Rambler, part 1

Peter was the first to get his hands on a car, so we used to go cruising around, smoking cigarettes, listening to the hits on AM radio and engaging in ribald badinage, i.e., trash talk. We rejoiced in our new found freedom, but after a while there was a certain sameness about our nightly perambulations.

Kerr Street to Lakeshore Road to Clarkson to Lakeshore Road  to Bronte to Lakeshore Road to…We then discovered there were only so many times you could cruise the Satellite Restaurant (out of this world food!) or Country Style Donuts.

Photo credit: Christopher Sessums

Freedom was replaced by ennui.

And so, we sought for diversions. We visited beautiful downtown Burlington – once. And then we discovered mooning, which was great fun until Rickie decided to flash an entire K-Mart store on a busy shopping night, after which we decided to lie low for a time. We had also learned that it wasn’t a stunt to pull during the winter months, unless you wanted to show the audience a blue moon.

And that’s why we started tailing people.

The idea was simple; see a car, especially one with girls in it and follow them without alerting them to the tail – which was not that easy to do, especially in a small town, where there was less traffic. It certainly spiced things up, even if a lot of our trips ended at McDonalds or at the Mall.

Early one spring evening, we were heading south on Kerr Street and trying to fight off our boredom when I recognized a vehicle heading north – a black 51 Buick.

“Did you see that thing?” I yelled from the backseat.

“Yeah, that’s an oldie,” Peter said remotely.

“Follow it!” I demanded.

“What for?”

“Just do it.”

Traffic was lighter than usual, so Peter was able to pull a u-ey without consequence and I was able to bring everyone up to speed as we caught up to the Buick at the lights.

“He’s hanging a left on Speers,” Peter said. “You think he’s heading out there?”

“Could be.”

“Hey, maybe we’re gonna see an or-gee at last,” Wimp snickered.

The Buick proceeded west on Speers, with us right behind it. It felt pretty obvious, but there was nowhere to hide; we could only hope the driver (the tall man) was so intent on his destination, he didn’t notice us.

“I don’t like this,” I said. “If he turns right at the Fourth Line, pull into the gas station.”

He turned right.

Rambler Retread (part. 2)

We sat in the gas station parking lot, feeling like total idiots.

“What do you want me to do now?” Peter snapped. “We just can’t sit here, you know; they’re going to tell us to get lost.”

“I’ll go buy a deck of smokes,” Wimp said, getting out of the backseat and going into the station. 

While we were waiting for him, I said: “I’ve got an idea.”

“I was afraid you might.”

“When Wimpy gets back, drive on and pull into the parking lot at Jelinek’s. There’s nobody around, so we can park the car there.”

“And then what?”

“We walk.”

“Shit.”

Image: Bentham Forest-Haunted Dark Forest by Torley Linden

The Buick could only have driven over to the Silo. After a brief discussion, we decided to cut through the woods, rather than approach by the train tracks, where we’d be much more visible (and in danger of any passing trains). It was still cool in the woods, with a few clumps of snow on the ground, so I was glad of my windbreaker – and figured that Wimpy was probably SOL for his “or-gee.”

“What’s that?” Peter said, reaching out and grabbing my arm so suddenly, I had to force myself not to yell. We stood like statues, listening; we could hear a whistling sound, which faded out the longer we harkened to it.

“It’s just the wind,” I said quietly, although I wondered if it might be something else.

We stopped at the edge of the trees, where we were under cover of darkness. We could clearly see the Silo and the remains of the concrete foundation in the reflected glare of the low cloud ceiling; we could also see the base was surrounded by a trio of black vehicles, a big pick-up truck, the 51 Buick and an even larger and longer oldie.

“What the hell is that,” whispered Peter. “That’s not a frickin hearse, is it?”

“That’s exactly what it is?”

“Caddy?” Wimp asked.

“I think not.”

We didn’t see any people around, nor could we hear any voices or any other sounds. After waiting two or three minutes in tense expectation, I motioned the others to step forward – while also gesturing for them to try and be quiet.

We had almost reached the parking area when I caught a whiff of smoke – cigarette smoke.

Whirling around, I saw the Wimpy had a lit fag hanging from his hanging overbite.

“Put it out,” I hissed.

“Why, there’s nobody here,” he answered in a fairly normal tone of voice.

I didn’t argue, I just knocked it out of his mouth and turned around before he could start a fight.

We gathered around the vehicles, which we quickly determined to be empty. The hearse turned out to be a Packard and of even older vintage than the venerable Buick; the truck was a giant Ford F-350, an enormous brute on humungous wheels. A large tarpaulin was stretched over the flatbed at the back and when we walked around, we saw several pairs of feet – bare feet – sticking out from under it.

