Sing a Song of Terror

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When the midnight news began, he adjusted the volume without taking his eyes from the highway. He had been driving south for six hours and he was on a fast secondary road in South Carolina, the speedometer at sixty-five.

At that moment the running girl burst into the white cone of headlights, running pale and fleet from right to left, so sickeningly close to the front of the car that his instinctive swerve to the right came after he had missed her flying heels. His mind retained an image of her like a still picture, her motion frozen, with wild fair hair, face half-turned in an endless grimace of terror.

The swerve converted the big swift rental sedan into a tipsy fat man on a narrow sidewalk. The car lurched and screamed from shoulder to shoulder, lights sweeping wildly as he fought with brake and accelerator to kill the pendulum swing of the rear end and lose speed. Just as he began to hope he might come out of it, the back end whipped all the way around, and as it slanted toward the unknown ditch, he fell to his right, covering his head.

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