The thunk and slap of water on metal and glass. The raindrops make small echoes in the cabin of the car. Thunder rolls off in the distance and vibrates the windows. It lulls them to sleep, the white noise.
The pines wallow with the wind and rain and make dark figures in the shadows between their yawning limbs. They enclose the cark, leaning in as if to watch the sleepers behind the glass. Water pools around the tires.
One sleeper opens their eyes a fraction, hardly free of sleep's unconscious pull. They watch the blurred world outside for a while as rivulets of rainwater warp the pines. There’s an outline of something vaguely human, out in the rain. But it has antlers. Or sticks. A broken tree stump, perhaps. They close their eyes.
When they wake it is still raining. The others in the seats doze softly. When they look again, the tree stump and its antlers are gone.
Paddy Dobson
20th October 2021