The Terror #wattys2017 #TNTHorrorContest

FIFTEEN....Please click the Pink Floyd link lower right before beginning

              It never occurred to us that there might be a reason we shouldn't be doing what we were doing. It was our playtime, we were experiencing joy and innocence, we were children of the night in our canyon enjoying the freedom that only a child might feel.  That big old Mercury weighed in at about three tons and a good portion of that was on the front of the car where the motor, transmission and gigantic chrome bumper resided.  They don't make cars out of the kind of steel they did in 1956 so when the fifty-seven Harley Pan head hit Dales door it ABRUPTLY stopped moving.

        We could not hear the bikes pipes over the sound of the Mercury, blasting Pink Floyd, and our own joyful screams. The last thing Dale saw was the headlight of the bike before it came through the already cracked driver's side window. Less than a half second later Dale's head was gushing blood in my lap as the chrome front forks of the chopper acted as a scythe forcing its way through what remained of the window.

        I watched in slow motion as the sparkling chrome front end bent then shattered, creating the glistening edge that sliced through my friend's neck.  The force of the blow slammed the car sideways in time lapse photography. Dales still smiling face spun in the air before me, his eyes locked on mine as his inverted head smashed against the passenger window, landing in my lap.  Crimson floated through the cockpit and covered Steve as the rider of the bike now entered behind the chopper.  

        Dales' warmth was still in my lap as the interior of the car was inundated with gasoline from the bikes tank that was followed with the Chopperman's upper torso.  There was screaming, Pink Floyd and the Chopperman's hulking body crashing through, pinning Steve's body beneath him.  Still, Pink Floyd relentlessly played that stupid screaming cunt doing her solo, mixing with the wide-open throttle of the Harley's engine about to explode. And all I could think of was,

        "That's the great gig in the sky"

        The car continued to slide sideways as I tried to get Dales bloody head out of my lap. All the windows blew out of the car and now all I could think of was,

        "GET OUT, I GOTTA GET THE FUCK OUT !!!"

         Finally, the Merc came to a stop and the Harley's engine died and there was a moment of quiet clarity as the Pink Floyd bitch delicately ended her serenade. I reached forward and tried to wake Steve, but he was out.

        The smell of blood and gasoline was over me like a sheet from a slaughter house. I was pinned behind the seat with the dead biker, Steve and headless Dale. For a moment I thought,

        "This is just part of the trip man, this can't actually be happening. wake up fucker, WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!"

                Then I saw it, under the dashboard, under the fucking haphazardly twisted wires under the eight-track tape deck that was playing the last song it would ever play.

                 A spark!

        At this point I stopped trying to get out and scrambled the fuck out through the rear window just as the next spark set the interior of the car ablaze and what remained of that chopper's gas tank went up like a bomb....