A short story I wrote once...
"Backseat Driver" (2003) by Brandon Acree
It was happening again. Andrew could feel that familiar drowsiness beginning to overtake him. It was happening more frequently now that he had stopped fighting it. Always when I'm driving, he thought as he looked down at the steering wheel, What's going on?
A few months ago, when it had started, he had thought that he must be working too hard, maybe needed more rest. He had started going to bed at eight o'clock, but it hadn't changed anything. He would leave work as usual, and then find himself in his driveway, with no recollection of the drive home. Hours would be missing, usually two, and the gas tank would be nearly empty. Andrew didn't know how long this pattern had gone on, nor could he pinpoint when he had become aware of it. It scared him, but he was afraid to tell anyone. They'll think I'm trying to get workman's comp or something...they'll think I'm faking it.
About three weeks ago, he had sort of "woken up" during his drive home. It had at first felt like dream, everything too bright and too blurry. He could see out of the car, see the road going by, but he couldn't move. He had looked down, and saw his hands gripping the steering wheel, making small corrections to adjust to the road, but he wasn't in control of them. He also had got the distinct impression that had been another person in the car, sitting in the passenger's seat, but he couldn't seem to focus on him. At his point, his head began to throb, and the edges of his vision had seemed to dim. Then everything had gone black. He had come to in his driveway, the car still running. For two weeks, he didn't leave the house. Eventually, his sick leave ran out, and he was forced to resume working. Andrew had told himself that he imagined the whole thing, but that fantasy didn't last very long.
The drowsiness was getting stronger now. He had decided not to fight it this time, to save his strength. Maybe he could "wake up" again and figure out what was happening. He consciously "let go", and tried to relax. The road blurred for a moment, and a warm sensation flowed over his body. His vision began to dim, and everything went black.
At some point he became aware of the blackness. He had no way of knowing how long he had been out of it, but it felt like days. He couldn't see anything, but he could hear some sort of muffled talking. As he focused, the conversation became clearer, until he could finally make out words. "Do you have it?" said a voice. Andrew tried to open his eyes, to see where the voice was coming from, but they were already open. "It's in the trunk." he heard himself say. His voice sounded odd, echoing strangely in his head. Faint images were coming to him now, shapes mostly. He watched himself as he reached in and took something out of the car. He couldn't seem to focus on the object, and his head stubbornly refused to look down at it. "Excellent." said the other voice. He tried to look at the source of the other voice, but the effort had drained him. His energy gone, the blackness overcame him.
Andrew awoke to find himself sitting in his car. The familiar sight of his driveway greeted him. Sunlight flooded the car, hurting his eyes. He checked his watch, and found that it was ten o'clock in the morning. This is crazy, he told himself, I've got to find out what's going on. An idea suddenly came to him. If he could somehow film his ride home, hide a camera in the car somewhere, maybe he could catch himself doing whatever it was he was doing.
He got out of the car, and walked to the house next door. His neighbor, John, was one of those people who bought every piece of home electronics he could get his hands on. If anybody has a video camera, he will. He knocked on the door, and after a few minutes, John answered.
"Hey Andy, what's up?"
"Not much, man," Andrew said, hoping he didn't look as tired and crazy as he felt, "I need to ask you a favor."
"Sure." John said
"Can I borrow your video camera?"
John gave him a confused look. "You're joking right?"
"What do you mean?" Andrew said.
"You came over here and borrowed it last night," John said, looking him over, "Are you drunk or something?"
Andrew's stomach felt like someone was twisting it. "Uh, no...", he stammered, "I , uh, guess I forgot. Thanks."
John's eyes narrowed. "Are you alright? You look kinda pale."
"Yeah, I'm fine." Andrew lied, "Just tired is all. I'll talk to you later"
He could feel John's stare as he walked back to his house.
He found the camera sitting on his kitchen table, along with a note reading "Nice Try." The letters were large and jagged, scrawled in what looked like a child's handwriting. Andrew studied the poorly drawn letters for a moment, and then recognized them. My left hand, he thought. He had broken his right hand playing football in high school, and had spent 6 weeks trying to write with his left. All he had been able to muster was a childish scrawl. Those letters now stared up at him. He picked up the camera, and found a tape inside. The words "For Andy" were scribbled on the label. He felt a chill go down his spine.
For an hour he debated on whether he should watch the tape. He paced back and forth, staring at it. Finally, morbid curiousity got the better of him, and he picked it up. His hands were shaking now, as he struggled to put the tape in the VCR. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes, and forced himself to hit "play." The screen flickered to life, and for a moment, Andrew had the sensation of looking in mirror. "Hello Andrew," said the other him, "Pretty clever. You're sharper than most of the others. This, however, makes you dangerous to us, so I'm afraid I have to end our partnership."
Andrew's nose began to bleed, first one nostril, then the other. He started to stand up, but a wave of vertigo hit him, and he fell. There was a buzzing noise he could feel in his teeth, that seemed to come from inside of his skull. Some part of him was vaguely aware that his eyes had begun to bleed. Mercifully, everything dimmed and went black, this time for good.
