shades of yellow (citrine and/or barfy banana)

Once upon a time, there lived a nice, middle-class family. They had a small home conveniently close to schools and parks. Their street was quiet, and populated by other nice, middle-class families, who gardened in the afternoons and taught their children to ride bikes in the evening. Those who drove through the neighbourhood commented to one another on the peaceful atmosphere that lingered around the houses they passed by. There was nothing unusual about the community, or that one family in particular. All was well.

Or so they thought.

(DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUN.)

Two people - a little girl, and a little boy - knew the secret of the house. They never spoke of it, not even to each other; instead they stood very close together in the living room and silently peered out through the curtains in the unlikely direction of the carport. For you see, housed in that carport was a car. Some sort of old car. Maybe like a Dodge or something, I don't know. Anyway, there were two important details about this car. The first was that it was a sort of brownish-yellow, like if someone barfed up bananas. The second was that it was haunted.

Oh yes, haunted. Not everyone knew it or believed it but these two children swore up and down that there was something devilish about that particular car. It was old, it was ugly, and it just sat there except for at night time when it appeared to the little girl in her nightmares. The only time it ever drove was on an eerie night, when the little girl dreamt she was a mouse and the car had no driver but still it crept closer and closer, first to squish her little mouse body and then to crash into the house and kill all the sleeping occupants.

So the two children kept watch over the evil car, narrowing their eyes at it and curling their lips into as much of a sneer as they would dare in its direction. We're on to you, they telepathically communicated to the car. But as brave as they could be from a safe distance indoors, whenever necessity demanded they walk past the car they held their breath - haunted cars would steal the air from your lungs if you weren't careful.

Then one day, the car vanished. Maybe it was sold, maybe towed away, maybe crushed. Maybe it's haunting another little girl's dreams. I've seen it once or twice, from the corner of my eye; but maybe it was simply my imagination. As an adult, I realize that behind the wheel of nearly every haunted car is some jerk in an upholstery costume.

Like this dirty scumbag.

Nearly every haunted car.