Chapter 459

The road was old, a ribbon of cracked asphalt winding through the hills of the Israeli countryside. It had always been there, a silent observer of the changing seasons, the quiet lives of the farmers, and the slow passage of time. No one paid it much mind, not until the disappearances started.

First, it was old man Cohen, the shepherd. Gone, without a trace, his flock left scattered and bleating in the dry grass. Then, it was young Sarah, cycling home from the village. Her bicycle was found by the roadside, bent and twisted, as if crushed by an unseen force.

The local police dismissed it as accidents, a tragic coincidence. But the villagers felt it, a cold dread that seeped into their bones with every passing sunset.

A young woman named Aviva, a newcomer to the village, felt the unease more than most. She was a photographer, drawn to the stark beauty of the landscape, but she could not escape the oppressive feeling that emanated from the road.

It was as if the asphalt itself was breathing, a dark, heavy exhalation. She tried to ignore it, burying herself in her work, capturing the arid hills, the olive groves, the ancient stones. But the road was always there, a silent menace at the edge of every frame.

One evening, as Aviva was driving back from a photo shoot, she saw it. Or rather, she felt it. The car began to shake, a violent tremor that seemed to originate from the road itself. The steering wheel vibrated in her hands, and the engine groaned, as if the car was struggling against an invisible restraint.

She pressed the accelerator, trying to outrun whatever was happening, but the car slowed down, the wheels grinding against the asphalt as if it were glue. A low, guttural sound, like a beast awakening from a long sleep, resonated from the road beneath her.

Aviva's heart pounded in her chest, a drumbeat against the deafening silence that followed.

She managed to get the car moving again, pulling off the road, onto the shoulder, her hands shaking. She stared back at the asphalt, now smooth and innocent beneath the moonlight, as if nothing had happened.

She didn't understand, yet, but she knew, deep in her soul, that the road was no longer a passive surface, it was alive, and it was hungry.

She tried to rationalize it, blaming the heat, exhaustion, but the feeling persisted, a cold knot in her stomach.

The following days, Aviva became obsessed with the road. She spent hours photographing it, trying to capture something, anything, that would validate her experience, but the images always came out the same: an ordinary, unassuming stretch of asphalt.

It was as if the road was mocking her, hiding its true nature beneath a veil of normalcy. She spoke to the villagers about the strange occurrences, but they just looked at her with a mixture of fear and suspicion, dismissing her as a city girl with an overactive imagination.

One night, Aviva was unable to sleep, she decided to go to the road again. She parked her car at the beginning of the stretch, her heart beating like a trapped bird. She walked onto the asphalt, her steps tentative, each one a silent challenge.

The moon was full, bathing the road in an eerie, silver light. She walked further, the silence pressing down on her, the only sound her own breathing. The road felt different now, the asphalt beneath her feet was smooth, almost soft, like skin.

Then she felt it. A subtle vibration, a resonance that began at her feet and traveled up her legs, a feeling she knew was the road awakening again.

Aviva turned to go back to her car, but the road seemed to have stretched, as if it had grown longer, separating her from her safety. She started to walk faster, then run, her breath catching in her throat.

The vibration increased, becoming a low thrum that seemed to resonate in her bones. The asphalt began to ripple, like water disturbed by a stone. She felt a tugging sensation on her legs, as if the road was trying to pull her down, the surface beneath her feet becoming sticky, like tar. She cried out, her voice swallowed by the silence, her heart filled with terror.

The road pulsed, a dark heartbeat beneath the surface, and Aviva stumbled, falling to her knees, her palms scraping against the coarse asphalt. The pulling sensation intensified, becoming a desperate, hungry grip.

She tried to scream, but no sound came out. The road was alive, and it wanted her. Her fingers scrabbled against the rough surface, desperately trying to find purchase, but it was futile. The asphalt was yielding beneath her hands, the small cracks widening, becoming hungry mouths. Aviva felt something grip her ankles, sharp and cold, like metal claws.

She looked down, her eyes widening in horror, as the road seemed to open beneath her, the asphalt forming deep grooves, dark and ominous. She was sinking, slowly, her legs being pulled down, deeper and deeper.

She screamed again, a strangled, desperate sound that was quickly extinguished, becoming a part of the road's growing symphony of dread.

Aviva's arms stretched out, her fingertips brushing against the surface of the road, desperately trying to hold on, but the road was like quicksand. She was going down, her torso disappearing, the asphalt swallowing her up.

She could feel a strange pressure, a suffocating sensation that made her gasp for air, the surface pressing on her chest, and her lungs began to burn. Then she stopped screaming as the final moment came.

It was like she was being pulled into the dark earth, a place where no light could reach, a place without hope, where no sound could travel, a place of cold, and quiet.

The road closed, its surface becoming smooth once more, the only evidence of her presence the faint smell of burnt rubber and a couple of broken fingernails. The moon shone down, casting long, dark, shadows across the road, the silver light reflecting off the smooth, black surface, and the stillness returned, broken only by the whisper of the wind, and the faint, far away sounds of the countryside. The road continued on, silent, hungry, and waiting for its next meal.

The villagers, after a few days, gave up on Aviva and assumed she just left like the others before her. No one dared to travel that road at night now, their fear growing with each day, each sunset.

But they also could not abandon the road, they had to travel on it to get to the other side of the village, it was the only way to cross the valley.

It was a strange, sick, twisted thing that was happening, because life carried on, as if nothing ever happened, as if the road was just an ordinary road, and not something to be afraid of.

One day, a young man named David, who had lost his brother to the road, decided that he would solve the mystery of the road. He armed himself with maps, and tools, and some strange devices that he thought would help him. He approached the road with caution, his eyes scanning everything, his senses on high alert.

He took some photos, took some soil samples, and even a piece of the asphalt. He was prepared for anything that might come at him. He spent weeks trying to decode the secrets, but he found nothing that could explain the strange occurrences.

He tried to speak to the people about the things he found, or didn't find, but they were scared of him, and they avoided him, and dismissed him as being as crazy as Aviva.

He walked the road, trying to trigger something, anything that would give him a clue as to what he was dealing with. He walked on it, during the day, during the night, with a flashlight, and without one, always looking for something, some kind of clue.

And then, one day, the road decided to answer him. He was walking on it, during the day, when the road seemed to rise up a little, a small bump in front of him. He walked to it, curious, thinking it might be a sinkhole, or something else, but when he reached it, he found that the asphalt was soft.

He knelt to touch it, but it seemed to grab his hand, just like it did with Aviva, and pulled him down. David tried to scream, but his scream was caught in his throat as his body was sucked into the ground.

The villagers heard the faint scream, but didn't react, they all knew what was happening. They just stood where they were, their faces white with terror. The road was there, waiting, and everyone knew that there was nothing that could be done.

It was the way things were, and the way things always will be. It was a sad ending, a cruel ending, but that was their reality, and it was never going to change. It was a depressing place, and it was a sad story.

There was no hero to save them, there was no grand gesture, there was just the road, and the quiet horror of the villagers.

The road was alive, and it would continue to feed. The sun set, and the road was waiting, under the darkness of the sky.