TACHOMETER TRILOGY: Two: DEJA VU

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

A terrifying storm sends Ben Brandon and his classic 1965 Jaguar XKE Coupe into the trunk of a yew tree somewhere in East Anglia. He stumbles into the 'Twilight Zone' of Jasmine Bond's cottage.

TACHOMETER TRILOGY

TWO

Flash Fiction

Nicholas Cochran

ALREADY SEEN

 

Crushing winds roared under a jet-black cloud layer. Six feet of Ben Brandon pressed against the red cottage door. He slid a hand along the door toward the racing-green knocker. Unluckily, while trying to knock and peel himself off the portal, a wicked gust tipped him sideways, short-circuited his balance, and sent him tumbling into the box hedge. He immediately felt skin disappearing from his face. These new cuts joined the major slash above his right temple where his head struck the wooden steering wheel of his extraordinarily valuable ride.

He was literally driving his retirement plan around the back roads of East Anglia. The killer wind easily shifted his classic 1965 Jaguar XKE coupe from one side of the narrow road to the other, where it smacked into a yew tree. Before their divorce, his wife insisted he install seat belts. He complained about devaluing the automobile that Enzo Ferrari designated: “the most beautiful car ever made.” He thought a silent thanks to Ginny. 

The red door finally opened, and remained open. Ben gathered himself, walked out of the shadows into the bright light cast through the open door. A distinct stillness sat in the cottage. He stumbled into the entranceway. He stopped, patted his black crew cut, and looked about for an occupant. He immediately felt an oozing dread telling him he should not be there. The front door slammed. He whirled to view the slammer. He gaped.

She was tall, with natural blonde hair slipping over her shoulders, natural lucent skin, and natural perfect breasts enclosed in long folds of a silver-colored sheath, falling to the parquet floor. She smiled at him with glistening teeth.

“I’ve been expecting you,” softly, sultry, approaching Ben, “don’t worry about your car. It will start again.” She touched Ben’s elbow, gently pointing him toward a deep chair covered in red velvet. The chair sat before a crackling blaze in a mammoth open fireplace. Clanging alarm bells filled his head.

“You’re very kind, Miss . . . ?”

“Bond. Jasmine Bond, and what are you doing on this road at this time in the morning, Mr. Brandon?”

Before he could answer, Jasmine Bond approached his chair. Her dress fell away, revealing a black lace half bra that displayed hardened nipples. Black lace panties concluded her wardrobe. Without warning, she brought her right hand from behind her, holding a long stiletto blade. She cut the surface of her abdomen in the shape of an X . While tiny bubbles of blood coagulated, still holding the stiletto in her right hand, she unfastened her bra and panties. She was naked directly in front of him. Her right hand reached out and tore Ben’s shirt with one slash of her stiletto. Her free hand unbelted his pants. Three more quick slashes and Ben felt the heat of her breath and her blood rubbing against his nakedness. Her lips found his and her tongue dove into his mouth. Searing pain came from his stomach. He drew back. She was smiling while she reached for the stiletto, protruding from his sculpted abs. Smeared blood from both their bodies flew in all directions as she retrieved the stiletto and rammed it into his heart. He choked. He gagged. He blacked out.

Ben blinked. He was drowning in terror and horror. He looked up. The windshield was shattered. Blood flowed from a cut on his temple. Thunder crashed all about while patterns of lightning tore up and down the ebony sky. He remembered the thundering wind lifting him off the road, directly into the unmoving trunk of the yew tree that now hugged the front of the XKE. He coughed. His head hurt. He checked for broken bones. The seat belt saved him. The cut on his temple came from smacking the wooden steering wheel. He sighed and wondered what to do next.

Out of nowhere, came the apparition of the naked woman with the bloody X . His consciousness overflowed with dread. A stiff fear punctured his resolve. It was minutes before he could expel the erotic and kinky sexual actions performed by the goddess of the cottage. The terrifying wind shrieked and howled around him and his wounded Jag. Through the driver’s side window, he thought he saw the shape of a house. It sat alone about fifty feet back from the road.

Ben switched on the headlights to inspect the damage. He returned, switched off the lights, and turned the key. Nothing. He checked his watch. The time stunned him: three twenty am.

He remembered knocking off the hard liquor around eleven. After completing his calculations, he felt an eerie shard of dread. He was unconscious for over two hours. He tried to call Jocelyn. There was no signal.

Again, abruptly, the naked figure of his dreams rushed to the forefront of his mind’s eye. He reviewed her mesmerizing body and bizarre actions. He took several deep breaths, shook his head, and got out of the Jag.

He staggered across the road, fighting to keep his balance. The crushing wind jammed him against the red cottage door with the racing-green knocker. He thought he broke a security beam, because the door flew open. He stumbled into the bright light of the entranceway. He tried to think. Once again, he thought it was probably not a good idea to be in this place. The front door slammed. He whirled to view the slammer. He gaped. She was a tall blond with natural perfect breasts enclosed in folds of a silver-colored sheath falling to the parquet floor. Ben ran past her, wrenched open the door, and fled into the frightening storm.

At dawn, a farmer found Ben Brandon sitting in his 1965 Jaguar XKE. He was shivering, repeating the name, Jasmine.

THE END


Submitted: November 30, 2016

© Copyright 2021 Nicholas Cochran. All rights reserved.

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