The STANG Part 10

Chapter 10
 
“Why do people say ‘grow some balls?’ Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina. Those things can take a pounding.”
—Sheng Wang
 
My mind couldn’t comprehend what my eyes were seein’. I saw and experienced everything, but my mind was still in denial. I’ll be the first one to admit to y’all that there’s a lot in this world I have yet to see, but this… Jesus pleasus Christ. This was unworldly. A deep part of me had suspicions about what was toying with us, but neither Heather nor myself dared call it by name.
My sweet lil’ innocent mind was filled with all kinds of dark theories. Me and H are about as southern as you can get, and shit like this ain’t so unbelievable down here. After that dream, which seemed so real, and the car actually killin’ someone, well, hell. Weren’t no denyin’ that the Stang was possessed by somethin’, but what? Or by whom? Hell’s bells on Santa’s sleigh. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to find out no more.
Was the Stang demonic? Was it possessed? Haunted? Was it… alive? Whatever it was, it was hot, erotic, and scary as all hell at the same time, and I wasn’t quite ready to give all that up.
I looked over at my bestie, but all I managed to get out in a squeaky, terrified voice was: “H..?”
“I know Sug. Just take a deep breath here.”
“But—”
“No. Quiet, okay? Give me a minute to think, please. Jesus in a corn field, Mist, just when I think I know what the fuck’s goin on…”
I turned my head and looked in the side mirror. The body of that creepy coverall hillbilly was lyin’ there in the dirt behind us, crumpled and still. I was tryin’ desperately to hold on to reality, but it was hard to define reality while staring at a dead, flattened, road-killed body.
“Okay, okay,” I said, still lookin’ in the side view mirror. I was shakin’ so bad you’d a thought I was a pecan tree being raped of its bounty by some farmer’s machine. Heather noticed me trembling, grabbed my shirt, and pulled me close to her. We clung to each other, and I gave in to my sobs. And even though Heather was tremblin’ as bad as a willow in a wind whip, she never shed a tear. God, I wanted to be as strong as this woman was. Fierce, sturdy, and not scared of shit.
She was doing her best to soothe me when the radio suddenly came on, and the haunting music of Unchained Melody started playing. Was the Stang trying to comfort us? Apologizing for what we had been forced to witness? Would something demonic do that? I didn’t know what the hell to think anymore.
We sat huddled together till the song was done, then, without a word, we did the only thing we knew to do. We put ‘Deliverance Boy’ in the trunk.
H shut the trunk and dusted her hands off, patted the lid, and said: “Ya’ hungry?” For a second, I wondered if she was speaking to the Stang or me.
I was so hungry I could eat my way to a blue ribbon in a Brussel’s sprout eatin’ contest, so as we moved to get in the car, I said. “Hell, the Stang eatin’ better than us! Feed me or fight me woman!” The unreality of the moment was finally broken. We both laughed.
Heather started up our fiendish friend and gunned the engine. The roar of that V8 was like an aphrodisiac to us both. It was like rippling muscles on an Adonis body. The power beneath that hood was intoxicating, and it made me feel almost invincible.
We left the frog pond and drove back to the main road in search of a place to get our grub on, plus give our beast time to digest. What we didn’t see was the trunk of the Stang pop open, and the bloody body of that backwoods creep spit out, land on the road behind us, and roll into the grass on the side of the highway.
‘Bout five miles down the road we came across a roadside diner. You know the kind. Mom and Pop owned and operated, been in the family a hundred years, and pro’ly the best chicken fried steak and red-eye gravy you’ll have this side of Eden.
We parked the Stang and went in. The place was pure southern charm: bright red and white checked tablecloths on the tables and booths, a small, chrome-accented counter with a few stools, and the smell of bacon, grits, and coffee hits ya’ like cologne when ya’ come through the door. Made my tummy growl and my mouth water.
The waitress was an older lady with coiffed blue hair. Pro’ly the owner. She came over with menus and glasses of water and said: “What can I get you two lovely ladies this fine mornin’?”
“COFFEE!” we almost shouted in unison. We all laughed. The waitress said “Gotcha,” and turned to go get our coffees.
 
