Cars- they never do what they are supposed to, unless what they are supposed to do is strand you in inconvenient places or eat your money. I was very unhappy with my car as I tapped on the peeling paint of the door in front of me. This place looked so abandoned that I would swear no one could possibly live here, but you never know.
When no one answered, I pushed on the door, found it unlocked, and went inside. The inside was as derelict looking as the outside. I thought I saw someone in the kitchen, though, and I said, “Hello?” and went in that direction. There was no one there. Funny, it had looked just like a guy with a well-oiled duck tailed hairdo, blue jeans and a white t-shirt. But, well, I just caught a flash out of the corner of my eye. Maybe I had caught my own reflection in the window- I was wearing jeans and a whit shirt, and my imagination is legendary.
The kitchen only held a rusty sink with a dripping tap, a slightly dusty oil-cloth covered table, and an old- fashioned refrigerator with rust spots all over it. I could see out the back window, though, and it looked like a junkyard out there. There were at least a dozen old cars back there, with vines growing all over them and weeds knee-deep around them. Funny, though, how none of them looked smashed. They were all whole, just rusty and tied in place by Mother Nature.
The house was completely silent, and I decided that there must be no one here. As I walked back toward the front door, I glanced up the stairs, For a moment, the dust that was swirling around from me walking on the floor looked like a man in a driving duster, cap and goggles from the early 1900’s. It looked weird, but was gone as soon as I thought I saw it.
This place really had my imagination going.
I heard a slight thumping from upstairs and decided to make one last try at seeing if anyone was home. Maybe the owner of the house was elderly and had fallen or something and needed help. That would explain the dust and neglect.
I went up stairs. The stair carpet was so old and dirty that the pattern was completely obscured. Clouds of dust came up with each step I took, and I was sneezing by the time I reached the top of the stairs. I turned down the hall. There were several open doors lining it, and I looked in each one in turn. Empty rooms, dusty old dressers and rusty bedsprings- there wasn’t even anything here to interest a flea market salesman.
I was thinking that what I heard must have been a rat or maybe a bird caught in a room, because there was nothing here. I turned around to leave and saw a flash of dark blue suit and fedora turning into a room. This place was starting to creep me out seriously, but I had to pass that room to get to the stairs, anyway.
I trotted back down the hall and peered into a room that I had already looked into. From this angle, I could see what I had missed earlier. The owner of the suit and fedora was nowhere to be seen, but there was an old man, sitting in a rocking chair looking out the window. My car, stalled out on the main road, was in plain sight. He was just sitting and rocking.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “But my car has broken down. I need to call for help, and I didn’t know what else to do. I did try knocking.”
The man looked at me and smiled toothlessly. “I know,” he said in a quavering voice. “I was watching you come up.” He kept on rocking.
“Ah- do you have a phone so I can call for help?” He was making me even more nervous.
“No, I never felt the need to call out to the world. It just comes to me.” He gestured to the window.
I looked out, and saw a collage of images from the road to the house. There were all the cars I had seen in the back, but fresh and new looking. There was even a horse and buggy and a farm wagon. The 57 Chevy, the Cadillac with tail fins, a car that looked like it would belong to a mobster in the Roaring Twenties and Prohibition Thirties, were all there. I saw a Model T, a Model A, and a beautiful candy apple red Mustang, all souped up and looking ready for a race. A hot rod was up close to the house, and as I looked, a man with a well-oiled ducktail and blue jeans with a white t-shirt got out of it and walked towards the house. People were getting out of the other vehicles now. I saw a man with a duster, cap and goggles, and another man with a blue suit and fedora. There were a flapper, an old fellow in overalls and straw hat, and a man in a dapper suit with a high tight collar and bowler hat. They were all flooding towards the house, now.
Panicked, I turned and ran. The old man was laughing maniacally as I pelted down the stairs and out to my car. The lane was dusty and empty as I ran back down it- none of the cars, none of the people were there now, just dust and weeds.
My car started as soon as I turned the key and I sped away.
I made it home safely, and everything seemed normal, but, well, my days seem kind of foggy, and not quite real. Maybe it’s because I’m not sleeping well, because of the dreams.
I keep having dreams about that house and all the people. They seem to be living in it, and I seem to be living there with them. It’s awfully crowded. Funny, huh?
