CHAPTER 1: Man’s fear of the infinite forecourt
Balthazar strode from the main entrance of Dagenham Motors and onto the forecourt, smiling. He twirled the brand new car keys around his finger as he approached his huddling family. “Da-da!” he said, a rakish smile playing around his handsome, bearded features.
His wife Kandi couldn’t help but applaud. She clapped and clapped until her hands started to bleed, whereupon she broke down in happy tears. “I’m just…you know, so happy!” she exclaimed, lips trembling as the blood trickled down her wrists. “This is everything I’ve always dreamed of!”
He put his manly arms around her. “I know dear,” he said. “Everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”
“Which one is ours, daddy?” said young Jake, a strapping eight years old and already showing signs of growing up to be a fine, handsome man.
“That one. Behind the Fiesta with the purple metallic paint.”
Jake looked. Slowly, his eyes widened and his mouth fell slack. “But…no! Not that one! Nooo!”
“What’s wrong, Jakey?”
His arms flailed and he began to turn a macabre shade of blue. “Nooooooooooooooooo!” he wailed. “Its eyes! Its horrible eyes!”
Jake died that evening.
CHAPTER 2: Death requests a detour
Autumn started late that year. A fine October had drifted into a moderate November, and only now did the evenings feel cold.
Balthazar and Kandi had barely noticed the change, their grief overwhelming them as they struggled to come to terms with both the death of their younger son Jake and the untimely expiry of his Xbox Live Gold membership.
Their older son, Kevin, had apparently blanked it out completely. He never mentioned the terrible event, although sometimes, late at night, Kandi would hear Kevin creep into Jake’s old room and sob muffled little sobs. Other times he would bring his Xbox controller down to the breakfast table and stare blankly at the Aga.
One night, they had been to visit Grampa in Upminster, and had stayed longer than intended. It was nearly midnight when they set off back to their Wanstead semi, clutching their bags of Werthers.
The Mondeo was running well that night. It purred like a kitten as it turned onto the A124 and continued to offer a class-leading blend of performance and comfort. But Balthazar was frustrated. The sat nav’s prissy female voice was being particularly arch tonight and seemed to be accusing him of idle driving. The rage increased as they passed the junction at Grenfell Park. Suddenly, he snapped.
“Right, we’re going on a detour,” he screamed. “I’m sick of listening to that electronic bitch, I’m sick of driving past Oldchurch Hospital and I’m incredibly sick of St Edwards Way. Where is the apostrophe? Tell me that, darling. Where’s the fucking apostrophe?”
The car fell silent. Everyone was appalled by this outburst. Balthazar, defiance apparent in every gearchange, decided to go straight on at the Rom Valley Way junction onto Rush Green Road. A few moments later they continued west in grim silence.
But silence isn’t what they should have been exhibiting in the car that fateful night. For they were approaching Beacontree Heath, and the date was Friday 13th. Somewhere, an absolutely enormous clock struck midnight…
CHAPTER 3: Death knocks on the window
“Well, this is just great,” growled Kandi as the car spluttered to a halt. “Not only are we out of petrol but we are stuck in the middle of Beacontree Heath. Why did you have to take that dirt track anyway?”
“It looked quicker, okay?”
“Right. Screw this. I’m going to walk back to that petrol station. Kevin, come on.” Kandi grabbed Kevin by the arm and they marched off. They followed the dirt track, and followed, and followed.
The track was supposed to become tarmac just beyond the outcrop of willow trees, but for some reason she could not even seen the willows. Resolute, she continued, her son growing increasingly tearsome by the second. After fifteen minutes, her head swimming with confusion, an icy fear began to grip her. By now she should have easily left the heath, but the grass just kept on going. And the shadows were becoming darker.
Then the noise started. Faint at first, it soon rose like a banshee into an icy scream, which never ended.
Balthazar! Kandi broke into a run in the opposite direction. All she wanted was to feel the manly, hairy arms of her husband around her, his heartbeat next to hers, his manly buttocks tensed into a mighty ball of muscle, ready for action.
