Dean let out a slow breath. Okay… that was something. Not exactly "oh thank God" relief, but more like the feeling you get when you realize the rope around your neck might snap before it kills you.
Before this, he was banking on Boyd or Kenny opening a door for him. He was pretty confident they would—maybe 90%, even 95% if he was being generous. But there was always that ugly little "what if" in the back of his head. What if they couldn't get to the door? What if they were deep in sleep?
He shoved that thought down quick.
Now at least, there was a backup plan: keep driving for half an hour until sunrise and the monsters disappear. Not great, but technically doable.
The problem? Thirty minutes here was thirty minutes of playing chicken with physically overpowered psychos who could appear anywhere. That wasn't a "plan"—that was a "last resort before you get eaten" kind of move.
He closed the glowing panel with a flick of thought, eyes still on the road. It was empty—no monsters, just a few busted-up cars sitting abandoned on the side. Some had their doors hanging open like the drivers had bolted mid-drive. Others were perfectly fine, just creepy in how untouched they looked.
He moved past houses with no lights on. Curtains were drawn. Everyone was asleep.
"Here goes nothing," Dean muttered. He slammed his hand on the horn and held it there.
The honking sound ripped through the silence, spreading to the surroundings. It wasn't just a beep—it was a giant middle finger to the night. If anyone in this town was awake, they'd hear it. If not, the noise was enough to wake them.
And if monsters were nearby… well, they already knew he was here. He'd seen enough of From to know these things didn't just wander—they knew when someone was outside. Like they had cameras hidden in every shadow. Like how those two monsters appeared at the fallen tree, a few moments he after he came out of the portal.
So no, the horn wasn't giving him away. They were already on him. This was just letting any humans know that someone out here needed help.
Not a stupid move. Just… desperate. Which, to be fair, usually looks the same.
Dean kept honking while his eyes scanned every nook and crany.
At first—nothing.
Then he saw it. Light.
Curtains twitched. A window flickered. A porch light blinked on. Dean's shoulders loosened just a bit. Good. People were waking up.
But then his headlights hit the end of the street… and his stomach dropped.
Three—no, four—figures were standing on the road.
They hadn't been there a second ago.
Just poof. Now they were there. Standing perfectly still. Smiling. Always smiling.
'Oh, you've gotta be kidding me,' Dean thought as his face tensed.
His first thought—reverse. Get the hell out of there. But the second he glanced at the rearview mirror, his gut twisted.
Three more.
Just standing there in the middle of the road behind him. Same creepy smiles. Same dead, hungry eyes.
'Great. Boxed in," he thought as his heart beat faster.
Backing up was now suicide as the speed would be slowed down considerably and the control would not be that good compared to driving ahead. He didn't have a choice.
He hit the gas. Hard.
The car shot forward. He swerved just enough to keep from getting too close to the smiling freaks in front. He didn't dare meet their eyes for long—on TV they were creepy, but in real life that smile felt wrong, terribly wrong.
He pulled the car back onto the road once he was past them. When he saw he'd made it without any of those freaks of nature clinging on, he finally let out a breath. 'Fuck… that was close.'
Dean's hands were sweaty on the wheel. He didn't lift his finger from the horn, letting it blare on. Somehow, the sound made him feel safer—like if it kept going, he was still alive.
'Okay. You've bought yourself a few seconds. That's it. Just loop back around. Don't stop. Don't hesitate. And don't—don't—crash.'
Finally, Dean let his thumb slip off the horn. The sound stopped, and the night went quiet. He did it because he had reached the edge of town, where there were no more houses. Soon, both sides of the road were swallowed by massive trees.
The road stretched out ahead, feeling endless due to the dark. He'd watched enough of 'From' to know what this meant. No matter how much anyone tried they would loop back to the town, cursed to never leave this place.
Still, his foot pushed harder on the gas.
A few minutes later, the trees thinned out and the town came back into view. The same houses. The same air whispering that he wasn't leaving.
Dean looked up and down the road, his nerves tense. Nothing. No monsters on the road. It was like they had melted into the dark night, gone as if they'd never been there.
He slowed down the car and slammed down on the horn again. The sound tore through the silence.
This time, more porch lights flicked on one after another. Curtains shifted, windows lit up, and soon half the houses on the street were glowing with light. But still—no one called him over. Just silent houses, watching.
Dean's jaw clenched. 'Come on… somebody give me a fucking sign. Anything.'
That's when it hit.
Music.
Blasting. Deafening.
His stereo lit up. The volume shot up on its own. AC/DC's Highway to Hell blasted from the speakers so loud the rearview mirror shook. And it didn't stop. The sound kept getting louder every second.
Dean's eyes jumped to the dash. His ears rang, the noise stabbing so sharp it felt like they were bleeding. "What the—oh, come on, no, no, no!"
He twisted the knob. Slammed the buttons. Nothing worked. The music only got louder, the bass hitting his chest like a punch.
"Fuck!" Dean yelled, punching the dashboard.
The stereo didn't budge. Louder and louder. The volume spiked up every second, drowning everything else.
Dean didn't stop. He pulled back his fist and smashed the stereo again. Once. Twice.
The stereo broke apart. Plastic and glass snapped, and sparks flew.
And finally—the music stopped.
Dean breathed in and out rapidly, his knuckles aching. 'Yeah, that's what I thought, you piece of—'
His head snapped back to the windshield.
And his stomach dropped.
Too close.
One of them was right there—its face pressed near the edge of the windshield by the passenger seat, dead eyes staring in. That awful smile on its creepy ass face stretched wider, wider, like it was about to split its face in two.
"SHIT!" Dean roared, jerking the wheel.
The car swerved, tires screeching. But it was too late.
The monster's hand shot out. It's pale fingers which seem to have turned into claws, grabbed the window frame.
The glass shattered like paper, crumbling into shards that spilled across the seat next to him. Metal screeched as the frame bent like tin foil under the pressure of that monster's claws.
Dean's heart pounded. His throat locked, a scream stuck inside.
He slammed the gas and the engine roared, pulling the monster off-balance. Its arm scraped down the side and its claws brushed against the door until it slipped free.
He kept one hand tight on the wheel as he glanced at the wrecked passenger side. The handprint was still there, pressed deep in the metal. Proof. That wasn't just a creepy grin anymore. That thing was strong—strong enough to tear the car open like a soda can. All while he was still driving.
He pressed harder on the gas, but his mind was racing too fast to calm down. Panic gripped him, and he kept imagining the monsters closing in. If they had grabbed him from both sides at once, he would've been dead. The thought of them ripping his arms off made his stomach turn.
In the middle of the panic, one thought came to him: he needed the Iron Will skill.
He was almost on the verge of purchasing it, but at the last moment, he stopped. Iron Will might have helped for a little while, but it wouldn't have fixed the real problem. What good was a strong mind if the monsters tore him apart? Iron Will wouldn't do shit to prevent that.
He forced himself to take slow breaths, counting in his head, trying to steady himself.
He sucked in a shaky breath—and then it hit him: if no door opened soon, he wouldn't last ten minutes out here, let alone thirty.
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