Sunday, October 2, 2011

Love Your Car

After writing such a dark and intense novel as Glorious, I was in the mood to write something light hearted and fun.  I wasn’t sure exactly what it was I wanted to write about but I knew it’d be something quirky in an Alfred Hitchcock kind of way. 

The solution came to me one afternoon at a friend’s house.  We had all gotten together for a barbeque. The four of us were sitting in the kitchen talking and drinking wine while the guys were outside grilling.  Shortly after our second bottle was passed around, another friend of ours arrived driving a 1964 Mustang. Red, of course.  The car was in cherry condition, absolutely beautiful, and as we stood at the window watching our guys admiring probably the greatest muscle car ever built, one friend (I can’t remember which) said, “they’d screw that car if they could.”

And hence, Marilyn was born.

The theme of a haunted car isn’t new. Stephen King did a brilliant job with Christine.  The Twilight Zone once aired an episode of a haunted Model T that forced its owner to tell the truth.  I even vaguely recall a pathetic television series that aired back in the 1960’s called My Mother the Car.  I, however, didn’t want to write about a car that mangled people, or mothers who had been reincarnated as vehicles. I wanted to write about a car that could screw the daylights out of its owner.  And I did, snickering in adolescent glee all the way.

Marilyn (named after the legendary movie star) is a 1958 Edsel Citation uniquely haunted by two amorous ghosts. Vinnie, the owner, local thug and hot rod king, and Chloe, the beautiful Marilyn Monroe lookalike died while performing a sex act during a high rate of speed.  Their spirits attached to the car, as well as their sexual energy, thus making Marilyn every teenage boy’s fantasy car.  Of course, Marilyn isn’t all fun and games. She does have a dangerous streak, as witnessed in the rest stop scene, and when Carol Ann is carjacked.  But over all, Marilyn is quite affectionate. So affectionate, that Bobby ends up chaffed!

I really had a great time writing this book and I hope that fun shines through to every constant reader who downloads it.  In the meantime, have a little taste of what Marilyn offers:

“Just how jealous of us are you?” she asked Marilyn. “Are you going to turn yourself on and pin me to the wall? Are you going to run over me?” She smiled down at the car. “If you do that, then Bobby will really hate you. He’ll send you to the crusher in revenge.”
Marilyn, of course, said nothing.
“You’re not going to do anything,” Carol Ann said, her confidence returning. “You’re just an old piece of junk with a dead bimbo painted on your ass. Just like your namesake, there’s nothing real about you, is there?”
Carol Ann got into the car, slamming the door soundly. As soon as she sat down she felt a strange tingling sensation move up her spine, as if someone with a long fingernail was tracing her backbone from the back of her neck all the way down to her tailbone, then lingered there.
Carol shifted in the seat, clearing away the odd but vaguely pleasant sensation. She sat, puzzled as she felt something, a hand maybe? Slide between her legs. Carol Ann relaxed into the seat and spread her legs. The rubbing increased. Carol Ann didn’t know whether to scream or moan with pleasure. Instead, she sat there, gritting her teeth, feeling a strange mixture of excitement, revulsion and confusion. The unseen hands went up her shirt, caressing her small flat belly, running up along her flanks, up to her breasts. The radio switched on, Floyd Cramer’s Last Date poured from the speakers under the dash.
“Cut that out,” Carol Ann shouted.
The otherworldly sensation ceased instantly. Reality slammed down hard,
Carol Ann stared at the green dashboard. “Oh God, you really are having an affair with Bobby,” she whispered. “You bitch.”
Furious, Carol Ann started the car. She sat for a minute, her head tilted; her brow furrowed, trying to figure out the tele-touch transmission.
I hope I don’t accidentally shove the thing through the garage wall trying to figure the damned thing out, she thought as she pushed a button on the steering hub. Obediently, Marilyn backed out onto the street.
The pre-dawn air was cool and moist as she drove Marilyn down the block. Carol Ann’s hair was damp from the heat and clung to the back of her neck as she drove along darkened streets with the window rolled down. I won’t go too far, she reasoned. Just far enough, but not to the campus, because he’d get suspicious. No I’ll drop her off at the Kroger’s and leave it in the parking lot with the keys in the ignition. That’d do it. She smiled in grim satisfaction. Yes, that’s perfect. It’ll be close enough to walk back without him being any the wiser.
I went for my morning jog baby, I’ll tell him, Carol Ann conspired. And when I got home the car was missing. Someone must have taken it out of the garage while I was gone. They must have found the keys in the kitchen and just drove off with her. Sorry, lover. I must have forgotten to lock up when I left. My bad.
Marilyn’s radio came on without warning. I Like it Like That by Chris Kenner blasted through the speakers. Carol Ann jerked in surprise. She turned it off, but it came back on at once. Carol Ann slammed her hand against the console.
“You’re just full of it this morning, ain’tcha?” she asked Marilyn as she pulled into the Kroger’s parking lot. She parked the car underneath a dull orange street lamp.
She killed the ignition and sat for a moment. I’m doing a bad thing, she thought. Despite how she felt, Bobby loved Marilyn, and when she got rid of her, and he found out, he’d never forgive her no matter how many muscle cars she gave him.
She frowned. Is our relationship worth the price of a car? She wondered. Why can’t I relent and let him have the damned thing?
“Because you’re fucking my boyfriend, that’s why,” she said aloud. “I don’t know how, but that’s what’s going on and I won’t have it.”
An intense sensation ran up her leg, caressing her crotch. Marilyn became stifling hot; the aroma of Chanel and smoke from old fashioned cigarettes was stifling. A feminine giggle came from nowhere. Something ran up her right breast, probing her shirt, trying to find a way in.
Within seconds she was covered with rough obviously sexual caresses, tiny bites and heavy perfume. She lingered in the sensation, alternately frightened and excited at the same time.
After a few seconds of stunned excitement she bolted from the car, leaving the keys in the ignition and the door wide open as she ran as quickly as she could back toward their house.
“I did it, I did it I did it,” she heaved as she ran, hot and sweaty, back home. She leaned against the garage door, panting. “I got rid of it; I got rid of that hideous thing.”
She stepped into the garage and uttered a short shriek.
Marilyn was there, parked in her usual spot, the driver’s side door open. Carol Ann looked inside the car. The keys were in the ignition.
“How did you? How could you? How is it possible?”
Marilyn seemed to sneer around her horse collar grill.

I am giving away a .Pdf copy of Marilyn today.  All you have to do is comment below and answer this one silly question.  If you could haunt a car, what car would it be?


Maria D. said...

I think I would haunt a thunderbird convertible from the early sixties or a new bugati.

Thanks for the excerpt! It's an unusual story idea:)


Na said...

Alfred Hitchcock quirky sounds interesting. I read a lot of dark paranormals but I have found light-hearted ones can really entertain.

If I could haunt any would be a Ford Model T in perfec condition. Even without me haunting it, the car is already eye-catching.

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