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Nadine Evans Plays The Waiting Game
by Axioma

Nadine Evans was trying to light a cigarette with one hand when the car radio squawked into life with a burst of static.
She had turned it off, because the music playing at three in the morning always depressed her. It was geared toward people whose mental problems had accumulated to the point of chronic insomnia, and Nadine did not want to think of herself as a member of that particular demographic just yet.
The sudden electric hiss startled her, and she nearly swiveled off the road. For a moment she could see nothing but distorted trees in the glare of the headlights, misshapen by the dark and fog. Then she was in control again and there was the road, now emerging into a left turn around the base of a scrubby hill.
She reached out with the hand still holding an unlit cigarette her lighter had fallen somewhere between her knees, hopefully on the seat to turn off the radio. It was nothing but static anyway, not even some appropriately late-night show like The Best of My-Life-Partner-Betrayed-Me Songs From The 60s and 70s. She was about to turn the volume knob down all the way to OFF when she realized it already was off.
Goddamn antique piece of junk, she muttered, sticking the unlit cigarette temporarily in her mouth while she fished around her crotch for where she hoped the lighter had fallen. The damn radio was older than the car itself, (she wanted a smoke, she really wanted a smoke) the damn radio was almost as old as she was, of course it did weird stuff, hell, the weirdest of all the things it did was still actually work.
Hello, Nadine, her former husband Simon said. There was a slightly robotic aftertaste to his voice.
"Simon!" Nadine said, surprised but also happy to talk to him again. "I was just on my way to visit, it was going to be a surprise and WHAT THE ******** had taken Nadine a couple of moments to register that she was not, in fact, talking to the love of her life (the former love of her life, they had the papers to prove it) on a cellphone. She had just naturally assumed...but the cell was in her bag on the back seat, and she was certainly alone in the car.
Her gaze fell on the slightly illuminated shape of the radio. Her mind teemed with irrational suspicions.
"What the-" she began to mutter, and was cut off. The voice returned, and now she could see that the radio was indeed the source of the disturbance.
Keep driving, Ill tell you where to go, the voice said. Now she wasn't certain it was Simons anymore. It sounded a lot like him, yes, but not completely. It was as if he had lived in another country for a few years and had picked up a bit of an accent. What was this, some radio drama?
Hadnt it called her name, though? Well, it was not as if she owned the rights to it or anything. If a late-night radio just so happened to use the name Nadine, she could pretty much just roll over.
The voice of the man who might have been Simon moaned. Forward, it said. It was joined by a deep, raspy breathing that seemed to rise from nowhere, certainly not from the monotone drone of the Simon-soundalike. He certainly didn't sound out of breath.
It is a radio drama, Nadine thought. The hollow breathing was the perfect sound effect to add to the morose tone of the soundalike. Cheesy as hell, yes, but hey, this was the 3 AM crowd.
You will come to a crossroads, the man who didn't really sound anything like Simon droned. I want you to turn right at the crossroads, can you do that. Can. Turn right at the crossroads. Turn right. Turn right. Turn-
"Rrrright at the crossroads!" Nadine chanted. Despite the slow, monotone pace, it had the subtle feel of a rock song. It made you want to sing the lyrics and maybe even throw your hands in the air, waayyive em like you just don't care, and she almost did wave them, had to remind herself that she was still in a car and not at a concert and waving would get her killed.
Three minutes later, she realized she had just left the Ontario road. She had taken a right at the very first opportunity.
Thank you, Nadine, the radio said through a veil of static. We're almost home now. Now. Suddenly she found the way it talked over the breathing disturbing rather than corny. And where was she going, anyway? She was going to Ontario! At least she hadn't gone far, she could still backtrack...
She gave the breaks an experimental tap.
No, Nade. Leave the reverse alone. That way is shut, the voice chided, reminding her of Mr. Warren, the man who had forced her to learn how to tie her own shoes in kindergarten. You'll never get a husband if you don't do-it-right! it added in a condescending tone, mimicking Warren perfectly - but only mimicking.
"What's going on here?" She was whispering, and some unreasoning terror was bubbling up her innards, but she was also driving at a steady pace, obeying the ghost in the radio to the letter.
The road goes ever on and on, the voice moaned. On. And on. If you hurry, you can still catch Simon. Before he goes. Before he go-oh-eees. Ever on and on.
I want to go home, Nadine thought, but her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, her foot applied more pressure on the pedal and her teeth seemed intent on biting through the cigarette in her mouth.
We're almost there, the man who wasn't Simon said. We stand upon the brink and border. Hurry up, Nadine, you'll never get a husband if you don't do it right! Never on and on, he added in a strangely melodic tone.
What the hell does that mean, are we going to-
Turn left, please.
This is insane, I'm not going to but she did anyway. They were off the paved road now, and on the gravel.

For twenty minutes' worth of dreamlike eternity, Nadine sped down the gravel path, past half-glimpsed bushes and blurry trees. The voice spoke now and then, singing abrupt fragments of songs and poetry, always over before it could make sense. She did not reply when it did this, nor did she try to engage it in any form of conversation. She was dealing principally with her own body, and the fact that she seemed completely unable to control it despite the fact that it was at the same time completely under her control. It did whatever she told it to, but the things she told it were not those she had initially intended to.
Park wherever you like, Nade. Down here we all float, the radio man said. She slowly applied pressure on the breaks and realized that they had entered a clearing. There were several other cars here she could see at least four and they all appeared to have their motors turned off. She felt an absurd wave of guilt wash over her, and she quickly killed her own engine as she parked next to a blue Ford.
The car settled and grew silent.
Very good, Nadine. You deserve a commendation. Welcome to the club.
"Simon isn't here, is he," she said. There was some sadness in her voice, but no surprise. She had never really believed the voice was leading her to Simon.
The radio emitted a strange, coughing sound, and it took her several seconds that the wheezing breathing had turned into haggard, choking laughter.
You can forget about Simon here, the voice said over the raspy chuckle. All things come to those who wait. This was Mr. Warren again. Wait on and ever on. Even such as Simon.
"Wait? What do you mean, wait?"
Look to your left, Nade.
To her left was the blue Ford. There was a man sitting inside, his head leaning against the window as if he were asleep. The skin on his cheeks had sunk backward into his mouth. His skin seemed to have blossomed into purple, and his eyes were alive with the movement of maggots.
A scream welled up inside her throat...and stayed there. Hands shaking only slightly, she reached between her legs again, and her probing fingers found the lighter immediately.
Wait with us, Nadine, the voice in the radio said. The background laughter was gone, and had not been replaced by breathing. She had a distinct impression of someone holding their breath. Wait on...
Nadine Evans lit her cigarette and leaned back in her chair.

Around her, in the multitude of cars scattered throughout the clearing, dead lips stretched into smiles. She had decided to wait.

Creepy indeed.. sweatdrop

But change the ending ever so slightly to give it more impact, thus: