Headlights by Samanta Schweblin, 2009
The magic trick:
Social critique as bone-chilling horror
This is part Children Of The Corn; part Twilight Zone; all the way terrifying.
A newlywed stops with her husband along a desolate highway. She gets out of the car to use the restroom. He drives off and leaves her there.
Soon, she realizes she is not alone.
Never before have social critiques of men and the institution of marriage been made with such bone-chilling horror.
And that’s quite a trick on Schweblin’s part.
The selection:
“They don’t come back,” says Nené, and Felicity screams in fright. “The highway is shit.”
The woman is behind Felicity, and she lights a cigarette. “Just shit, the very worst kind.”
Felicity gets control of herself, and as the shock dies down, she rearranges her straps.
“First time?” asks Nené, and she waits unappreciatively for Felicity to regain enough courage to stop trembling and look at her. “I’m asking if the guy is your first husband.”
Felicity forces a smile. She discovers in Nené the old and bitter face of a woman who was surely once more beautiful than Felicity herself. Amid the marks of premature old age, clear eyes and perfectly proportioned lips still remain.
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