Bradley's eyes widened in horror. "Dude, I think we hit someone!" The alcohol seemed to evaporate from his system, replaced by a cold, creeping dread. Steven, in contrast, burst into inappropriate laughter.
"Probably just a deer, man. Chill out."
"Fuck that noise. I'm checking it out." Bradley's voice was steadier now, a hint of steel beneath the fear. He stumbled out of the car, swaying like a sailor on a storm-tossed ship.
Steven killed the engine and the headlights, plunging them into darkness. Bradley approached the rear of the car, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm against his ribs. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he made out a figure lying face-down on the asphalt. It was unmistakably human.
With trembling hands, Bradley reached out to turn the body over. As he did, realization dawned – it was a dummy, a cruel trick of fate or something far more sinister. "What the actual fuck?" he muttered, dragging the lifeless prop to the side of the road. As he started to head back to the car, a rustling in the bushes stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned, peering into the darkness, but saw nothing. The sound came again, closer this time. Bradley felt the first tendrils of true fear wrapping around his heart.
In a burst of movement that seemed to defy the laws of physics, a figure clad entirely in black erupted from the undergrowth, lunging at Bradley with terrifying purpose.
Bradley's survival instincts kicked in. He shoved his attacker away with all his might and sprinted for the car, his voice a ragged scream of panic. "Start the fucking car! Turn on the lights! NOW!"
But Steven, still convinced this was all part of some elaborate prank, remained motionless behind the wheel, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Bradley's legs pumped furiously, eating up the distance to the car. But in his panic, he stumbled, crashing to the unforgiving asphalt with a cry of pain and terror.
"Help me! Please, God, somebody help me!" The words tore from his throat, raw and desperate.
The attacker was on him in an instant, a length of rope materializing in gloved hands. With practiced efficiency, the assailant looped the rope around Bradley's neck and began to tighten it. Bradley clawed at the ground, at the rope, at anything within reach, his struggles growing weaker with each passing second. As the life drained from his body, his last coherent thought was a bitter realization – this was no prank, no drunken hallucination. This was death, cold and final, coming for him on a lonely stretch of road.
When Bradley's body went limp, the killer methodically removed the rope and dragged the corpse to the side of the road, movements economical and practiced.
Steven, finally sensing that something was terribly wrong, emerged from the car. The absence of Bradley's panicked voice had created a silence so profound it seemed to press against his eardrums. "Hey, man, where'd you go?" he called out, his voice barely above a whisper. "Come on, quit screwing around. This isn't funny anymore." His tone had taken on a whining, frightened edge as he moved cautiously away from the car.
It didn't take long for Steven to spot Bradley's form sprawled by the roadside. He rushed over, dropping to his knees beside his friend. "Shit, Bradley, you okay? Did you pass out or something? Come on, man, let's go." He leaned in close, straining to hear any sign of breathing. It was at that moment that a shadow fell across them both.