We stood there stunned for half a minute, then Peter whispered “You think they’re dead?”

“I dunno,” I said, “but I think we’d better get out of here. Now”

But even as I said it, Wimp was reaching for the tarp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I sputtered.

“I wanna see,” Wimp said defensively. 

“We gotta get out of here now!”

Peter had wandered off and was peering into the back of the hearse: “There’s some more in here; you think any more of them are hiding in the foundation?”

“Alright, you guys,” I said, “I’m leaving before they come back.”

“You think somebody killed them?” Peter asked nervously.

“They’re Floaters.”

Peter’s eyes went wide: “Oh shit.”

We took off back to the woods, double-time, but we hadn’t quite made the safety of the trees when we heard the droning sound of something approaching:

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNN…………….

It was too late; way too late.

Rambler, Third Time Unlucky! (Part 3)

Image: Spooky forest by Aslakthaman on DeviantArt https://www.deviantart.com/aslakthama...

Way, way too late.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a whitish sphere hurling through the air, like a snowball, aimed straight for my face; instinctively, I ducked and waited for the impact.

Nothing happened.

I looked up and saw a pair of beady red eyes staring directly into mine.

The eyes were attached to a bobbing head with a pale, consumptive face and flowing black hair. The head opened its mouth, revealing strong yellow teeth and almost choking me with incredibly foul breath. It made a sudden movement forward and I realized with a shock that he –it – whatever, was trying to bite me.

I raised my hand, palm outward, which saved me from injury, as it had nothing to chomp when the jaw came down with a snap. Instinctively, I pushed the head away and heard:

AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

I realized I must have poked one of its red eyes – and I wouldn’t have been sorry if I’d put one of them out!

Not that I’d stopped to think, but ran (and ran into trees), waving my arms madly for protection.

Off to the sides I could hear yelling and swearing, but I was too terrified to even think about helping the other guys; I just wanted to make it to the road alive. As I ran, or tried to run, I kept colliding and caroming off tree trucks but after an eternity (of perhaps 15 seconds), I saw the Fourth Line through a gap in the foliage and decided to take a quick, very quick, look behind me:

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!

The head was upon me in a flash, diving straight at me; I didn’t have time to raise my hands, but did manage to lower my head:

CRR-ACKK!

I saw stars and would have fallen on my ass if I hadn’t crashed into a tree trunk, which succeeded in holding me up. As for the head, it lay upon the ground; the floated obviously knocked out. Seized by a sudden fit of anger, I booted it like a soccer ball and it bashed into side of a thick Maple – and lay there.

“Jesus Christ,” I thought to myself, “I’ve killed it!”

I might have stood on the spot until I took root when Wimp came blundering through the underbrush and barged into me, head down, hands waving in the air as if he was trying to swat something.

He was – a female head.

I found myself thinking, Wimp finally gets a girl interested I him and he pushes her away,  which made me laugh uproariously but I shut up when…

“RUN,” Wimp yelled and he began slamming the palm of his hand into my shoulder, forcing me backwards until my brain caught up to the action and I realized what he was doing – and I turned around and began to stagger, wind milling my arms, towards the road – which seemed a little too far away.

Wimp and I exploded out of the trees, our momentum almost landing us in the draining ditches along Fourth. Wimp jumped over the culvert, but I indulged in the luxury of looking over my shoulder.

None of the heads were there.

Neither was Peter.

And he had the car keys.

“Where the hell…” I started to ask, but was cut off by Wimp’s “I don’t know.”

“We’ve got to go back for him!” I yelled, but Wimp was already charging back into the tree line; I followed.

We found Peter on the ground, head down, ass in air, trying to cover the back of his neck with his arms; two female heads, ugly skanks with lank, stringy hair flowing out behind them as they swooped to the attack. Wimp grabbed a large branch and, using it as a cudgel, swung at them as they scooted just out of range.

“Help me, asshole!” he roared.

Darting forward, I grabbed Peter by the collar of his windbreaker and pulled; fortunately, he was conscious and scrambled up and began running without any further encouragement from me.

“Wimp!” I yelled, and, throwing away the cudgel (which I wasn’t sure was a good idea), came racing after us.

On the other side of the road, we all turned at the same instant and looked back towards the woods: no Floaters in sight.

“Are you all right,” I gasped, grabbing Peter’s arm as if to steady him

“I think so.”

“She bite you?”

“I don’t think so, but the bitch tore my jacket.”

“Let’s haul ass!”

And so we did.