I won't do it. I won't allow another truckin' thing to haul me for a long run like this load of garbage. No pullin' on the brakes for this ride, because it wheels you down the highway of 18-wheeled terror. You'll be pullin' the horn like a semi with its brakes cut. It'll tan you like a trucker, and ship you like 30,000 pounds of pain. With no weigh stations, get your axles ready to balance the devil's passage 2, because 1 was too scared to tow alone.
I will never allow anyone to force me to remember even the tiniest gross stain of misery of what happened. I never want to re-experience the all-encompassing, fear-driven condemning of my body, mind, and spirit. It was beyond cruel to be subjected to. No amount of broken bones, internal injuries, and broken spirits could compare to the darkest and purest form of terror I had felt playing that game. Its effects are everlasting, and will haunt me to the grave and the dark void that lies beyond. It was a discovery that proved to my tiny, insignificant mind that life is not real, but a sick joke. I know that one day, the curtain will fall to reveal a puppet show controlled by a sneering, twisted master. I had been hidden in the world’s sweet illusions, believing the falsehoods of safety and comfort, only to blindly hit the emotional rock-bottom.
So the story goes like this: I was about eight years old and had the grand dream of being a truck driver. My dad was a truck driver, my grandpa was a truck driver, and my great-grandpa was a surgeon but also a truck driver. You get it—we’re all truck drivers. It’s in our diesel-fueled blood. We breath, act, and move trucks. I bet my granddaddy could raise his arm to a rig and shout, “brake!” and it would obey instantly. It was all about the size, man. The POWER. THE RESOLUUUUUTION! There’s truck-racing, too. The mechanical monsters would slowly build up the acceleration to move their giant forms quickly while my family and I cheered at the top of our lungs. GOO!!! My little cousin who couldn’t talk well yet just shook around a toy truck in support.
That’s why when I saw a game called, “Big Rigs: Over the Road Racing,” at a local store, I begged my parents for it. They said sure, and it was soon zipped through check-out by a bored guy with crazy hair.
I loved the cover: a flaming big rig and a cop, flying through the air in a lightning-enshrouded, dark landscape. The frightening cover should have been a warning. I should have put down that game right there and just kept shopping for toilet paper and plastic wrap with the rest of my family. Instead, I smiled and hurried onto making the worst decision of my life. A choice that would change life itself forever…
I didn’t know a lot about games, but I figured it would play on an old computer we had in the corner of a storeroom. Just to get to the computer showed my tenacity to play the game: I had to move through several clothes and junk piles much taller than myself, and crawl over a mound of cat-litter containers, old bike tires, clothes, an old oven, another old oven, some stupid bird cages, etc. I had never seen the windows in that room since I was born. I wished all the junk had done its rightful job to protect me, and keep me away from that computer. It failed. The junk piles just weren’t high enough. I’m starting to think that’s what purpose that room was put on this earth for. Like protection from the beyond.
Brushing aside grandpa’s preserved fox specimen near the computer chair so I could slide into position, I booted the old computer. It sounded like 20 mice in a cat kennel.
I pushed random buttons to get the disc thingy open. Inserting the disc, the computer went through set-up and installed the game. Nothing strange or suspicious… I became more excited as I thought about what truck I could use to race, the amount of opponents, chase scenes, interesting scenery, awesome music, and…
The game was ready to play. I played around with the computer to figure out how to start playing. However, I barely knew how to use a computer, and I hadn’t even asked permission from my parents. By the time I figured out how to start it, I had opened up a ton of windows and files. Looking back, I wished I had asked my parents first. They may have stopped me, saying things like, “The computer can’t handle it!” or “You have homework!”
The game came on flickering. I heard crackling lightning in the distance outside our home. With the windows blocked with piles of stuff, I didn’t know the day turned from calm dark clouds to thunderous rain.
I thought the outdoor rain shower outside made a good backdrop for my play of the racing game. Then the title screen appeared… And so did my nightmare.
A blue pane shockingly presented options in bright yellow, with a fading flag sinking into the depths of the background on the left. The title was written in menacing, metallic letters that were outlined in red and black. Streaks of neon blue were on either side of the screen, as if the message was being presented through space time from a higher dimension. Like something was trying to reach out to me. I shuddered. There was no music.
“This is probably just a glitch,” I thought. “I’ll just begin a race and see what happens.”
One of the bright, sickly-yellow options was, “Custom Race.” That seemed like a good start, although at that age I couldn’t read the word, “custom.” I hovered over it, and the link turned an odd green as though the letters themselves were sick before moving on to the next screen.
The next screen wasn’t much better, like this game represented a twisted kid’s art project. Or a “hack” by someone or something. Slightly-transparent white words saying, “SELECT CAR” were written vertically. Because of my low reading skill, I had to twist my head around to read this, as though the game was grabbing me by the ears and flipping my head around, mocking me. They weren’t cars… They were trucks! Four little images of trucks on whiteboard backgrounds were lined up at the top of the screen. One was apparently already selected, as a large image of it on the bone-white background was under the line of truck pictures. The fact that there were only four could be overlooked by my eight-year-old mind, but the image of these trucks on plain white, square backgrounds was unnerving. I gave a nervous laugh. Still, there was no sound.
