HICKORY HILL AUTO GRAVEYARD
Tom Arbino
A.J. felt nervous energy roll up his spine, for he knew that what he was doing was wrong. He glanced out into the junkyard, and he thought for a moment that something was there. He worked fast to get the fuel line free from the carburetor that he trying to steal, but a bolt was rusted in place. As he gripped the wrench even tighter, a breeze rolled by him. Within that gust he detected the hint of gasoline, which was an unusual odor to be coming from stacks of decaying cars that were devoid of petroleum.
“Forget it. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Hank looked off into the dark junkyard while holding the flashlight.
“Shine that on the engine,” A.J. said.
“I don’t like the feel of this place. I think we should get out of here,” Hank said.
“Really. A Camaro carb isn’t going to work on TA anyway,” Larry said.
“Yeah it is. It’s the same car.” A.J. said. He felt another breeze curl around him, but this time the odor of gas was even stronger. He gazed off into the yard, but all he saw was darkness.
The area of the junkyard that A.J. was working in didn’t have many stacks of cars. The autos in this section were new arrivals, which were cars that haven’t been stripped of their useable parts yet. The fenced property ran close to a mile, and if the owner caught him he would get an ass full of rock salt delivered by a twelve gauge shotgun.
Just then, he heard something creak just to the right of him. He watched Hank shine the flashlight in that direction, but all he saw was other wrecked cars. He returned to the carburetor, grabbing Hank’s hand and holding the flashlight over the engine.
A.J. (Andrew James) Worthlin just turned twenty-one. He was a bit tall, slim, and light complected. He had long dirty blond hair and a beard. He had gothic and heavy metal style tattoos running down each arm. He always hated his high-pitched voice, but he made no effort to hide it. Yellow stained his teeth and the front two were bucked. He wore boots, greasy jeans, a Black Sabbath T-shirt, and a Miller baseball cap.
“Something’s over there,” Hank said.
“I didn’t see anything,” A.J. said.
“He’s right. I think we should get out of here,” Larry said.
“It’s just that joint that we smoked before we came in here. Relax, I’ll have this off of here in five minutes.” A.J. said.
“We’re not going to be alive in five minute.” Hank glanced over his shoulder for longer than a moment.
“Where in the hell’s that quarter inch wrench? I just set it down.” A.J. questioned.
“How would I know,” Hank said.
A.J. looked up from the engine, and then said. “Come on, quiet fucking around.”
“We’re not...” Hank began.
Just then, the wrench come sailing at the Camaro that A.J. was working on. Before he could flinch, the tool hit the car with a resounding ping. He felt his heart race, for he knew that somebody else lurked in that junkyard. As he scanned the direction from which the wrench came, he witnessed a funny colored light move next to an old Mustang. Though the radiance lasted only a few seconds, he realized that it wasn’t caused by an artificial source. When Hank held the auto in the flashlight’s beam, he recognized just whose vehicle that used to be. He said, “That’s G.W.’s Mustang.”
“He was really flying on that night,” Larry said.
“I always knew that he would total it in a drag race,” Hank said.
“I wish that front end wasn’t all smashed in like that. That was a hot car when he was running it,” A.J. said.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Hank said.
“Just give me five more minutes,” A.J. said.
“That wrench came flying in here because you’re stealing a carburetor,” Hank said.
“Somebody’s out there in the yard,” Larry said.
“Nobody’s out there. Now hold that light over the engine. I could’ve been done by now,” A.J. said.
“Somebody had to throw that wrench,” Hank said.
“Forgot throwing it. How in the hell did they take it in the first place? We were all standing right here,” Larry said.
“Just help me with this.” A.J. seized Hank’s hand and brought the beam over the block. As soon as the light was shining on the carburetor, he felt a current of air envelope him. Despite detecting the reek of gasoline in that waft, there was a second tang that he just couldn’t place. He worked with greater fervor, prying the fuel line free from the carburetor. When he picked up another wrench, he heard that Mustang turn over.
