Davey

A gentle breeze drifts through a wheat field on an assuming summer evening. Apart from a lone car that sails by, there isn't a single noise to be heard, save for the occasional chirp of a bird. The world appears still. That is, until a startlingly loud obscenity rings out into the air like a horn; "Fuck!"

CHRIS, a twenty-something with a slight frame and an even slighter temper, is stranded along this stretch of deserted country road with MADI, his decidedly less flustered girlfriend, who witnesses his hysterics with calm annoyance. The engine of their small, mostly unreliable hatchback wafts smoke from under its bonnet, overheated and under maintained. After pummelling the steering wheel like an angry toddler, Chris sinks back into his chair, burrowing his face deeply into the palms of his hands. Madi sternly folds her arms, waiting for him to notice. He does so, only through the gaps of his fingers. "What?" he asks her, as if it needed asking.

Moments later, Chris attempts to inspect the engine, revealing his complete lack of engineering prowess when he burns his hands on the metal, having not given the car time to cool down. Even when he finally opens the lid, he is at a loss as to what the hell needs fixing. Madi, somewhat facetiously, holds up her phone from inside the car to show him a video tutorial on how to check the engine's radiator. Now even more pissed off for being patronised, he sits astride on a dead log by the side of the road and sulks. Madi blows him a kiss, enjoying his tantrum, and sensibly calls a breakdown recovery service.

As Chris glares into space from his log, he suddenly sees it - the van. It appears over the horizon of the road like a monstrous nightmare. The contagious-looking patches of rust and chipped paint, the oil dripping voraciously from underneath, the licence plate skirting the road; it can only belong to a socially maladjusted psychopath. What's even more disturbing is the foul windscreen crusted over with a layer of dirt, obscuring the person driving. Needless to say, Chris backs away slowly to his car. Madi, seeing him retreat past her window, winds down the glass and informs Chris he needs to take the call - the breakdown cover is under his name. He orders her in a panic to hang up, adding that they need to leave right now.

"The engine's fucked," she says pointedly, confused as to how they're meant to go anywhere.

"Then call the fucking police," Chris yells before wrestling her for her phone. Amidst their altercation, the grotesque van zips by. The phone hits the ground, shattering on impact. Madi goes berserk, swatting Chris vehemently, still unaware of the van. Their fighting stops in a heartbeat when they hear the squeal of the van's breaks. They turn their heads towards the road and see the thing begin to reverse in their direction, swerving onto the same shoulder as them.

Clearly, it's time to leave. Chris races to close the bonnet and clamber back into his own car. The van's rear end crawls to within several feet of their bumper before stopping. Chris fumbles for his keys and tries to start his own engine. Having been unable to magically repair itself all this time, it refuses to start. Then Madi raps Chris's shoulder for his attention. The van's driver is exiting the vehicle and - Jesus Christ - he's huge!

He must stand at least seven feet tall and sports grimy, stained blue overalls, like those of a car mechanic. On the breast of the overalls is a name badge - worn from time and coming loose at the seams - that spells out the name DAVEY. But it's when his head emerges from the driver's side that the already disturbed couple lose their minds in panic. The man is wearing a burlap sack over his head with ragged eyeholes cut out of it!

"You can start the fucking car now!" Madi panically reminds Chris. He switches gears into overdrive, twisting the key. The engine continues spluttering weakly. Davey begins to lumber towards the frightened pair, back arched and arms swinging, methodically approaching Chris in the driver's seat. Madi barks at Chris to hurry up which, unsurprisingly, doesn't help their situation. It's too late anyway. Davey has made it to their car and is standing at full height by Chris's window!

Davey raises an arm. Chris and Madi, expelling what may be their final cries of terror, hold up their arms in defence, awaiting the inevitable spray of glass...

TAP! TAP! TAP!

The couple lower their arms. Davey is waving to them from outside! Confused but still guarded, Chris lowers the window. Davey then speaks with a chirper Yorkshire accent.

"Hiya! Having a bit of engine trouble? Won't be a mo'!" He happily plods back to the van, whistling a sweet melody, to retrieve a toolbox, which he then plonks right next to the car. Chris obliges Davey's offer of assistance by popping open the bonnet, though still paralysed in fear. The friendly giant proceeds to mend their "engine trouble", taking him only a short while to correct the problem. He closes the lid and, returning to Chris, instructs him to try the ignition. Sure enough, the car roars to life. Satisfied it shouldn't cause the couple anymore bother, Davey wishes Chris and Madi all the best before retrieving his toolbox and heading back to his van. He lobs the toolbox into the back, shuts the back doors and clumsily re-enters the van. Davey pulls out onto the road and careens away into the distance, disappearing for good.

Chris and Madi, mouths agape, can only stare blankly for the longest time before Madi breaks their ennui;

"The fuck!"

Further down the road, Davey jovially listens to melodic folk music on the radio, twittering to himself about the "lovely couple" he just helped. He turns to his passenger seat to reveal a bloodied prisoner, trussed up and gagged, sitting there. He asks the man what he thought of Chris and Madi only to be met by smothered cries for help. Davey turns his attention back to the road, sighing in disappointment.