When she returned, we ordered cheese grits, bacon, eggs, and toast. Let me tell y’all, that first sip of coffee was heaven on earth. We sat there silently in the rising steam from our coffee mugs, each lost in our own lil’ world.
When our breakfast arrived, we saw a lone cop car pull into the lot. H gave me that look that said… keep it together, girlfriend! I nodded and dug into my breakfast, but my eyes couldn’t help following the officer as he got out of his car and made his way to the front door. He was in civvies, so he must’ve been off duty. He walked in and made his way past us to sit on one of the stools at the counter.
The waitress sat a cup of coffee in front of him and said “Mornin,’ Bill. Thought you and Tom’d be fishin’ by now. Sun’s been up. Y’all’r wastin’ daylight.”
“Yeah, Maddie, that’s why I come in. Tom was supposed to meet me this mornin’ at Miller’s Pond, but I was runnin’ late and there weren’t no sign of him when I got there. Maybe he slept in.”
I just about choked on my grits when the thought went through my head that Deliverance Boy could be this cop’s friend Tom. Heather’s eyes met mine across the table, but we just kept on eatin’. Another missing man. The total was rising, even if this particular scumbag deserved what he got.
After two refills of coffee, we went to pay our check. The police officer was sitting next to the cash register. H walked right up and said howdy to him. Dang that woman has acorns under her skirt, I swear. She paid our check, and right as we were about to turn and walk out, the officer said:
“Say, ladies… That wouldn’t happen to be your hot rod out there, would it?”
My grits’n eggs started gurglin’ back up. Sweet momma’s jam on a piece of burnt toast!
“Ya’ like it?” said Heather, as if it were nothin’. My girl didn’t even blink an eye.
“Sure is a mighty fine lookin’ automobile... Know anyone else ‘round these part has one like it?”
“No sir, sure don’t. My girl and I are just passin’ through on our way to The Big Easy. Why, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
“Oh, it’s nothin’. We’re just supposed to keep our eyes out for a red hot rod same make’n model as yours.”
“That so? Someone else has a Mach 1 Stang ‘round here? Hell’s Bells, Mist. And here I was thinkin’ we had the only V8 beast south of the Mason-Dixon.”
I couldn’t even swallow at this point. It was taking every ounce of energy I had just to keep from throwin’ up.
“Yup… That sure is one fine lookin’ automobile you got there. I ain’t too fond of the color, but that’s just me. Look, if you ladies happen to pass a red hot rod with black stripes that looks like yours, y’all tell an officer of the law, okay?”
“Will do, mister man in blue.”
We left the diner and started walking back towards the Stang, dazed, and wondering what the fuck just happened. Then we saw. Our Stang was now Canary yellow. I should’a been a lot more confused than I was, but I suppose I was getting’ used to the Stang’s lil’ magic tricks.
****
It was gonna be a gorgeous morning. Bright blue sky, wispy clouds with a slight breeze whispering through the giant oak standing beside Maddie’s diner, the sweet smell of bee nectar in the air. God sure must’a been pleased with hisself when he made the south.
Once we were back in the car, we let the top down. It was a perfect day for a convertible.
“H… I been thinkin’.”
“That’s dangerous,” she laughed.
“Fuck you, heifer jean,” I giggled.
“I was just messin.’ Go on, spill it.”
“...We ain’t goin’ back, are we. Not ever.”
Heather didn’t reply right away. I knew the answer to my own question, and I knew that H knew as well. We just never said it out loud. She started up our somehow-now-sunshine-yellow Stang and pulled out onto the highway. We heard nothing ‘fwump-ing’ in the trunk, but to be honest, we didn’t even remember to pay attention to that.
After a few miles we came to a crossroad, and H stopped the Stang right in the middle of the highway. She sat there for several minutes, just staring at the fork in the road, then out of the blue she started reciting a poem. It went somethin’ like this:
“Sun is yet not out, and clock strikes three
Evil spirit released from its misery
Your kingdom falls, in front of your dreams
Darkness surrounds the music you sing
Tune of good flies away with dark wings
In the land of darkness, your soul burns from within
You wake up in ashes, seeing a figure with axes…”
It sent chills up my spine.
“Damn, H,” I said. “You got me all goosepimply now. Thanks, bitch! Where’d you learn that?”

  
“...College,” she said, still fixating on the fork in the road.
The GPS on the dash came on, once again indicating that unincorporated spot on Highway 51 north of New Orleans.
“What do you reckon we’re gunna find there?” I asked.

 “…Don’t know, sugga bugga, but we’ll find out, won’t we? Stang wants us there, so it’s there we go whether we want to or not.”
Heather put the Stang back in gear and kept driving...