“No fucking way.” Hank shined the flashlight on the Mustang.
“That car’s totaled.” A.J.’s jaw hung open.
“There’s exhaust coming out of the tailpipe but it’s totally fucking mangled,” Larry said.
A.J. jolted as the engine revved up in steps, and each one sounded more menacing that the first. Panic tingled on the surface of his skin, causing him to shudder beyond anything that he had experienced before. The thuds became the purring on an idle, and even that disturbed him. Just as he calmed down a bit, the engine opened up all the way. While producing a huge cloud of smoke, the roar changed the color of his complexion. In the next moment, the engine died.
He heard his teeth chatter, and he tried hard to stop quaking. As he gazed at the car, he noticed a light leave the vehicle. The glow traveled off into the junkyard, pulsating and changing shape with each passing moment. Once the radiance got about twelve feet away, it vanished.
“I-I’m out of h-here.” Larry gathered up the loose tools and buttoned up the toolbox fast.
“Let’s go.” Hank shined the beam on the box.
“Just give me a minute. I almost got this carburetor off,” A.J. said.
“It’s not worth dying for.” Larry began walking toward the hole in the fence.
Hank handed A.J. the flashlight, and then said. “If you’re not out of here in five minutes we’re leaving without you.”
When A.J. took the flashlight, his hand trembled. He told himself that the carburetor was only a few seconds away, and the image of his car with two carbs remained in the forefront of his mind.
Twenty minutes later, A.J. opened the driver’s door and then tossed the carburetor and tools onto the floor of the backseat. He hopped in, taking a sip from the beer that he had sitting there.
“So let’s go,” Hank said in a hurried tone of voice.
“All right keep your pants on.” A.J. set his beer down.
“I’m surprised that you walked out of there alive. I’m never coming back here,” Larry said.
“COME ON. LET’S GO,” Hank said.
“All right. You don’t have to get so uptight about it.” A.J. started the car and then shifted into first.
“Put your foot in it man,” Larry said.
“Just relax.” A.J. turned the car around, heading toward the entrance to Hickory Hill Auto Graveyard. The two lane back road didn’t have a shoulder on either side of it, and it wound through the country for miles. The nearest farm was beyond walking distance.
“Who in the hell is that?” Larry sat up and leaned forward so that his torso was in between the two bucket seats.
“Someone who needs a ride.” A.J. downshifted.
“I don’t know about this,” Hank said.
“It’s certainly...” Larry began.
Just then, A.J. saw G.W. standing in the road holding out his thumb. G.W. appeared as a transparent glowing form, and he knew that he wasn’t alive. G.W., only nineteen when he died, had long black hair. He had on jeans, a rock T-shirt, and looked as though he just smoked a joint.
A.J. pushed on the brake with force, stopping the car as fast as he could. He felt the steering wheel vibrate in his hands, and he wasn’t sure that he could hold onto it. He saw G.W. stare into his eyes, and the glare that he witnessed had meanness about it. He realized that G.W. was furious, and he sensed that anger directed at him.
“D-Do something,” Hank said.
“What? He h-has the road blocked.” A.J. fought to avoid pissing himself.
“Back up,” Larry whimpered.
“Yeah, b-back...” Hank began.
Just then, a car went flying by at a great speed. A.J. pissed himself, and then finished his beer and threw the can out the window. The GTO was a wreck from the junkyard, and the back end was totaled out. Though he didn’t see the driver, he knew that whoever was behind the wheel was a ghost.
He no longer saw G.W., but terror still tore through him nonetheless. After opening another beer, he downed it fast. When he shifted into first gear, a strong wind descended upon the vehicle. The reek of gasoline within the gale was strong enough to gag him, and he understood that a storm didn’t cause that gust.
A.J. moved forward, coming to the entrance to Hickory Hill Auto Graveyard. A tall fence stood beneath the weathered sign, and within it he could see the greasy old building that served as both an office and a garage. Two tow trucks were parked in front of the structure, and each of them appeared better than fifteen years old. As he moved past the crane’s rusty boom, terror became ripe in his belly.
