Chapter 4 - The Haunted Soda

Feeling the loss of the

gin and Fanta, we made

a dour group, especially Smithers,

once again rebuffed by Lola.

"You should pull yourself together",

I told him, "You never

let a woman see you

like that!" Smithers looked at

me and asked, "Like what?"

"Dejected and spiritually gelatinous", I

snickered. Mary snuggled up to

the steering wheel, driving hard

and muttering imprecations directed at

the traffic, the weather, and

, apparently, me. I was shocked!

"What have I done, Baby?"

I pawed at her solicitously.

"You're sitting next to me,"

"It's that bad, is it?"

She swerved, throwing me against

the car door. I hit

my funnybone and remembered why

I loved her so much.

And thus, through the night

, amidst the meaty snores of

of Smithers and Lola, who

were sleeping the sleep of

the not so just, Mary

and I exchanged affectionate insults

as raced towards an uncertain

future in the Pacific Northwest.

Soon I too fell asleep.

The brilliant South Dakota dawn

was missed by all, as

Mary pulled into a gas

station just outside of Sturgis.

The can felt cool against

{Is the can in #37--a can? or is car just misspelled?}

{If it's a can, where did it come from - we left the Fanta in Chicago. And if it's the car, of course it felt cool, it's January in South Dakota! You ever suffered a January in SD?}

From #37: . .

the seat covers where Mary

discovered it while fishing for

a quarter that had fallen

from her lucky back pocket.

"Another Fanta brought to light

. These sodas are like rabbits.

but generally much less furry.

" And with that observation, she

promptly fell asleep while I

popped the tab and let

the clutch out slowly. Lola

awoke with a luxurious stretch

, yawned and looked at me.

"Hm," she said, "those eyebrows

look mighty evil." In response,

Smithers grabbed and tickled her,

then dodged a blow from

Mary. 'I'm sleeping here." she

yelled at the top of

her voice," Do you mind

packing it in." She winked

at me, as I speeded

, or sped, if you insist,

through the congested traffic of

Gillette, Wyoming, pop minus two,

temp minus twenty. One horse

towns disappear quickly in the

heartland but there was something

familiar about the place. I

looked around and immediately saw

a rusted metal Fanta sign

hanging on a barbed wire

fence, outside a cheese factory.

"Strange, there's just something about

that sign. Stop!" Smithers commanded.

A sense of dread was

heavy in the car. Smithers

reeked of spoiled camembert and

caramels. "Is that your cologne?"

I enquired, gagging slightly. "No,

" said Lola, "His idea stinks.

Remember, The Senator was Mayor

of some little Wyoming town

before moving to Walla Walla!

If you stop here, we

could investigate the Senator's past

and perhaps dig out some

clues, but I don't like

to overstay our welcome. Let's

park out of sight and

hope the Black Hand hasn't

already dispatched someone on our

tail." Mary looked mulish. "My

psychic freckles tell me that

this could be a waste

of time, but wait! "Do

you hear something out there?"

Smithers listened intently and then

said "Just the sign, squeaking

as the gusty wind pushes

it." "Drive!" screamed Mary, "Drive

now! They're coming!" Her face

was slowly assuming a purplish

hue as she forgot to

spit out her gum. I

slapped her back and asked

"Who's coming? Quick, tell me!"

She collapsed, weeping on my

shoulder, interfering with my steering.

"Outside. The sparrows. They're everywhere."

(To see where we might be going with this, google Psychopomps or look in the Literary Criticism for the Collective thread)

I crashed through the barbwire

, my passengers squealing in alarm.

After a long silence, Lola

murmured to Smithers, "Get your

butterfly net. We've got trouble."

Smithers swallowed nervously as he

cautiously opened the car door.

I still didn't see Mary's

birds, but the air seemed

heavy and sharp with their

conspicuous absences. "Mary, are you

ready to jump when I

get the butterfly net from

my backpack?" asked Smithers. "Only

you can see the birds

and direct me to them."

"No," Mary turned paler, "it

would be advisable to wait

here and scatter some breadcrumbs

created from my special recipe."

"But do you have any

bread, dear?" I inquired impatiently.

"I always carry some in

a Ziploc bag because I

must placate the sparrows' ire!"

Lola grabbed Smither's net and

scrambled out of the back

of the car, scattering wholewheat

crumbs all over the place.

Amidst great tumult, Lola fell

upon the invisible flock, whirling

like a Fanta-crazed Dervish.

Avian twittering rattled the windows

, the Fanta sign swung crazily,

Smithers burst from the car,

and I followed, even though

I still saw no sparrows.

But the ground was littered

here and there with feathers,

and the sky was getting

lower and flourescing ominously orange.

Like inverted bubbles, hailstones fell

, fizzing as they hit the

pavement. "These aren't hailstones." said

Smithers, "They're decade-old PEEPS!"

In the car, Mary waved

and batted the air frenziedly

, frantic to get our attention.

Finally spotting her, I sidled

over and peered into the

car.

"What is it, Mary?"

But a sudden noise behind

me--like fingernails on chalkboard--

made my hair stand on

end. Smithers, wrenching the sign

from the post, flung it

to the ground, with a

grunt and a giggle. "Aha!

Now I understand! Now I

hold the secret! The Senator

is not what he seems!

" Lola rolled her eyes upward.

