by Jane Woods

Hank Stanley looked out the kitchen window. The dark gloom that the day had begun with was now delivering the promised rain. A satisfied smile spread over his lips. All of the things on the "Honey Do" list his wife had left him this morning involved outdoor activity. Mowing the lawn, trimming the bushes and retouching the paint on the garage door all appeared to be a washout now. That meant that his day off was really all his to do with as he pleased.

He went and sat down in his favorite chair. He'd gotten the coffee colored lazy boy for Father's Day two years ago and he just about had it broken in to fit his lanky form like a glove. He switched on the floor lamp that stood right behind it and reached into the nearby bookcase. He retrieved his latest purchase. A new book by Stephen King called Night Shift. King was his favorite author. Horror was his guilty pleasure and he indulged himself whenever he could. This was real horror, not like those hokey creature feature movies Chet was always trying to con them into watching on Friday nights. He pulled the lever that brought up the foot rest and dove into the first of this collection of short stories. If the rain kept up he might get to read quite a few of them. The weather was setting up the perfect atmosphere for a good spooky story.

By the time he'd read two of the stories he decided he was hungry. He laid the book down and went out into the kitchen in search of a snack. A glance outside told him it was still too wet and nasty to worry about the yard work.

He grabbed a large cereal bowl out of the cabinet and opened the refrigerator. He grabbed a half-gallon of milk and poured a liberal amount into the bowl. No one was here to tell him he couldn't have it or that he was doing things backwards. He liked cold cereal and he liked to put the milk in the bowl first. Then he liked to sink the cereal in the milk so it all got nice and soggy. He'd done it this way since he was a kid and old habits died hard. He opened up the tall pantry closet next to the fridge. His hand closed around the box of Captain Crunch cereal. He'd gotten hooked on it when the kids were small. They were both far too cool for it now. But this was what he ate all night when he was burning the midnight oil studying for his captain's exam. He had a special place in his heart for it. After all, captains had to stick together.

He upturned the box over the bowl of milk. Three crummy little puffs of cereal plopped into the milk and disappeared. Desperately he searched for another box. There were Cherrios, Rice Crispies even some healthy looking stuff his wife bought for him. But there was no more Captain Crunch. Suddenly he had to have some. After all, he'd already poured the milk out and he couldn't let it go to waste. None of the other cereals appealed to him. He'd have to run out to the store and get another box. He put the bowl of milk into the fridge, slid on his shoes, grabbed his windbreaker and headed out into the storm.

It wasn't actually raining at the moment and even if it had been that would not have been his biggest problem. He'd forgotten that he had no wheels. His wife had agreed to drive on the field trip his daughter's class was taking today and you could pile a lot of kids into a van so she'd taken that this morning. He was marooned at home without any Captain Crunch!

Or maybe not. He turned around and looked at the one car detached garage at the end of the driveway. His beloved van had never seen the inside of that garage. Even if it would have fit inside, it would have never been allowed the place of honor. Even the lawnmower and the gardening tools had their own little metal shed in the backyard. Nothing was allowed in the garage except his wife's pride and joy. A 1958 powder blue Edsel. Sometimes he thought that car meant more to her than he did. Other times he was sure it did.

It had been a gift from her father shortly before he died so Hank could understand some sentimental attachment on that basis. It was also the car she and her girlfriends used to cruise to the beach. Okay, we all liked to fondly remember the days of our carefree youth. But her affection for that car even went beyond that. Maybe he was lucky that Ethel was housed in the garage and not him.

He walked down the driveway and opened the garage door. The car sat there in the same showroom condition it had been in as long as he could remember.

"Hello, Ethel." He couldn't help but sneer. "How about you and me go for a little ride?"

Ethel's keys were never out of his wife's possession. But who needed keys? They didn't call him Hotwire Hank in his illspent youth for nothing. He opened the driver side door and reached in under the steering wheel in search of the ignition wires.

He yelped and pulled his hand back suddenly. He had managed to cut  three fingers on some jagged piece of metal hidden under the dashboard. He jammed his fingers into his mouth. God forbid he get any blood on Ethel's white interior. Not a very practical color for a family car. The kids had seldom been allowed to ride in Ethel. Luckily, they were both car-savvy enough to know that not being allowed to ride in an Edsel was actually a favor. Cars were a status symbol in LA since people tended to practically live in them. He even knew people that drove down their driveways to get the morning paper.

When his fingers stopped smarting he reached back in to continue to hot wire the car. Then he slid into the drivers seat to complete the task of starting it up. The powerful V-8 engine purred to life. He put Ethel in reverse and backed out of the garage. He had to begrudgingly admit that today's cars were not nearly as responsive as Ethel was.

He pulled onto the street and put it into first gear. He had to fight the temptation to lay rubber as he had done as teenage hot rodder. He forced himself to drive like a responsible adult to the stop sign at the end of the street. His accelerator foot did get a little heavier as he pulled out onto the boulevard. The traffic was not nearly as busy as it usually was on this main thoroughfare. Only fools braved this weather. Fools and people who had run out of Captain Crunch.