Just then, something struck the windshield. A.J. stopped, feeling panic rape him of his sense of well-being. The gust became stronger, allowing him to see only three feet in front of his car. Something else pounded the window, and this time it was hard enough to produce a crack. He said, “SON OF A BITCH.”
“Forget that,” Hank said.
“Don’t tell me to forget it. Somebody just cracked my fucking windshield.”
“Why don’t you...” Larry began.
In the next moment, a baseball came sailing at the windshield. It impacted with
such force that it almost penetrated the glass. A.J. couldn’t tell if the car was shaking or he was. He came parallel with the entrance to the junkyard, and as soon as he did the wind died.
Before he could draw another breath, he heard the sound of an engine roar. As soon as he perceived that big block howl, he knew that it belonged to an old muscle car. He told himself to punch it, but his body remained frozen. He listened to the auto approach the gates, and then he witnessed the entries open on their own. G.W.’s Mustang, despite have a totaled out front end, and came right for him.
A.J. put the pedal to the floor, shifting gears in a harried manner. As he glanced into his rearview mirror, he glimpsed G.W. as he drove his car.
“That’s impossible. That car doesn’t even have an engine. Look at it. He must have been going one-seventy when he wrecked that damn thing,” Larry said.
“Shut up I’m driving,” A.J. said through clenched teeth.
“He’s after you because you stole that carburetor man,” Hank said.
“SHUT UP. I’M DRIVING,” A.J. barked
“Where is...” Larry began.
Just then, A.J. felt G.W. hit his car in the back. While looking into his mirror, he saw G.W. coming in for another shot. He gripped the wheel even tighter, and he wasn’t sure that he could hold onto it. While using his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow, his body jolted as G.W. rammed him in the ass.
“We have to get off this road,” Hank said in an excited tone of voice.
“SHUT UP,” A.J. snapped.
“We can’t outrun him. G.W. has the baddest car in Peaceful Valley. He has three deuces on that thing,” Larry said.
“SHUT UP. EVERYBODY JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP,” A.J. said. He felt G.W. ram him again, and he had to fight to maintain control. He knew that his car wouldn’t go any faster, and he understood that his engine needed work in order to reach top speed.
Before A.J. could flinch, G.W. came around the driver’s side of his car. Looking over, he saw G.W. pull even with him. He gazed into G.W.’s eyes, witnessing him draw his finger across his throat. Before he could react, he felt G.W. thrust his car into his Trans Am. Panic overwhelmed him, causing him to grip the wheel so tight that his fingers were turning red. He saw a tree coming up fast, and he realized that he only had two tires on the road. He perceived G.W. applying greater and greater force, attempting to send him head-on into the tree.
“MOTHERFUCKER,” A.J. shouted. He locked up the brakes, feeling his car thrust him forward and hearing his tires screech. The tree came right at him, and from what he saw it appeared better than three feet around. He grunted while pulling the wheel to the left, pushing with his feet in an effect to get his Trans Am to turn. He gritted his teeth, seeing the oak get bigger and bigger. In the next moment, the wheel turned. His coupe went flying by the tree, but not without clipping the trunk with the right side of his vehicle. The entire passenger side was smashed in, and the window next to Hank was completely spiderwebbed. The auto slid to a stop in the middle of the street, and A.J.
didn’t see G.W. anywhere.
“He was trying to kill us.” Hank gasped.
“Shut up,” A.J. puffed.
“I think we should get out of here while we still can,” Larry said.
“Why didn’t he kill us?” Hank wondered.
“How the fuck would I know. Maybe he thought that he had us. Or maybe he can only go so far from the junkyard,” A.J. said.
“Hit it man,” Larry said.
“He’s right, hit it.” Hank said.
“Give me a minute,” A.J. said.
“You have to bring that carburetor back. That’s why he’s coming after us,” Larry said.
“You’re nuts. There’s no way I’m bringing it back,” A.J. said.
