My grandparents lived in a Farmhouse built circa 1883 on a massive 1,100 ache plus property down south in a tiny town know as Podunk. Every summer and every Christmas my family and I would drive down to visit my grandparents on the farm since my brother and I were off from school. While the town was so tiny (that when it got a second traffic light it was a big goddamn deal let me tell you) there are 2 major trucking companies headquarters located in Podunk that run 18 wheelers all day and all night long transporting everything under the sun. Luckily when the main road in and out of Podunk was to be built they asked my great grandfather about its placement since( like the original 19th century dirt road) it would run through a portion of his property. So instead of having the modern road run directly outside of the Farm house’s front yard gate he decided to have it built this time with a huge curve that brought the road out to a 1/4 of a mile from the main house. Between the farmhouse and the new road is essential a giant grassy field with a semi circle dirt driveway that allows the house to be accessed by 2 separate entries from the outlying road. Now on the outer side of the large curve is a 6 1/2 foot ditch (before you reach the woods) and for the life of me to this very day I have no idea why the town hasn’t put of warning signs for the truckers. See if your driving an 18 wheeler and are going slow you’ll hug the road to safety ,BUT if your driving an 18 wheeler and your going to fast you’ll run off the road and plumet head first into the aforementioned big ass ditch.
One summer while we were visiting my grandparents when late one night we all got one hell of a scare. What set off the insane events of that night started when a trucker driving a rather big tanker truck filled with liquid pesticide was speeding a bit and thusly found himself plunging head long into the ditch of death. The first thing that saved the driver’s life was when he crashed he was thrown from the cab, but this only got him out of the frying pan into the fire. If I recollect correctly the driver’s injuries included (but not limited to) Broken and cracked ribs, internal bleeding, severe lacerations, 2 completely shattered legs, head trauma, fractured right wrist, and massive bruising not to mention he was in shock as well. When the driver gathered his senses and managed to look around at his surroundings (as well as thanking whatever god he prays too for not being instantly and violently killed) he saw the far off light of farmhouse’s front porch lights and knew it was his only hope or he would in fact die on the side of the road. So summoning all his remaining strength the driver slowly (and I imagine quite painfully) pulled himself using just his arms and dragged himself the 1/4 mile across the grassy field and across to the front yard. I don’t know if the driver couldn’t get up the stairs to the front porch, but he again dragged himself around the side of the farmhouse to what is referred to as the middle porch. Its called the middle porch for one simple reason which is back in 1883 fire was a huge concern especially if you lived in a small rural town. Thusly to combat the threat of fire the architects of the day designed houses so you’d have the house with a middle porch in-between the main house and the kitchen as well as dinning room. This way if your kitchen (which was the biggest threat of fire) did catch fire the middle porch provided a buffer in-between.
Once the driver reached the middle porch he preceded to punch his way through the screen of the exterior door leading off the middle porch to the surrounding yard. The driver opened the door and then pulled himself up onto the porch. From there he once again dragged himself in excruciating agony to the door to the main house and pounded on the door like his life depended on it which it did. The driver was screaming bloody murder things like”There’s been an accident! HELP! HELP ME PLEASE! Oh God, PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR I don’t want to die out here…” obviously to get the attention and aid of the homeowner (who for all he knew wan’t even home).
Now as one might imagine being that it was around 2 a.m. in the morning, virtually pitch black outside (no streetlights or urban sprawl makes night even darker), and we were located in such a rural area outside of a tiny town that we were basically on our own (the average police response time to the property is around 40 minutes or more.) There are 2 bedrooms at the back of the house on the 1st floor across from one another my brother and I slept in one and my parents slept in the other. I remember opening our bedroom door just a minute crack as to allow a singular eye to peer out into the hallway. I saw my father too had cracked open my parents bedroom door and glanced over at me to give me the universal “STAY THERE” hand gesture. All of us were freaked the hell out and had no idea what to do because like I said if there was a crash alright, but it could be some sick son of a bitch trying to gain access to the house and all that terrible shit. A minute or two of being frozen in place by paralyzing fear I heard the familiar sound of the wood stairs creaking as someone came down them and immediately looked to see what was going on there to see my grandparents. My grandfather being 6’3″ with a poker face made of stone and a shotgun in each hand was leading the way down the stairs. My petite 5 foot nothing grandmother was literally right behind him and looked flustered as hell. My grandfather walked to the door not saying a word, unlocked it and forcefully swung it open. The driver collapsed backwards as the door flung open to see my grandfather standing there in his pajamas silently pointing a wicked looking pair of shotguns at him. At this point it was obvious there had in fact been a horrendous crash and there wasn’t some deranged rapist serial killer, and my parents and grandmother went into crisis damage control. My grandmother called 911, my father asked the man what happened and my mom frantically gathered first aid items. Meanwhile my grandfather continued to stand in the door way completely quite still aiming both gun barrels at the injured driver. After assessing the initial situation my grandmother suggested we move the injured driver off the porch and into the house’s main hallway, and it was then my grandfather spoke for the first and only time during the whole ordeal. What my grandfather said I will remember to the day I die and its only one singular sentence “Don’t bleed on my carpet.”
Note to Reader: The driver was taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital for emergency medical treatment. My father called the hospital the next day and was informed the driver was alive, stable and would completely recover from all of his various injuries.
Presented by Les Sober