrows a bit, in spite of the fact that I had never mentioned my brother, and for good reason: I was born an only child. Either way, it was more believable than the idea that someone as beautiful as she was could be my girlfriend or whatever.

If there’s one part of my job I have always hated, it’s the paperwork. After the manifests were all filled out, we got into my pickup, and headed back to my apartment in Hevven. It was a Friday, and my time was up. I was a free man until early Monday morning.

Now, my apartment is little more than a hole in the wall, and I hadn’t had a woman there in damn near a year, so all that nervousness and awkwardness came back to me tenfold. I don’t quite remember how the day went, though I have a vague memory of ordering pizza and showing her how to pick up a slice and eat it. I do remember sitting beside her on the couch in front of the tube, the two of us spending more time watching each other than whatever program was on. The clearest part is when night finally came and we made love again in my stuffy little bedroom.

I don’t really think I have to go into all the details, but I can say with confidence that what happened next was pretty much a repeat of the night before. Not that there was anything wrong with that, you see, because it was somehow even better than it was that first night. I don’t even know how that is possible, but it’s the truth. It was almost like…like she had adapted to me. In a physical way, you know? But also in another way that’s harder to explain. I’ve never been a believer in all that psychic mumbo jumbo, bit it sort of felt as though we had somehow tapped into each other’s souls.

Getting back to that night at my place, from an outside perspective, I guess it was no different than the first night. Except that it was different, but in a way I can’t quite put into words. Afterwards, I pulled her into my arms, and she held me, looking somehow satisfied, though I can’t say her appearance was really any different than usual. She wasn’t even breathing heavy. Hell, her hair was hardly even mussed.

I fell asleep looking into her eyes, losing myself in her eyes.

In the middle of the night, I awoke to find her in that same awkward position, just sort of holding me loosely in her arms, watching me as I slept. Even in the darkness, I knew she had been watching me because those little chips of starlight in her eyes were swirling in front of me. When my eyes adjusted to the dark, I smiled at her and caressed the side of her face. She leaned her cheek against my hand almost affectionately. Then she took my hand and guided it to her belly. Again, I noticed was how perfectly smooth and perfectly hairless her skin was, not like skin at all but something that was made to look like skin. Then I felt something inside of her

(shift?)

(squirm?)

move.

I don’t know how to explain it, really. It was like something was trapped in there and it was trying to get out. Then, and I swear to God this is true, something came up and poked my hand. Something hard, like a bone or a tooth. It almost felt like—I know this is going to sound crazy, but it almost felt like something had tried to bite me. Through her skin, understand? I snatched my hand away and looked at her, terrified. I didn’t know what to say. I mean, what the hell do you say in a situation like that? And she just kept looking at me in the usual way, watching me, reading me. To see my reaction, you know? To see what I thought of our little bab—of our little creation. I can’t even think of it as a baby. Nothing human can grow that fast, see? And the girl—now that I think about it, it’s like she was on that road on purpose, just looking for the right person to come along and—

I think she was just waiting for the right person, a lonely person, so that she could seduce him into helping her make that, that thing.

After that, I found that I could not fall asleep. I wanted to, but I was too terrified. So instead of sleeping, the two of us just laid there all night long, staring at one another until dawn.

That was only a month ago, give or take, and every night is exactly the same. She presses my hand against the ever-growing swell of her belly, all the while watching me with those unblinking eyes. She wants me to feel whatever it is that’s growing inside of her—God help me, whatever it is that the two of us have made.

I—I’ve thought about doing something. Something awful. I’ve thought about hiring someone, maybe. Someone to pay her a little visit when I’m not home. But I can’t. I won’t. See, I love her, doc. Even though she scares the ever-loving Jesus out of me, I love her. But I can’t stop thinking about that—that thing we’ve made. And I know that she’s back there at my place, sitting in the dark, right at home in the dark, fawning over that thing that lives inside her.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

When I wonder what it’ll look like—what it might be—

For the love of God, whatever it is, I already know that it’s just like its mother.

Don’t you see? It never sleeps.

And now, neither do I.