It didn’t take long to get back to the car, but something was horribly wrong. Balthazar lay on the ground, stiff as a board. The screaming was overwhelming by now, but it wasn’t her husband making the noise. A strangling fear gripped her, as her attention was suddenly grabbed by an hellish vision on the side of the car. There, on the passenger door, was an abomonation. A terrifying face, contorted into the perfect parody of a man screaming in terror, in pain, in tortuous sorrow.
And under the car, like a mockery of oil, was a glistening pool of blood. Bloody, horrible blood.
It was Kandi’s turn to scream. This set off the face even more, which screamed even louder. Kandi screamed back. The car screamed again. And again. It was truly an audible version of some kind of horrible vision of something hellish.
Suddenly, silence. A breeze circled, dislodging the last of the leaves on a nearby oak. A sickening feeling overcame her. She became aware of the silence like nothing else, and slowly turned.
Where was Kevin? She was completely and utterly alone, except for the prone Balthazar and the hellish car face, which was starting to weep tears of blood.
Where was Kevin? Where the hell was her only remaining child? Kandi fell to her knees, too shocked to make a sound.
CHAPTER 4: It’s about time
“Wake up, Balth!” shouted Kandi, slapping her husband repeatedly around the chops. She slapped and slapped and slapped, then weeped, then slapped some more.
Balthazar came to with a shudder. Immediately he glanced over at the horrible face, which had begun to scream again. “Kandi, I was trying to get in the car, but some unseen force hurled me away. Keep away from that dreadful…thing!”
“Kevin’s gone,” she sobbed. “I heard the screaming and ran back, but somehow Kevin disappeared.”
Balthazar said nothing. Grimly, he got to his feet. But as he did so the car stopped screaming. It was replaced by a new, familiar sound: the engine sprang to life, all on its own.
Balthazar leapt on the roof of the car. “Oh no you don’t,” he roared, as the engine engaged with a splutter. The car began to lurch forward. Before Balthazar could steady himself, he suddenly and inexplicably flew off the roof at an angle of 90 degrees and went 200 yards through the air until he hit a tree, head first.
The wheels span. The car had become stuck in the muddy earth, and the spinning wheels began to spray up a combination of dirt and blood until Kandi was covered head to foot. She screamed. The car screamed. Balthazar, lying in a heap nearby, groaned and then screamed. Kandi screamed some more. The car screamed again, then stopped. Then started again. Kandi screamed.
Just as Kandi was beginning to feel faint, there was a flash of light. The sky seemed to rent asunder, and there was a sudden presence. It was Kevin! Not only that, but there was a man with him, a muscular, toned man with pecs bulging beneath his white t-shirt.
The man drew his sword and charged at the car with a gutteral yell. He thrust the sword at the screaming face. Unexpectedly, instead of clanging off with a metallic yowl, the sword was swallowed up like a knife into margarine. The sickening sound of flesh and bone being torn reached Kandi’s ears, which were dripping bloody mud onto the virgin earth.
The engine died, the screaming stopped. Then, silence. Still, guilty silence.
Balthazar staggered over, clutching his head and wiping the sweat from his beard. “Who are you, mighty warrior?”
Kevin stepped forward. “This is Pauroth, Keeper of the Truth. He’s a time traveller from the future.”
“Wotcha,” said Pauroth, wiping and resheathing his sword. “I’m sorry about all this, but it’s all over now.”
“What is? Where did you take my son? How did you…?”
“There’ll be plenty of time for explanations later, but for now I’ll tell you that your son Jake was killed by a murderous higgs-boson particle that didn’t want him to grow up to design a time machine. But the death of Jake inspired Kevin to carry on his research in the future. If I hadn’t used the machine myself to rescue Kevin and convince him to drop the whole idea, he would also be dead now.”
“Hooray that solves everything!” said Balthazar. “But wait… what about the screaming car?”
They all looked over, but there was no car.
“There never was a car,” said the mysterious future man, before vanishing with a pop.
The family exchanged glances.
“Next time I’m buying a BMW,” said Balthazar, and everyone laughed uproariously as they wiped away the accumulated mud, sweat and blood.
THE END
Jamie Cullen is a Sheffield-derived poet, now to be found lingering in North London. His latest work, Zen Poetry: Millennial Vanity, is available.