"Look, guys! What are we

hanging out in this backwater

for? The real action is

west, over the mountains." She

pointed a manicured fingernail toward

the general direction of Walla-Walla.

Then, suddenly, we were surrounded

by a whirlwind of sparrows

, angry and hungry, ready to

pelt us with pooped PEEPs!

Mary screamed while I grabbed

a newspaper and covered my

head, as I started running

. Mary started the engine and

we all piled in. With

peeps pounding the windshield like

small hailstones, Mary put the

pedal to the metal and

we headed West. Smithers continued

muttering about PEEPS to himself

until I gave him a

Fluffernutter sandwich-- his favorite snack.

Smithers began chewing with gusto,

while Lola and Mary discussed

which of us was more

equipped to handle the situation.

As we sped through the

mountains north into Idaho, a

cold shiver coursed down my

spine, leaving me with a

lingering sense of unease. Was

that a portent--those sparrows?

Lola had the wheel and

Mary had subsided into an

uneasy slumber, head on my

shoulder, totally oblivious to what

followed darkly behind us. The

road tilted beneath us. We

were surrounded by an unearthly

glow, with soft colors ribboned

before us. They seemed to

braid themselves into a net

surrounding the car and then

pulling us along with it.

"Damn the drugs!" I muttered,

"I'm still having those flashbacks."

"Relax; have a zwieback," said

Smithers, as the lights of

the next town came into

sight. "Boise! The Senator's wife

exclaimed, while Lola cheered. I

inexplicably tootled the car horn

as Smithers mumbled "What's so

great about being here? I

hear Boise is a dry

town. We need some gin

to dilute all this Fanta."

A flashing blue light appeared

overhead--along with the sound

of violins and weeping harps

. Lola stomped on the brakes.

We stopped. They stopped. Silence.

(For several weeks!)

But not a good silence ...

A pregnant silence. One that

curled the tiny hairs that

sense impending doom. The silence

was broken by a faint

scrabbling to our left, and

as I turned, I noticed

frantic fingers on the passenger

window, scraping and tapping, trying

to communicate a coded message

. But in what code? Morse?

Possibly. None of us knew

so I opened the window

and peering out I saw

a can of Fanta clutched

in a shaking, skeletal hand.

"It's the Haunted Soda! Quick,

hand me some gin. Now's

a good time for a

serious mind numbing!" I reached

for the gin with one

hand and a glass with

the other and thrust them

towards the cadaverous figure outside.

Then Smithers leaned across to

reassure Lola, who promptly slapped

the gin away from the

window. "Keep hold of that

. We may need it ourshelves.

Suddenly, the side window shattered

into a thousand fragments, and

the unmistakable scent of cheese

, a particularly odorous cheese, wafted

in. I retched. Mary turned

pale and whispered "The Senator".

"Hit the gas," hollered Lola,

'Let's get out of here!"

We started to leave, but

the ghastly apparition of the

Senator with his can somehow

continued to hover just outside

the car. "They're beaming holograms!"

I gasped. "Nonsense!" said Smithers,

"Where is the projector, if

that's not the Senator, I'll

give up Gorgonzola!" "But," said

Lola, "where are his briefs?"

Smithers stared at her, then

leaned out the broken window

regurgitated his lunch, then he

grabbed some Fanta and turned

into the spitting image of

the apparition. "You're the Senator!"

Mary gasped. Grinning he sipped

some of his Fanta and

belched indelicately. "Now," he said

"I want you to return

my briefs. Don't make me

angry or I'll have to

share certain details regarding the

rather disgusting past deeds of

Baron Munchoften, or as he's

better known, 'Pops' Fizzoli."* Mary

*remember him - Mary's father - from Chapter 1?!

gasped, then cried "You wouldn't!"

Lola drawled "Do tell," a

smile curling at the corner

of her lips, "What are

you hiding from us, dear?"

The Senator sipped more Fanta

as Mary glared at him,

and I wondered where Smithers

had hidden the briefs. Grabbing

some Fanta for myself, I

noticed Mary's saxophone case still

wedged beneath my seat, inspiring

thoughts of the gun she

tucked in there. Under cover

of a Fanta-induced coughing fit

I pulled out the case

,extracted the gun, and shot

the Senator's Fanta out of

his hand, shattering the rear

window. Mary grabbed the saxophone.

Lola grabbed the gun. Meanwhile

the car jerked forward, propelled

over the crest of a

hill, too fast, almost careening

on to its side, as

the road curved. I grabbed

quickly at the chance to

overpower the Senator and push

ahead with my plans to

to reach Walla Walla at

the earliest possible moment. But

as we sped off in

in the direction of Walla-Walla

it seemed hours before we

saw the golden fingers of dawn

(oops! my bad.)

. "Does anyone know where Smithers

{Looks like either MyopicBookworn or quartzite get an extra word - as long as it's a verb!}

is? In the trunk, perhaps?

" "No," I replied. "He's tied

up. Or the Senator is."

Lola gently tickled the bound

volume of Keats' poems that

had fallen on top of

my foot. "Mellow fruitfulness, eh?

" I snorted, as the tome

pressed the gas pedal, propelling

us ever faster towards the

horizon. A sign said "Walla-Walla

Bless My Soul, What's Wrong With Me

Burma Shave." We're back!" Mary

exclaimed as Lola thumped me

excitedly on the arm and

Hey Joe: five words!

pulled into Walla-Walla At last.

End Chapter 4.