The map was wrong, and the food was getting cold.

Where the hell is this place?

I sat over the noise of the podcast playing through my cars, speakers.

There was no moon tonight, or if there was, I couldn't see it through the thick cloud cover.

I was going barely 30 miles an hour on the 50 mile an hour road.

Luckily, there were no headlights in either direction.

Although, at the moment, as I looked in every direction out of my Nissan versus Windows,

I kind of wanted the familiar splash of headlights coming over a distant hill.

There were little groups of trees here and there on the sides of the rural road.

Copses, they were called. A cops of trees.

But that word always made me think of corpses. A corpse in the trees.

I shook my head, wondering why my brain always betrayed me.

Alone at night on a rural road with not a soul around.

Let's think about dead bodies in the trees.

God forbid we think about a Will Ferrell movie, or that time I made my cousin Sydney laugh so

hard he peed his pants in the middle of a restaurant. Of course, it didn't help that I was listening

to a horror podcast. I consider myself a pretty capable guy, but you encounter some strange people

when you deliver food for a living. There's something about people being at home that brings out

their weirdness, like they're no longer trying to hide their oddities as they do in public.

They're comfortable at home, and when strange people are comfortable, they do strange things.

Screw it, I said, pulling over onto what little shoulder there was.

I turned my hazards on and snatched my phone from its cradle,

...