The Yellow Chevelle

Dawn had barely made its self visible when the drizzle set in, ruining my plans of being the first to arrive at the yard sale four blocks over.  On my way home from the graveyard yesterday evening, I noticed the homeowners setting up the tables that were holding knick-knacks and old, used kitchen appliances. Next to the wooden privacy fence on the other side of the well kept yard was a king sized orange blanket spread out on the lawn with neatly arranged symmetrical rows of blue jeans and T-shirts.  Behind the blanket, a clothesline was hung between two giant, shady elm trees and hanging from it was a shimmery, silver dress that was begging to be snugly fitted onto my vibrant body.

I would have stopped immediately to purchase the dress but I had not seen the need in taking my purse with me to the cemetery – the smug groundskeeper had yet to supply a vending machine or set up a souvenir shop so money was not a necessary item.

Although I assumed the yard sale would be rained out and postponed, I decided to venture the four blocks just to check.  That voluptuous dress and my body were more than anxious to make each other's acquaintance.

Backing out of my driveway is an action I have performed well into the thousands of times – all without incident.  This drizzly morning proved to have something else in store for me other than the ordinary.  I had not realized the sole of my tennis shoe was wearing thin, leaving one with less traction and gripping action than I was accustomed to.

As I steered the rear end of my red '67 Camaro out of the drive and onto the street, my right foot slipped off the brake pedal and before I could regain control, I crashed backward into the front of my neighbor's bright yellow '69 Chevelle, busting out the driver's side head light.

Instantly, I maneuvered the gearshift into park and turned off the ignition, all the while knowing by the time I spoke with the Chevelle's owner, my dream dress would be history, as the drizzle had given way to the rapidly rising bright sun.

The car owner's son, whom I had never met or even seen for that matter, invited me in just before yelling through the medium sized home for his father.

"Hey Dad, some lady is here and wants to talk to you about your car."

Just as quickly as the young teen had answered the door, he disappeared around the corner into the kitchen where I could hear him slurping down the milk from his bowl of cereal.  I glanced down at my watch and had to blink a few times to readjust from the difference in lighting.  At first, it seemed the second hand was moving in five second intervals, but once I had an opportunity to set my vision straight, it appeared to be advancing normally.

My mind was busy shifting from the dress to the yellow Chevelle when my neighbor rounded the corner from the hall to the entryway.  Startled, as my thoughts were elsewhere, I released a small gasp and nearly fell over my own feet while I stumbled backward.  Had he been properly clothed, I may have remained stable on my feet, but the sight of my neighbor with nothing more than a tan towel wrapped lightly around his waist was more, or less, than I had bargained for.

Gathering my composure, I apologized for being startled and began explaining why I was intruding on breakfast.  During my detailed description of how I wreaked havoc on the front driver's side of his customized classic automobile, he peered through the blinds covering the window in his living room just feet from where I stood in the doorway.

Before I had a chance to explain that the blame for the crash belonged to the worn out sole of my tennis shoe, he commandeered me into his bathroom.  With a devilish grin I had only seen on the faces of Stephen King's evil characters, he reached behind his back and locked the door, never taking his bulging eyes off of me.

Not really knowing what to do – whether I should freak out and start screaming or remain calm and keep explaining how I accidentally backed into his car – I nervously looked away from him and began stuttering.  Like a jester on crack, he started darting sideways from the locked door to the shower, back and forth, back and forth, never allowing his eyes to drift onto something other than me.

"Get in the shower," he snapped, still darting back and forth, scrutinizing me with his sharp, penetrating gaze.

I did not move.  Instead, I offered him my insurance information.

"GET IN THE FUCKING SHOWER!"

Frightened out of my mind, I decided I had better do as he demanded, so I reluctantly took one step toward the bathtub.  The water mysteriously turned on and started spraying out from the shower head behind the green vinyl curtain.  Steam from the hot water began to rise and encompass the crowded room.

Before taking another step, I glanced in his direction and naively pleaded to him with my eyes to open the door and allow me to leave.  I could tell by the demonic and mischievous smirk beaming back at me that I was not getting what I wanted.

