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BLACK SEDAN

It simply appears. No matter the time of day or place. Could be outside your home. Or down in the city streets. It draws upon the curious and the careless. You step inside and close the door. It will take you so far off from where you want to go. Bound within the shade of it’s darkly tinted windows.

It does not have a driver, at least not one you can see. It will gather you. Then deliver you. Then gather you again. It is said to be a shuttle to parallel dimensions, other worlds. And perhaps they’re right. May our dimensions align some sunny day…if that is the case.

Yet we have another disturbing ripple within our time and space. A reminder to take your mentis blockers. And a journal we’ve intercepted from one of it’s passengers.

…

I don’t know what I should’ve done. I don’t know if I could’ve avoided it. It was a long day at work. My car was in shop. And too short of a walk home to bother anyone for a ride. Tunnel Lake was a relatively safe town anyway. I’d done it multiple times before this. Though never had I been drawn like a magnet to the back seat of a pitch black sedan, lurking outside the road to my neighborhood. Did I think it was a rideshare?

No. I wasn’t thinking at all.

Something came over me. Like it was suddenly very wrong to be outside. My hand found the door handle without me telling it too. Ears throbbing. Shapes moving in my peripheral vision. Mere seconds and I was seated, buckled in. The car began to pull out from it’s spot. I didn’t check the driver’s seat.

The first stop was Riley’s Chili Dogs, an forsaken restaurant complete with barred windows and cracked paint. The sight confused me, as Riley’s closed four years back and was replaced by a flower boutique. But here it stood with the neon OPEN sign flickering as it always had been. I felt that it was okay to step out if I wanted to. Someone or something had allowed it.

The door opened. I was released. I stepped outside. Stretched my legs. And panic spread like a fungus inside my mind. It wasn’t just the…resurrected Riley’s. The street names. The advertisements. Letters would blur and scramble if I focused on them. And then there was the tendril…in the wastebin…with the eye…

I wrenched open the car door and leapt in my seat like some sad, scared animal. Where was I? What was happening to me?

The car was safe.

The second stop took us further. In the real world, it featured a large central fountain with park benches and botanical gardens and shady trees. Ursary Park. A ten minute drive from my house. A 17 minute drive from Riley’s. A several hour drive for us.

I didn’t get out of the car for this one. Only stole glances out the window at the vacant spot where the fountain should be. No trees or benches. Just a wide concrete disk in the middle of dust and sand. Which stretched out for miles. Familiar landmarks I knew either didn’t exist anymore or were warped beyond comprehension. They could not be trusted.

Stop three, four, and five taught me that it was (sometimes) good and (sometimes) necessary to get out of the car. Think about those lengthy road trips you took with your parents. You gotta get out and loosen up the muscles. It’s like that. And then you get back in when you see the man with no face cross the parking lot while reading a newspaper.

Though I couldn’t stray too far or too long. There were boundaries. Cross one and I’d find myself waking up in the car again, halfway out to our new destination. Six, seven, eight, nine…

I can’t remember when I had eaten last. And that was starting to take up a piece of my worry rattled brain. The car deposited me in front of a quaint, two story, family home. Home. A house. The first house in a long line of strange and even stranger locations.

It felt safe. And weirdly, it felt normal. The old normal.

I knocked on the door. The mom was there to greet me, a bit too excitedly. She was a small woman in a button down, jogger sweats and a blue apron. The dad flashed a smile from the kitchen. He spooned noodles and vegetables on a ceramic plate and handed it to some unseen figure out the bay window. Like a drive through…

They asked me what I was doing here. Where I came from. Could they serve me a bowl of ramen. All that good stuff. I sat at their table with a loss for words. Not just the first house, this was also the first human contact.

I tried to explain the black car I was inexplicably tied to. And how I didn’t know if I’d been riding for days or years. And how I couldn’t seem to get back home. I broke down. The mom stroked my arm. The dad had sad eyes.

They told me their daughter had also disappeared in a black car several years ago. They kept waiting to see if she’d make her way back. They’d heard stories from the Silver Report about alternate dimensions, doppelgangers, psychic attacks…

They hoped for impossible things. And still did even now.

After the bowl, I did feel better. At least a little bit. They offered me a room downstairs for the night. Stark white walls. No furniture but a couple of wooden chairs laid out awkwardly in the middle. And then the bedroom. The bedroom was blue. And the sheets were crisp and smelled like soap.

I was warm.

I was safe.

I closed my eyes.

I think I woke up in the black car again after that…but honestly, I’m not sure.

Does it matter?

#black sedan #the golden report #issue 52 #original #surreal #writing #unreality #weird #dark

New Music: Laura Lang - Black Sedan

New Music: Laura Lang – Black Sedan

Laura Lang is a Memphis, USA-based singer songwriter who has just featured in Jane’s round-up of new grunge music Grunge Forever #2. We’re so taken with her here at York Calling that I wanted to share another one of hers. It’s called Black Sedan. (more…)

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#authentic #Black Sedan #delicate #emotion #exciting #folky #indie folk #Laura Lang #Memphis #singer songwriter #sophistication #storytelling #world-weariness

Contact ‘Elite Chicago Limo’ for experiencing the best Town Car Service in Chicago. For bookings, call us at (312) 201-1055. Or visit our website https://www.elitechicagolimo.com/

#limo service #limo car #black sedan

C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud, a.k.a., C.H.U.D. 2, a.k.a., C.H.U.D. II (1989)

#c.h.u.d.#gunpoint #overeager #black sedan #wagon wheel