The truck selected was one called, “THUNDER.” I read the word aloud slowly, carefully thinking over each letter and repeating its corresponding sound, and immediately after, the sound of thunder outside boomed in the distance. It sounded like the storm was getting closer. This thunder truck was just plain green, with ghastly, grey writing proclaiming its name along the bottom.
I clicked around for a bit and found the next truck in the list was called, “MEGAONE.” It was a very unusual name, almost cheesily generic and misspelled. The truck was a color of odd purple with malicious flames painted along its side. I quickly moved on.
The next truck on the white backdrop was “THUNDERBULL,” a very white-looking, plain truck with upturned exhausts like a bull. Its hood ornament was two unrealistically-long spikes pointing out from the front. It seemed almost… dangerous. Another flash of lightning boomed in the distance as I continued.
The very last one stood out from the rest. This one, called “SUNRISE W12” in sickly orange and purple writing, was some sort of foreign style. It seemed brighter and more cheerful than the others, looking less like a killing machine and painted in orange. “Sunrise” was written under its windscreen. It seemed, strangely, sad. Something about the way this truck stood out so much made it seem sad. As though it spoke to me… As if its whole being tried to bring a cheerful color into my life, although still failing. Like a truck heading downhill after losing two tires.
It was time to make my choice. I wanted to choose carefully. Who knew what would happen in this strange game. I wanted to make sure I had a truck I could trust. I chose the “SUNRISE W12,” hoping this would add some cheer to an already dark and foreboding mood. It didn’t. It made things much worse.
I found a small “Done” button on the bottom right. I was switched to the next screen, which barely changed from the last. In place of the dubious “SELECT CAR” was now “SELECT TRACK.” In place of the list and the large image of bone-white backdrops with trucks, there were now images of what must have been the tracks, five in all. The image of each was highly blurred, but it was the names that stood out the most. Each name was written in a highly visible color, and the naming choices weren’t anything short of insanity. The names included, “DEVIL PASSAGE,” “DEVIL PASSAGE 2,” “FORGOTTEN ROAD 1,” “NIGHTRIDE,” and the last one, gentle-sounding “SMALL TOWN ROAD.” The first three were written in a horrifying color of deep red and yellow, so my gut told me to choose one of the last two tracks. I figured “SMALL TOWN ROAD,” was for me. I didn’t want to get involved any more than I had to with how deep into fear this game would go.
I looked around for the start button, and found it was in the place of the “Done” button in the same font, color, and size. I clicked it.
With this track choice, I had the opportunity to quit. It really was a safe haven. I waited and waited for the game to load.
A loading screen appeared, with small silver letters placed at the bottom. The screen was still blue, and now with a large, translucent flag fading into the background, which portrayed a near-invisible car for some strange reason. It was like the checkers of the flag were attempting to cover that car, which only showed its lower half so the driver wasn’t visible.
I waited, and waited, and waited…
The game froze. I knew what to do from what grandpa had done before. I jumped out of my chair and walked over to the computer’s cord in the wall, then I jerked it out as hard as I could shouting, “blasphemy!”
The room became much darker without the glowing screen of the computer, as though I had entered a different room. Instead of leaving right then and there, I plugged the computer back in. I don’t know why I did. It’s like another person took over me, and made me continue.
Turning on the computer and waiting for it to process its dust buildups, I went through the whole process again. Everything was the same, from the sickly green and yellows to the deep reds. I again reached the race selection screen. This time, I chose “Devil Passage 2,” like the fool I was. It was twice the devil’s passage.
That same loading screen came on, and now, it showed no mercy. The car in the background of the loading image seemed closer than ever. The image of only the bottom half of the car appeared like a snarling maw of a beast.
I took a sharp intake of breath, “HUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPP!!”
All I saw was “READY?” in massive yellow, shaky letters coming at me. After it cleared, two trucks were waiting black road. And, silence. The trucks were both exactly the same truck. They both had an orange color, which seemed more of a dark orange now. Both had a pure-white cargo container and two eerily shining red lights on the back. They just sat there, waiting for me in the dark in silence.
Large buildings were in the distance in a pale pink. They were drawn with blurry textures that were hard to make out. The sky was a nightmarish dark grey with black slivers of clouds, dangling in the sky like leeches. The mountains were an indistinct brown that rose uniformly on both sides of the track. A large, blocky, lamp post that looked like it came from a giant’s evil garden was to the right. Although it appeared to be glowing, no light shone from it. A starting line was pronounced by a metallic structure that sat above the track, with the words, “Start” written in bright white letters over a sinisterly glowing red background. I took it in, and waited.