"What are you doing, Hank?" a voice suddenly came out of the radio.

He was startled till he realized that it must be some play or something on the Public Radio Station his wife always listened to. He pushed the button to find another station. Anything would beat this. Well, anything but Jimi Hendrix and the junk his son listened to.

"I said, what do you think you're doing?" the same voice repeated. This time it sounded even more annoyed.

He desperately pushed the buttons on the radio. Don't tell me they don't work, he thought. Everything about Ethel was in pristine condition. He wondered if he had somehow pulled a wrong wire when he was starting the car.

Suddenly it began to rain again. He switched on the wipers. They didn't work either. He was sure he'd come nowhere near the wiring for them. He continued to try the switch. The rain was coming down even harder now. He really couldn't see. He decided he'd better pull over and wait for the downpour to pass.

He tried turning the steering wheel but it was locked up. He tried the brake. The pedal went all the way to the floor but had no affect on his speed. If anything, he was going faster. He took his foot off the accelerator all together. This did not slow him down either.

"All right, Hank, don't panic," he told himself as he tried to figure out what was going on.

Suddenly the unused seatbelt sprang to life, wrapped itself around his waist and buckled itself.

"Hang on, Daddy-o, it's going to be a bumpy ride," the same voice laughed evilly from the radio.

"What the heck is going on here?" he demanded, although he wasn't sure who he demanded it of.

"You wanted to go for a little ride, Hanky. So let's go for one."

"Ethel?"

"That's my name. Don't wear it out."

Hank didn't believe it for a minute. It was like My Mother The Car meets Hal from 2001. This couldn't be happening. Ethel was speeding up.

"Will you slow down?"

"What's the matter, Hanky? Ya scared?"

"Listen, ya twit, the roads are slippery. Are you trying to kill somebody?"

"Maybe....." the car teased him. Ethel pulled onto the freeway of her own accord. When she slowed slightly on the top of the onramp to ease into traffic Hank got the idea of jumping out but the doors locks activated with a loud click. "Ut ut ut. Where do you think you're going, Hanky? We're still having our ride."

Hank slammed his hands down on the immobile steering wheel in frustration as Ethel began to overtake traffic. He was helpless as she weaved in and out of lanes. He watched the speedometer creeping towards 100mph. He was bound to be stopped by a cop. Only Ethel probably wouldn't stop. If she did stop, how could he explain that he had not been in control of the car? He was almost glad he couldn't see out the windshield. His grandmother always said, "What you don't see won't hurt you." He sure hoped the old girl was right.

"Watch out!" he hollered as the back of a semi suddenly filled what he could see of the windshield.

"No backseat driving, Hanky Panky," Ethel wickedly laughed at her own joke.

"Where the heck are we going?" he demanded as scenery whizzed by the window too quickly for him to recognize.

"You'll find out," was all Ethel would say on the matter.

The rain was letting up a little and he could see out the windshield. He now knew where they were. They were heading toward the ocean. The Beach. His wife's old hangout. From the days before she knew him.

Ethel did not head right to the beach as he expected but turned onto Pacific Coast Highway. Before long they were on a stretch of road that was riddled with hairpin turns and sharp drop-offs.

"Be careful," he warned. "You wanna sail off the road and down one of those sheer cliffs?" He tried not to look at the curvey road or the ocean far below.

"I don't. But you just might, Hanky Panky. My anti-lock brakes can stop on a dime but you might just keep right on going through the windshield and on down to talk to the fishies." Again came that evil laugh than made Hank's blood run cold. The fool car was speeding up again, too.

"Are you nuts?!"

"Not me, Hanky Panky. You were the one who came to me in such a distraught state. Who knows what you might get it into your head to do?"

"I'm not about to kill myself because I ran out of cereal," Hank stated firmly.

"That's your story. Too bad you won't be around to tell it."

Suddenly Ethel's power brakes slammed on. The seatbelt released him and he felt himself fly forward. He tried to cover his head with his arms as he went through the windshield. The loud sound of shattering glass and his own voice screaming were the last things he heard.

It was the sound of the lamp hitting the floor that woke him. He was in a cold sweat. It took him a minute to realize that he was safe and sound in his own living room. He must have fallen asleep as he read. His dream had been so realistic that he must have jumped in his sleep, knocking the lamp to the floor and shattering the bulb.

What a dream!

He got up and went to get the broom to sweep it up. His book fell to the floor when he stood up. He reached down and picked it up and put it on the shelf. That was enough reading for one day. Even Stephen King could never come up with anything as weird and spooky as a possessed car that was out to kill people!

He noticed that the sun was now peeking out. Maybe he'd be able to touch up the paint on the garage door after all. Anything to keep Ethel happy.

Let Ethel take you back to the Trauma Center. Just click on her door and get in -- if you dare!