“Who’s car did you swipe it from?” Hank questioned.
“Whoever it was they’re pissed. That car must have belonged to one of G.W.’s friends,” Larry said.
“He can have the damn thing.” A.J. rolled down the window and watched Larry toss it out. He then shifted into first, taking off at a steady speed.
“Put your foot in it,” Hank said.
“We going fast enough. You saw what happened the last time I tried...” A.J. began. Just then, the engine died.
“Man we should’ve never came out here?” Larry glanced out the back window.
“Can you get it started?” Hank said in a stressed tone.
“It’s the damn carburetor,” A.J. turned the key. “It can’t keep up with the engine.” He heard the engine turn but not start.
“Man we’re out in the middle of nowhere,” Larry said.
“Well what the fuck do you want me to do about it?” A.J. pounded on the steering wheel with his fist.
“We’re going to have to walk.” Hank gazed out into the darkness.
“There’s a house about five or six miles up the road.” A.J. opened his door and hopped out.
“We’re never going to make it.” Hank got out.
As A.J. walked along the road, he heard nothing but the sound of his own feet striking the pavement. The wind was still, and the road seemed to wind forever off into the darkness. He pondered several scenarios in his mind, and each one proved insufficient at explaining what happened to his car. He kept going, cursing his Trans Am in his mind.
Just then, the roar of an engine came up from behind him. From the moment that he heard it, he knew that it belonged to a muscle car. By the time he turned around, high beam headlights flooded him. Desperation consumed him, making his body ripe with nervous energy. Before he could take another step, G.W.’s Mustang came bearing down on them. He shoved Hank aside, and said. “RUN FOR IT.”
A.J. darted off the road, watching the Mustang soar right past him. G.W. faked for Larry, swerving hard and striking Hank. He watched Hank hit the car and then go flying up in the air, landing headfirst on the pavement. He puked with force, and then did so a
second time before he was even aware that he was doing it.
Panic came to life in him, and it caused him to run much faster than he otherwise would. He heard G.W.’s tires screech as they came to a stop, listening to him turn around and then burn some rubber as he came back the other way. Glancing back, he watched Larry sprint down the street. He perceived G.W. shift into second, listening to his engine open up. In the next moment, he heard something strike the metal of the car. He didn’t have to gaze back to know what it was.
Just then, those headlights flooded him. He breathed through his mouth, forcing himself to walk at a brisk rate. Exhaustion enveloped him, and it wouldn’t allow him to run any more. He felt his muscles becoming tense, and he realized that his ambling would soon be taken away from him. Glancing back, he saw nothing but light. He could taste the fear that surged through him, and its tang had tar and vinegar flavors to it.
He stood in the middle of the road, turning around and glaring into the light. While trying to see G.W., he viewed only brightness coming at him. He understood that the car was just sitting there, and he wasn’t sure if he could hear its engine or not. He panted through his mouth in a neurotic manner, which caused that tar tang to become many times worse. He puffed, and then said in a meek voice. “I’m sorry.”
He expected to see G.W. come at him, or at least rev his engine. Instead he heard nothing, and the radiance remained unchanged. He gasped, and then said. “I said I was sorry. I’m sorry that I stole that blower from you...a-and those cheery bombs.”
He sensed his body quiver, and he couldn’t get that vinegar taste off his tongue. In the next moment, he heard G.W. rev his engine several times. When he perceived the sound of burning rubber, he spun around and took off running, but his muscles were getting tighter and tighter with each successive step. He said, “You have the baddest car in Peaceful Valley. Do you hear me? I said that you’re the king.”
He heard G.W. shift into second, and he noticed those lights becoming brighter and brighter. The stench of gasoline overpowered him, replacing that tar taste that coated him tongue. He braced himself, believing that he was going to get it in the next moment. He turned off the road, sprinting about ten feet and stopping as he experienced shinsplints. He spun around fast, expecting to observe that Mustang bearing down on him. Instead he witnessed nothing, but the reek of gasoline was even more powerful.
