The Ghost With No Name

This flash fiction is written in response to a creative writing ink prompt. It is also expanded from a tweet micro story which was a response to #SinisterSunday and #SoYouWriteSat

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Photo by Valentin Salja on Unsplash

Mike pulled up to the side of the road. It had been over an hour since he’d passed another car and longer than that since he’d passed a camera. Night had fallen and his headlights reflected off the glistening tarmac, slick with rain. Carefully, he pulled onto the track and edged deeper into the forest. It took another twenty minutes before he was satisfied with his location.

Silence fell as he switched the engine off. He sat for a few seconds. He had gotten used to this car, this whole life in fact but it was time to move on. Reaching over, he popped open the glove box and pulled out all the paperwork. The driver’s licence was there. His own eyes stared back at him but the name underneath read Robert Miller. He tucked all the paperwork into his backpack. He’d burn it all later when he wasn’t near the car.

The cold air cut through his clothes as soon as he exited the car. He shrugged himself into his coat and went about removing all items from the old Ford. Everything went into the bag: sweet wrappers, car park tickets, change. Once he was convinced the car was empty, he locked it and put the keys into the bag as well. He could wipe it down but there was very little chance he would wipe away all the trace evidence. Anyway, they didn’t have anything on file for him so what was the point.

As Mike made his way back to the road, he tried to destroy the tire marks, disrupt them with fallen branches but the rain was making it harder. No matter, by the time anyone decided to go off the road, the tracks would be useless and the plants would have grown back up to obscure the car.

He used the opportunity to slowly peel away the layers he had applied to his personality over the last three months. It hadn’t been hard to take Robert Miller’s place, it gave him a chance to regroup before his next mission. Miller worked from home, had hardly any friends and he only seemed to speak to his family over email. Mimicking his speech hadn’t been difficult and he had managed to change his appearance enough to fool the neighbours from afar. He let his mind eject the inane numbers and figures that had been Miller’s world. Constant data analysis and reports being sent to the head office. The penchant for anime and martial arts films that filled his Netflix listings was allowed to float away. Mike longed to watch a western film. If he found somewhere to stop tomorrow, he would treat himself. Thankfully, his stay at Chez Miller had allowed him to systematically drain his bank account without drawing any attention. He had the money split into several packets secreted in his clothing.

Eventually, as the first light of day was appearing over the horizon, Mike felt like him again. It wouldn’t take long for him to feel the need to take another mission but for a few days he could be himself. He emerged from the treeline and starting walking along the road. He paused and checked his surroundings. There was a metal gate across from him which jogged a memory. He smiled at the coincidence, it wasn’t far from here that he’d left Robert Miller either. At least he was reunited with his car.

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