Never Buy a Used Jeep Grand Cherokee by J.S. Lawhead

Never Buy A Used Jeep Grand Cherokee

By J.S. Lawhead

Kyle's car had just died, and the only man he knew of selling any other cars within walking distance was an old farmer who lived way up on the mountain. The farmer was a reluctant eccentric - he had a reputation for the strange that he certainly didn't earn. When Kyle came calling for the car,  the farmer was delighted to get rid of it, but he didn't mince words on warnings.
"As we discussed before," the farmer said to Kyle as he produced the keys, "the car runs good, that's why I'm asking $2,500 for it. The problem is that it's cursed, and that's why I'm only taking $1,300 for it. I want to be rid of it, but I'm only giving it to you to use it for getting to a different car. It nearly ruined me, and I don't know what it will do to you. Take it, and may God have mercy on you, sir."
But Kyle did not listen. He drove his cursed 1993 Jeep Grand Cherokee as far as the road could take him. He drove by many other used cars without even a second glance.
Then one day, just a quarter mile before he got home, Kyle's car stalled on the road and began making a long, drawn-out, wet and bubbling sound.
Then he felt something in the car move and what sounded like the world's loudest fart. Kyle got out to look and could not believe his eyes. His car had somehow managed to defecate an enormous mound on the street. Birds in the sky dropped dead from the smell, and Kyle nearly did the same.
Then he heard something move in it. Kyle didn't dare go any further, but he watched in continued horror as a door swung open from inside it. He could now see a coffin with a half-flesh skeleton inside begin to rise up through the putrid sludge. What he couldn't see was the inscription underneath  it that said "Rest In Loving Peace, Kyle Seaton."
The skeleton sat up in the coffin and turned his mutant head to stare directly at Kyle. The man immediately jumped back into his car, but the key was not there anymore. The skeleton came up to the passenger side window and started banging on it to crack it open. In his rotting left hand, jangling as the revenant pounded, was the car key.
Kyle kicked open his door and ran towards his house as fast as he could. The skeleton followed behind and matched Kyle's speed perfectly. "What do you want!?" he called to the revenant, but the corpse refused to answer.
Just when he thought his lungs would burst, Kyle came to his house and was able to get inside and lock the door before the skeleton could get in too. In fact, the revenant stopped on the front lawn. Kyle peered out the window, and the two watched each other for what seemed like an eternity. The skeleton meandered around on the lawn like he didn't know where he was going.
Finally, he came to a part of Kyle's lawn that had a large hole in it, he squatted down over the hole, made some grunting sounds, and itself expelled something rude and evil into it. It looked like a spiked ball that was set on fire. Then the skeleton took a couple steps forward, collapsed onto the ground, and faded away.
The next day, when he felt it was safe, Kyle went outside to look what was in the hole, but there was nothing. He went back down to find the car, coffin, and mound, but all he saw was a burned out wreckage of what used to be there.
Six months later, Kyle was found dead on the toilet in his bathroom. Something did not pass through his system correctly, and it ruptured his lower digestive organs beyond what his body could handle. He was buried in a coffin much like the one he saw on the road months ago.


About the Author:
J.S. Lawhead is a child of the mystic Smoky Mountains in East Tennessee. Marketing administrator during the daylight hours, part-time computer musician in the evening hours, adrenaline soaked apocalypse maintenant in the darkened morning hours, and sometimes finds time to write hard to publish stories in between.

He is the author of "Vulgarity For the Masses" by Burning Bulb Publishing, a tome that has inspired new generations of readers to take up libricide, and many short stories from one venue or another. Born in 1984 and completely ignorant of his blood type. A practicing Lutheran to the surprise of some.

Check out more of his work at www.meteoxavier.com.