The Grinning Man

Not for any particular reason, recently I found myself parked up in a lay-by on the A361 North Devon Link Road.

It was a typically wet, miserable day with rain bouncing off the tarmac and a low mist.

Despite their seemingly mundane purpose, lay-bys have become known as liminal spaces where strange and sometimes unsettling events occur.

Existing in a space between two states, characterized by a sense of ambiguity, uncertainty, and transformation, neither fully part of the road nor entirely separate from it.

A threshold between different states of being. This quality of in-betweenness makes lay-bys fertile ground for strange occurrences that defy explanation.

There was an array of unpleasant detritus such as plastic bottles filled with foul, septic coloured urine, and saturated adult magazines, adding to the general disquietude.

Every other lay-by on the road had been occupied by vans and  lorries on their tacho breaks but this one was completely empty.

I felt a very eerie atmosphere about the place, despite being so close to a major road and the roar of traffic.

I took a short walk up to a metal sign, hoping to glean some information on the place, but it was faded and weather beaten.

The only readable part of the sign named the area as Week Wood.

I pondered the name.

Could this have been the site of an alien abduction, where the unfortunate victim had re-emerged, probed and bewildered, a week later?

Or is it how long it would take authorities to find a body dumped here?

I shivered.

I’d heard stories of phantom hitchhikers being spotted in the area, ghostly figures that are said to appear on the side of the road, often near lay-bys, asking for a ride.

Suddenly I got a sense of being watched from the line of trees on the hill away to the left.

Was there a figure lurking there?

Maybe not.

It was difficult to tell in the drizzly haze of the late morning.

There was a car bumper in a ditch,partially consumed by vegetation, I wondered if it was the remnants of an awful accident that may have occurred here.

I had this overwhelming urge to leave immediately.

A few nights later, I had a dream that left me with a sense of continuing unease.

I was back in that lay-by on the  A361, except it wasn’t.

It was some otherworldly version created from deep within my subconscious which bared hardly any similarities to the actual road.

But it was the A361.

Like most of my dreams, this took place in a gloomy atmosphere of twilight.

Peering through the trees by the ditch, I noticed a figure, standing about 100 yards away in the field.

Despite the gloaming, the figure was bathed in an oasis of beautiful sunlight.

It appeared to be a man, completely statuesque.

Was he staring at me? I couldn’t really tell.

The only noticeable thing was the huge grin on his hideously pale face, frozen in rictus.

But his wasn’t a countenance of happiness or joy.

Rather, it gave the impression that he had seen unimaginable terror, that he had gone so far into hell , that this was the only expression left that he could bear.

It was fantastically horrific.

I couldn’t look..

The dream switched instantly.

I was driving the car in the pouring rain, the wipers screeching across the steamy glass.

A quick glance in the rear view mirror…

There’s a huge grinning mouth, just a mouth, with no other recognisable features. Monstrous yellow teeth visible between taut pink lips.

I start to scream….