Time was running out for me to devise a plan of escape.  I could not decide if I should get in the shower, pretending to obey, or if I should act like I was going to get in and then make a run for the locked door.

Just before I could take a step toward the green vinyl curtain, he reached out and grabbed me by my hair, pulling me into his horrid, semi-naked body.

"If I have to tell you one more time to get in the mother fucking shower, you will regret it, Sweet Cheeks," he muttered in my ear through his partial set of decaying teeth.

Letting loose of my hair, he shoved me in the direction of the bathtub and caused me to stumble.  I reached out for the nearest thing to grab hold of.  The green shower curtain came crashing down while still intact with the thick aluminum rod.  As if I had graduated at the top of my charm school class, I released my hold on the curtain and grasped one end of the rod.  With all my might and all my adrenaline, I swung the curtain rod like a major league baseball player.  Instead of cracking the bat with a ball, I cracked his head with the rod and down he went.  I became a crazed maniac with my defense mechanism in overdrive and continued bashing him over the head a few more times before lunging over his convulsing body, which was now void of the towel that was once wrapped around his disgusting waist.

My shaking hand firmly grabbed the doorknob and attempted to turn it, but it did not budge.  As the ugly, contorted body on the bathroom floor began to wriggle, I became even more desperate and eager for a way out.  Just as I switched the lock position and turned the knob, the door flung open and I raced past the threshold.

I had not made it very far when the monster from the bathroom wrapped his long, skinny fingers around my left ankle.  Determined to escape from my neighbor's house, I began dragging his bloody body through the hall.  Finally, I was able to shake him loose and I darted out the first exit I came across.

Finding myself in an unfamiliar backyard, I quickly scanned the area for all possible ways of escape.  To my right and about midway out stood a swing set that was half corroded with rust.  To the right of it and up against the fence was a dilapidated wooden fort that looked like it had been deserted even before it was built.

Off to the left were remnants of old, non-running junk cars which were barely visible through the tall grass growing amid and around them.  In the far left corner of the dump of a backyard were piled up bags of garbage providing a makeshift ladder to climb to the top of the extra high chain link fence.

The garbage bags were all but sturdy since they had been tossed out without being closed, but I managed some fancy footwork, bypassed the heavy stench of rotting food and dove over the top – finally free.

Upon making contact with the pavement in the alleyway, I conjured up what little bit of energy and adrenaline I had left and took off running – only to discover both of my legs had been shackled to the fence on the opposite side of the garbage pile.

My 75 year old grandmother, who had been long gone for 13 years appeared in the alley from out of nowhere and came limping over to me.  For as long as I could remember, Granny walked with a limp as the result of her son heaving her into the garage where she landed on her knee – damaging it permanently.  The drizzle had returned and the surrounding sky had turned a flat gray.  The ground was wet enough to cause concern about Granny slipping on any present oil spots so I begged her to be careful.

I looked back to where I had just hopped the fence expecting to see my despicable neighbor chasing after me, but other than the decomposing garbage and junk, the backyard was empty.

Turning back towards Granny, I told her, without making a sound, to call the police.  By the terrified look on her face and the direction in which her eyes were staring over my shoulder, I knew trouble would arrive before the police could.  I whirled my head around just as he approached the fence, blood running from his cracked head and dripping from his busted lips, devilish grin still taunting me.

"Give my grandmother the key, you creepy bastard!"

"Oh, you want to be released?  What, you don't like it here with me and m'boy?  Here.  Here's your fucking key, bitch!"

With both of his gnarly hands, he slung at least 50 keys – each one identical to the other – over the fence where they flew, bounced, and landed in every direction.

I felt completely helpless watching my overweight, deceased grandmother scramble for the keys that were strewn at least five feet to the left and right and every other which way.

"Try one of 'em, Granny.  Maybe you already have the right one."

"Kris, hold still.  I'm having a hard enough time fumbling through all the keys with these old, feeble hands of mine."

With a sinister sneer, my hideous predator bellowed, "How foolish you are to rely on this clumsy old bat!  Her abilities are as defunct as her wrinkled hands."

