This is one of my stories from Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

The 1954 Pontiac had gone through thirteen owners, and all thirteen had died. Now my friend insisted on buying her, even though I tried to talk him out of it.

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Eric’s response to my disapproval of the new-to-him ’54 Pontiac was a jeer. “You don’t s’ppose I’m gonna be victim number fourteen, do you? No way. As a matter of fact, I called her Fourteen, ’cause today’s Valentine’s Day. She and me are gonna go all the way to the top in the Concours d’Elegance classic car competition.”

“You better get life insurance and name me as beneficiary, then. Every guy who’s ever owned this junker has ended up dead.” I pulled out my cellphone and brought up an internet blog I’d bookmarked. “This is why you got it so cheap. Let’s see … Three heart attacks, two muggings, seven ‘unknown causes’, and one suicide.”

He snorted and turned away. “Pffft. Don’t be a wet blanket. You can’t believe everything you read online. She’s over sixty. Of course a bunch of her owners would have died. Heart attacks? Everybody smoked back then. You can still smell the cigarettes in her upholstery. Muggings? Coincidence. Does that blog say anything about the increasing crime rate? And one suicide? Hey, I know people with friends who committed suicide.”

“And the unknown causes? C’mon. You’re trying to rationalize.”

“Nah. Look at her. She just needs someone to love.” He rubbed at a spot of rust on the right fender and didn’t seem to notice when the red paint flicked off. The passenger side leaned at least two inches lower than the driver’s side. The front fender listed in the opposite direction, making the monster look like a hag with lopsided boobs.

I shuddered.

Eric fondled the car the same way he once fondled a girl’s butt in the bar. The girl slapped him. But I swear Fourteen leaned against his hand, and the engine started to purr instead of clunking like an ancient washing machine full of nuts and bolts.

He tossed his jacket into the trunk. “C’mon, I’ll take you for a quick spin.”

I tugged at the passenger door. It wouldn’t budge.

He pouted. “Tsk, tsk, Fourteen. Is that any way to treat one of my friends? He’ll love you too when he gets to know you. Just wait and see.” The door gave way with a harsh groan.

I hesitated, a sense of foreboding slithering up my spine. But I told myself I was being stupid, and I crawled in.

A spring in the seat stabbed my thigh. The frayed seatbelt cut across my neck. The heat vent blasted frigid air into my face: frigid air that smelled like sulfur.

But Eric figured the old guzzler was perfect. He floored the gas pedal. Fourteen vibrated and rumbled like rolling thunder as she sped over the gravel.

Crap! I bit my tongue when I realized I had fallen for Eric’s spiel. Now I thought of the damned thing as female.

Scenery whipped by faster and faster. Dust wafted up from the dirty dashboard. One of the windshield wipers flew off. The other wiper engaged and stopped halfway up, cutting into my view like a knife.

Eric coaxed her up to eighty-five mph on Todeskurven Road, careening around every curve as though he were a NASCAR driver. The scream from her engine grew louder. The smell of burning oil was so strong I could taste it at the back of my throat. Blue smoke burnt my eyes.

I yelled, “Let me out. I’ll hitch a ride. You’re a frigging lunatic.”

He shrugged and skidded to a stop. I got out of that clunker faster than you can say “deathtrap”.

The stench of scorched rubber mingled with the smell of burning oil as she sped away, leaking brake fluid like a blood trail from a wounded deer. He raced up the switchback, a scrambling beetle against the rocky bluff, until he reached the dead end at Lover’s Leap.

The last I saw of Eric, he was piloting Fourteen over the cliff into the river, locked in the evil rattletrap’s embrace.

~*~

Searchers abandoned the hunt for Eric and Fourteen after two weeks.

And when I spotted her in a used car lot the following month, I swear the accursed crate was smiling.

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You’ll find more short fiction like this in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

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