I was driving home in my car when I suddenly
remembered an old collection of ghost stories
that I used to have, called The Thing at the
Foot of the Bed. According to the book, some
of the ghost stories were funny, some were
scary, and some were real. They neglect to
remember, however, that to a child all ghost
stories are real. And all of them are scary,
too.
One of the stories -- I believe, the "scary"
ones -- was about a woman who buys a new
car, a car that had once belonged to a big
crime boss who had been murdered in that
very vehicle.
Everyone who buys it, brings it back.
The woman doesn't believe it and buys the
car. Then, one day, as she's driving around,
she sees these eyes in the rear-view mirror -
huge, piggish eyes, and a whiff of cigar
smoke, and rough, bellowing laughter from
behind her.
Of course, when she looks into the back seat,
there's no one there.
She tries to ignore it for awhile, but after
some time, the voice in the back seat
begins to say things to her -- and so she
brings the car back to the dealer.
Everyone who buys it, brings it back.
A pretty stock story. Riddled with cliches.
As adults, we can laugh at these things,
at the Tales of the Hook and the dark,
abandoned road, as the simple, gruesome
terrors of our childhood, the terror of
the half-open closet and the boogeyman
with a hook for a hand are replaced by
the more palpable terrors of our adult
life; the mortgage, the job, the son or
daughter you can't control, aging, and
old age, and death.
These are terrors that are far more
insidious than anything you come across
as a child. They can't be dispelled by
throwing your keys at them, or crossing
the lane, or sticking a sieve over your
doorknob so that the ghost has to count
all the holes before dawn.
Maybe that's why as I glanced in my rear-
view mirror, my heart in my throat for
one moment, feeling that strange old terror,
I felt not so much terrified
as exquisite.
I was, however, glad to get out of
the car and into the light.