In the upper-left hand corner of the screen were just numbers. Columns of numbers. Many, many numbers. Maybe they represented something—who knows. I was very suspicious of a line of vertical bars on the bottom, which were all red. What could they possibly mean?? In the bottom-right corner of the screen seemed was a speed gauge, unusually large and taking up a large portion of the screen, but otherwise surprisingly normal-looking.
I considered stopping the game there, but stupidly continued out of a sick curiosity. I should have known it would hold nothing good for me.
I started pressing buttons at my keyboard. One of them made the truck move forward with a repulsive whirring sound that reminded me of a distant drill. I felt the sound bury deep into my head…
The truck didn’t move like a truck. It almost floated off the ground, as though it actually wasn’t touching anything. I looked away for a moment, suddenly lost in an emotional haze.
I saw I had left the box for the game sitting on top of the massive computer tower near where I was sitting, so I picked up its thin form and took a good look at it. The front image was haunting—the flames protruding from behind the vehicles seemed more real than ever, and the lightning in a black sky was like something from a bad dream. It felt like I had been sucked into that world. Flipping the box over, the back spoke of things that clearly weren’t in this game: cops, truck loads, travelling across America. This definitely wasn’t the original game. My stomach churned in queasiness. I had heard about hacks, and figured this was one. Someone’s sick joke, I bet. Well, it wasn’t very funny. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t funny at all.
I had the strangest feeling of being watched. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I slowly turned my head to the right. The large pile of miscellaneous items to my right seemed to have grown a face and eyes, made up of a towel, beach ball, and bag of clothes. Its many items seemed like a mass of writhing arms, ready to grab me once I turned away. I watched it for a short time, terrified. I looked back to the computer screen, but only for a moment to check the garbage pile again. Nothing had moved.
In the game, the red lights on the truck seemed to sway a bit as I turned the truck, like they were on a hammock in a furious wind storm. Lightning struck outside the room as I leaned my head close to the monitor, making sure to turn the truck. The glowing red lights weren’t part of the truck. They were just there, staring out past the screen.
“No, no, no…” I said mindlessly out loud.
I moved forward through the barren level, the truck ghosting along the pavement. Glitches caused things to disappear and reappear endlessly. Dead silence was joined with empty buildings in the middle of nowhere as I continued on. Dead-looking palm trees with full growth stood in groups on top of hills, their messy branches unmoving. The truck barely turned. Around one corner through the hills, which seemed mechanically rounded, the truck passed the road and went up a nearby hill. I stared wide-eyed at the screen when I realized the truck ghosted over the hill just as it had the flat ground. My knees began to rattle, and the air took on a sharp chill. I felt my stomach drop as it went down the next hill effortlessly. The truck couldn’t have been mechanical. This wasn’t a game with magic or something. This was a game based off real life. Or at least, it was supposed to be…
In reverse, the red eyes turned a bright, glowing white.
“That’s weird,” I said flatly to myself.
I held my breath, my heart beating faster as the truck went through a few buildings, a lamp post, then up a hill in reverse. It just went faster and faster, the now white eyes on the back of the truck leading the truck on. Or were they staring at me? The truck was going 100, no, 200 mph. Faster and faster, louder and louder. It flew over hills like it was a water park. It was glitching out and whacking the truck around in grotesque movements, such as jumping around and turning up 90° then back down 180°. There was no end. After bouncing quickly around the land it went into… an abyss. The land it left was like a little island in a grey void this truck entered, with the moon endlessly staring like the pale face of pure sadness itself. The clouds were like thousands of fingers of different colors holding this endless infinity. This place in the game was unreal. I felt my brain literally sink back into my skull. I felt tears well into my eyes.
I realized that in my seat I had frozen into place, my hand stuck on the reverse button. I let go.
Suddenly, the speeding demon of a truck came to a dead stop. The colors went from a mass of swirling, chaotic confusion to a complete standstill of silence in the void. This is when my mind broke. To see sights go by at such speeds and then for the truck to just stop was the last straw. The world began spinning. I blacked out…
I slowly opened my eyes to a white room. I saw the blurred lines of a woman. My mother?
“Honey… You’ve been asleep for 3 weeks. You’ve been in a coma.”
She smiled reassuringly, but little did she know, her child was no longer a part of her world.
Nowadays, my eyes stare wide now, always. I rock back and forth with my arms crossed whenever I sit down and sometimes when standing up. It took 20 days just for me to write this with all the rocking and sobbing. The colors and memories mesh together like swollen internal organs swimming in vomit. Just the images of blank colors speeding past the brink of eternity.
After a few years, at a time when I was started to regain my composure, I walked into that storage room again in my parent’s house. It was an accident—it was late and I had meant to go into the bathroom. I immediately turned away, with a gut-wrenching sickness building quickly inside of me. Before I could leave the room, my eyes betrayed me and looked at the game’s old box. It was flipped upside-down, and the words on its back read, “CLIMB UP, GRAB THE WHEEL, AND GET ROLLING! FEATURES:”
I ran as fast as my wobbly legs would scramble. Those words still haunt me to this day.
YOU'RE NEXT WINNER