The last thing I can think to try is one of the tires. There’s no way a tire could be bulletproof could it? I stand back, making sure again to have a good angle so it doesn’t bounce back and kill me. I pull the trigger but instead of a loud bang, I hear a click — I’m out of bullets.
I forget this isn’t the movies where the guns have an endless supply of ammo. This is real life — or some distorted version of it.
Having no bullets in my gun I feel defenseless. This needs to be corrected at once. The box of bullets is on the ground by the Honda. I start walking backwards toward them, making sure to keep my eyes on the car. If it speeds towards me, I’m close enough that I could dodge it.
I feel like I’m in a western, giving the stare down to an enemy. As I take another backwards step, the back of my foot hits the bullets. I pick them up and go behind the car to reload. That way, if the car does speed toward me while I’m distracted, I’ll at least have a car between us to minimize the blow.
I reload, making sure to keep my eyes on the black car as much as possible. I look at Tabby who is lying on the dashboard watching me. It’s hard for me to gage her reaction. Cats would make excellent poker players.
I walk back to the car with the fully loaded gun in my hands. I go to the passenger side this time and peek inside again. All I see is a very clean and polished black interior.
I try the passenger door, fully expecting it not to open. With great surprise, though, when I pull on the handle it does open. How odd, the driver’s side is locked but the passenger door is unlocked?
This newfound discovery has opened up a world of new possibilities. I step into the car and sit down on the leather seats. I can now see that the lights in the dashboard are, in fact, on. Was it like this before or did it just happen when I opened the door? Regardless, the car is on now. A single key is turned on in the ignition, as well as a large button by the steering wheel with a blue light that says “On”.
I lay my gun down and crawl into the drivers seat. Something tells me this is going to be a very fun car to drive. I reach for the safety belt and realize there isn’t one — not on the other side either. That’s just great, any collision in this car and I’ll be flying through the window. I reach over to put the car into drive but it’s stuck. How on Earth is it stuck? Then I realize I didn’t put my foot on the brake. “Ahhh, you dummy!” This shows how nervous I am. I take a deep breathe and try to calm myself down. I put my foot on the brake and try again to put it in drive, but it’s still stuck.
“What am I doing wrong now?”
I reach for the key to turn the car off and back on again, but the key won’t budge either. I push the “On” button but it doesn’t even move, click, or anything. The blue light remains on. Is there some trick to getting this thing to move? Voice activation, maybe?
“Turn On. Go. Drive. Forward.” Nothing works and I sound like an idiot. I start kicking the dashboard, hoping to jar something loose and get the car back to life. From my experiences with electronics, kicking them works a surprising number of times. Not this time though.
I look around, trying to find the one magical button or lever that will take this car off into the sunset. While I don’t find a button to start the car, I do find one that piques my interest — the trunk opener. I lift up on it, not expecting it to do anything. This time I’m more fortunate. I hear a “boing” and turn around to see the trunk door rising up. I reach over to get out of the car, but the driver side door doesn’t open from the inside either — the owner should get that fixed.
I crawl my way back over to the passenger side and out the door. I walk over with giddy anticipation as to what’s in the trunk.
What I see makes my jaw drop in horror. Crumpled car pieces I can only assume are from Abby’s car, and Cujo’s bloody and grotesque head — his dead eyes staring back at me.
Chapter 19
“Oh my God!” I take my gun and look around again for someone watching me. This has to be one sick prank, and here’s the proof. It doesn’t explain why the car drives all by itself, but it certainly explains that someone put all this shit in the car when I wasn’t looking. After all, the car doesn’t have arms (at least not any I can see).
It also means someone is close; I’ve never felt more unsafe. I storm over to the Honda and open up the trunk to pull out my ax. If someone is watching me, I might as well give them a good show. With gun and ax in hand, I go to the mystery black car with vengeance.
I drop the gun to the ground and take a firm baseball grip to my undersized ax. I aim my best swing at the front tire. The blade hits the tire and bounces back hard like a toy bouncing ball shooting up from the ground. This unexpected force causes my left arm to throb with pain, which only makes me angrier. Holding it with just my right hand now, I take a chop at the side of the car but I’m met with the same undamaged result.
What the hell is this made out of? It has to be some kind of material unseen on the market. I don’t even see a scratch where I hit it with my ax. I give it a couple more swings and only get more useless results.
Giving up on the ax, I’m out of good ideas but I start with closing the trunk. I don’t want to see that ever again. The moment the trunk door closes, the car starts to move about as slowly as a car can move.
“Where the hell are you going?”
It’s headed straight for the Honda. At this speed it’s bound to cause little or no damage but I keep an eye on it anyway. Once it gets close enough to where I think it’s going to crash, it makes a sharp left turn and stops only a few feet away from the Honda. I hear a clicking sound, which can only mean the car either fully locked or unlocked. I try the passenger door and see it’s locked. I move over to the driver’s side and that side is locked too. This keeps getting weirder and weirder.
I get the feeling I’m being tested, like this is a puzzle I have to figure out. I don’t have the faintest idea how to solve it, though. All I know is over the past few days this car has done everything it could to prevent me from going near it, but now it’s almost demanding I get back inside.
That’s when an idea occurs to me. I’ve learned growing up that if you want a bully to stop picking on you, you have to think of the absolute last thing they want to happen, and then you go do it. Most kids think that’s telling the teacher, but to a bully that’s almost wanted. It gives him another reason to pummel you. No, the last thing a bully wants you to do is fight back. He likes it when you’re scared and submissive, but the moment you start throwing a few punches is when he’ll leave you alone and look for easier targets.
With the black car and whoever is watching me, I think the last thing they want is for me to leave. I’ll bet they’re thriving on my reactions. As much as this black car fascinates me and piques my interest, I’m going to drive off as if I don’t care anymore.
I get the keys out of my pocket and climb back into the Honda. Tabby is sitting on the driver’s seat so I reach down to move her, but she jumps out.
“Tabby, get back here!”
When I look over, she’s pawing at the black car’s door.
“Tabby, let’s go. It’s locked.”
She ignores me and continues to paw at the door. I turn back and yell at her again, “Tabby, it’s locked. There’s nothing I can do. See…” When I try the door handle again, the door opens up. How can this be? I’ve been within earshot of the car since I last tried the doors and would have heard it unlock. With the door cracked open, Tabby jumps in the passenger seat.