Irrational Fear

Stevie’s throat tightened with dread when she heard the sputtering motor of the old clunker. She tried to concentrate on her assignment. She was the top student in her class and never missed a day of school. Not until last month, anyway. That’s when she woke up with the feeling (premonition?) that something wasn’t right. Since then, she hadn’t set foot outside the house. It was just a feeling, though. That’s what everybody told her. Just a feeling (instinct?) that something awful was going to happen. She did her best to ignore it; to shake it off. But, just when she managed to forget about the feeling for a minute—that’s when the filthy old clunker showed up; smoking and lurching past her house.

     Stevie shivered. She took a deep breath and summoned all the courage she could muster before daring to look out the window. Maybe, if she squinted and focused carefully enough, she’d finally see the driver. She watched as the car crept by her house and drove down the street. She knew it would be back. Gagging, she choked on the car’s lingering fumes and closed the curtain. Two houses down, the engine revved and backfired; startling Stevie into fleeing to the safety of her room upstairs.

     Out of sight out of mind, right?( Probably not.) The lingering flavor of burnt oil coated her nostrils and tongue; a smell so bad she could taste it. She flopped on her bed and tried to distract herself with her phone. As the night grew darker, the clunker returned. She turned away from the window but she couldn’t escape the eerie shadows cast on the wall by the headlights. (It’s just a car. It can’t hurt me. Besides, it never stops. As long as it doesn’t stop, I’m safe.) Stevie felt better watching the shadows glide across the wall. It confirmed, to her, that the old clunker was not stopping at her house; not singling her out. (Just an old car on a pleasure cruise through the neighborhood.)

     The shadows marched across the wall….slower….slower…stop. (Crap.)

Stevie’s breath quickened then caught in her throat. Suddenly, the house felt cold and empty. The old clunker was outside her house. And Stevie was alone inside her house.

     She started to call her mom, but changed her mind. Stevie remembered what happened earlier when she told her mom about the car. Her ears still rang from the way her mom yelled at her.

     “THERE IS NO CREEPY CAR, STEVIE! STOP LYING!” 

     She cringed when she thought about what happened next:  her parents picked her up, forced her out of the house, and locked the door. (It’s coming! Let me in!)  Rubbing the bruises on her fists, she recalled how terrified she felt pounding on the door; screaming. It was her brother who finally unlocked the door. 

     “Show me the scary car, Stevie. I don’t see it.”

     “Just wait. It’s coming.”

     “(Frustrated grunt) I can’t wait around for your delusions. I have to go to football practice.” 

     That night, Stevie watched her family drive off to her brother’s football practice. As soon as their car disappeared around the curve, she heard the old clunker.

     Stevie shook her head to bring her back to the moment. Music drifted up to her window from the car parked in front of her mailbox. She lifted a shaky hand to the curtain and risked a peek. The music was a kid’s tune; something about a bridge falling down. Stevie thought she caught a glimpse of the driver. (Or did she?) She blinked and looked again. The driver stretched its inhuman form from the opposite side of the car and leered up at Stevie. Glowing red eyes in the middle of a swirling mass of black smoke. That’s all she could make out. Her eyes played tricks on her. (Right? That can’t be real…can it?) She sucked in her breath and pressed herself against the wall; squeezing her eyes to shut out the terror.

     Her cellphone rang. It was her best friend, Mavis. But, Mavis never called; she only texted. Something must be wrong. Stevie answered. (Because good friends are there for each other.)

     Static and a grisly laugh. (That’s not Mavis.)

     “Stevie’s mind is falling down…falling down…” That garbled, sadistic voice made Stevie’s skin crawl. 

     She dropped the phone. It beeped.

     A text message, this time it was Mavis.

     “If you’re so curious about a stupid car, go confront the driver. Honestly, I wish you’d quit talking about it. You’re obsessed. It’s really annoying. All you do is talk about that stupid imaginary car! You won’t even leave the house anymore. Everyone says you’ve gone crazy.”

     Stevie threw the phone against the wall. Tears stung her eyes and she collapsed in frustration. She didn’t know which was worse; feeling afraid of the car or feeling like nobody believed her.

The awful tune from the car taunted her. (Make it stop!) Her head throbbed. She thought about the “helpful” advice others offered. Their words mixed with the music and bounced around her brain painfully.

     “Stop letting fear hold you back” (falling down, falling down)

     “You have to leave the house sometime.” (Stevie’s mind is…)

     “Just make yourself do it.” (falling down, falling down)

     Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to face her irrational fear. (But was it irrational?)

     The next thing she knew, Stevie found herself walking, trancelike, down the stairs. She didn’t want to, but her hand opened the front door. Static and music from the car blasted her eardrums. She took a step. Then another. With each step, her head pounded harder and the words echoed louder. (So much pressure.)

     “It’s all in your head.”

     “We didn’t raise you to be a coward.”

     “Sometimes, you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

(BE BRAVE!)

     She worked her way through the tall grass in her front yard, closer and closer to the car. She squinted in attempt to see the driver of the old clunker. (Was there a driver?) Something was there…in the driver’s seat. Stevie’s vision blurred. 

     (One more step.)

     The music stopped. (Eerie quiet.) 

     Slowly, she lowered herself to peer into the open passenger side window. (They’ll be so proud of me. I faced my fear.)

The laugh

The hiss

The clicking of teeth

     Black swirls of smoke congealed into a hideous, demonic form. It unzipped its jagged maw and devoured Stevie in one, deafening crunch; splattering the mailbox with blood and brain matter.

     “The brave ones always taste the sweetest.”

  THE END