Claire left her friend’s Halloween dinner with a slice of cake wrapped in foil on the passenger seat. Martin had asked her to bring some home if there was any left. She had told him not to wait up, knowing he would leave the kitchen lamp on anyway. At the end of the lane, she turned toward town and found a temporary sign directing traffic onto the old road.

She knew that way. It passed a service station and joined the main road just before the bridge. Five minutes, perhaps a little longer. Claire lowered the heater and turned the radio up. The song was one Martin always claimed not to like, although he knew every word.

The station’s canopy stood pale beneath the headlights. One letter in its name was dark. Claire glanced at the empty forecourt as the music softened into a dry whisper. A man’s voice seemed to say something beneath the chorus. She reached toward the volume knob, but the sound cleared before her hand got there. Bad reception in the dip, probably. It had always been patchy out here.

Beyond the station, the road curved between hedges. A paper ghost hung from a gatepost, lifting gently in the draft of her car. Claire smiled. Someone had tied its little hands around the bars. She wondered whether Martin had remembered to bring their candy bowl in.

At the junction, she followed the town sign. The road was narrower than she remembered. She kept her headlights dipped for the houses ahead, although none came into view. A bend opened onto the service station. Claire looked at the dashboard, then back at the canopy. There must have been another turning beside the hedges. She had been thinking about home instead of watching.

This time, she noticed a curl of paint near the shop door. Had that been there a minute ago? She had barely looked at the building before. The radio fuzzed. A voice beneath the song said, “...this evening...” before the singer came back, clear enough for her to finish the line with him. Claire tapped the steering wheel once and took the next bend more carefully.

The paper ghost rose beside her window. She could have sworn its hands had been tied higher. It turned in the headlights, showing the knot behind its head. Claire returned her eyes to the road. Halloween decorations always looked different at night.

She took the left fork rather than following the sign. It should bring her toward the houses on Mill Lane. Martin would ask how she had managed to get lost so close to home. She could hear his gentle teasing already. She glanced at the cake and decided he could have the larger half.

The canopy came into view beyond the hedge. Claire eased off the accelerator. Surely there were two stations on this road. The old one near the bridge, and another she never used. Both would have been built around the same time. That would explain the windows, the low wall, the pale tiled entrance.

A brown stain ran beneath the edge of the canopy. For an instant she thought it looked longer. Then the headlights moved, and the thought went with them. The song thinned into static. “...Claire Mercer...” said a voice, so softly that she could not be certain of the first word. Claire tilted her head. “What?” The chorus returned. She shook her head and smiled at herself. Hearing her own name in a poor signal. That was a new one.

She thought of calling Martin, but there was no need to worry him over a wrong turn. She would be in the kitchen before he had finished making tea. The clock on the dashboard read 10:17. Earlier than she had thought. Her friend must have cleared the dinner plates quickly.

At the junction, Claire stopped long enough to read the sign properly. Town, to the right. She turned right. The cake shifted against the seat belt buckle, and she reached across to steady it once the road straightened. Still warm through the foil. Martin would be pleased.

A pale canopy appeared at the next bend. One letter was dark on the sign. Claire glanced toward the shop door. A little paint was peeling by the frame, and the entrance tiles needed cleaning. Someone ought to look after the place. It used to be such a useful stop.

The radio whispered beneath the familiar song. The announcer spoke evenly, as though reading something he had read before. “...Mercer... returning home... Halloween... confirmed...” The last word dissolved into a hiss. Claire frowned, listening for a traffic report. Then the chorus rose again. Whatever the announcement had been, she had missed it.

She checked the rearview mirror. Only the road behind her, edged by the same quiet hedges. At the gatepost, a paper ghost lifted its small white hands. Claire glanced at the clock. 10:17. She had time to put the kettle on herself. Martin would pretend he had not been waiting.

She turned toward the bridge, singing the line he always got wrong.

At the next bend, the service station came into view. Five minutes more, and she’d be home.

Who leaves a light on for you? Put Regenerate RX in the hands you love for everyday damaged-skin care. A small kindness for the person waiting at home.

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