Not too far off in the distance, a clap of thunder erupted, providing a warning that heavy rain was approaching.  Granny's hands faltered simultaneously with the disruptive boom causing the keys to tumble to their original location in the alley.

"Just as I said, the old bitch is worthless!"

Tears began to stream down my grandmother's already wet cheeks while volatile anger started to rise from the pit of my stomach.  How dare this wretched freak belittle her!

The moment I bent down to assist her in picking up the dropped keys, the raving lunatic scaled the chain-linked fence and crashed on top of me, forcing my fragile vulnerability to the ground.  The loud thud of my body preceded a streak of lightning that was followed by another round of murderous thunder.

The violent collision slammed my head to the pavement where it laid dizzy under his bony knee.  Hard pellets of heavy rain fell on my distressed, exhausted body – diluting the little bit of resilience I had left.

Very near surrender, I closed my eyes in un-triumphant shame.  Repetitive flashes of electricity streaked across the dismal sky just as I heard my grandmother wail.

"Kris!  Don't give up!  Don't let this bastard win!  Get up!"

The encouraging tone of her voice ignited the last flame I had left.  With frantic abandon, I flailed my arms like Helen Keller would have in a turbulent sea.  I used my one free leg to kick in every possible direction.  An obnoxious pain discharged throughout my leg as my knee slammed chaotically into his still bleeding head.  Ignoring the agonizing discomfort, I continued to bash my assailant's head until his vulgar, distorted body cringed in defeat.

As if she were playing out a heroic scene in an action-packed horror flick, Granny miraculously fitted the correct key in the leg shackle and freed me from my repulsive neighbor's evil clutch.  A radiant sun parted the storm clouds, the thunder dissipated, the rain disappeared, and the ground below our feet instantaneously dried.  Above our heads, wrens chirped in glorious unison, signifying our victory.  Children in adjacent yards played tag, running and laughing and enjoying life.

All was beautiful until the sound of a furious shotgun pierced our ears, canceling out the children's laughter and the birds' praising song of conquest.  Whirling my head back to the yard I had just escaped, I fell victim to a mortifying state of shock.  Standing next to my neighbor's crippled body was his teenage son holding a .12 gauge sawed off shotgun and wearing my dream dress!

Infuriated by the sight of dark, hairy legs being barely covered with a dress belonging on my body, I lost my breath and had to reach out for support from my granny before collapsing.

"Hey, Baby.  Like the way this slinky dress shimmers on my body?  C'mere and I'll let you try it on.  You know you want to."

Disgusted, I spun around, hoping to rest my unbelieving eyes on anything other than the pathetic sight of a good dress gone bad.  Upon doing so, I noticed my grandmother had disappeared from the alley.  I bolted from the ghastly freak clothed in my dream dress and made my way around to the front of the house.

Parked across the street from its original location sat the yellow Chevelle, drops of rain water splattering on the ground from the bent metal headlight frame.  An unfamiliar force wrapped comfortable around my anxiety-filled body and coerced me toward the damaged muscle car.  Each step I took caused my breathing to become more shallow.  Within a mere few feet, a rustling from a nearby field of winter rye grass caught my attention and altered my shallow breathing to one large gasp.

There he was – my neighbor in all his nasty nakedness, smirk beaming from his grotesque face.  I could not believe my eyes!  With his left hand, he reached down into the knee-deep grass and, by her hair, pulled my mother's head up from the ground.  A look of severe pain covered her pale face and a muffled scream escaped from her swollen and bleeding lips.  Before my brain could deliver a message to my legs to bolt madly to her defense, the reality of the scene became more obnoxious.  Not only was he assaulting her from behind, he was raping her – anally.

A crowd began to gather behind me as well as on both my left and right sides.  With one final absurd lunge, he drove hard and deep inside my mother, yanked her head back as far as it would go and cried out in pleasured pain.  Blue mascara from my mom's long lashes ran down her cheeks, mixing with the rain and her salty, distressed tears.

As he tossed her used body into the blood-stained grass, the alarm on my clock buzzed, notifying me it was six a.m. and time to rise and shine.