Romance Novel, a paranormal parody

Chapter 3

An explosive honk, followed by a noisy, gurgling flatulence, rattled Smella’s bedroom window and disturbed her peaceful slumber. She extended her limbs in a coquettish, catlike stretch, made to emphasize her slender curves. Turning her face toward her pillow, Smella breathed in the scent of lavender on her sheets.

That’s when she nearly choked on a foreign stench - a smell more foul than a barrel-full of rotting colonoscopy bags.

Holding her nose with one hand, she sat up, looking around for the offending odor before taking a peek down the crotch of her flannel pajamas. She breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that her virginal undies were as pure and fresh as spring daisies.  

The smell must have been coming from somewhere else in her room. She stumbled out of bed, tripping down the stairs, before shoving open the front door. Hugging the porch rail, she leaned over, taking a deep breath, and filling her lungs with the crisp morning air.

Or so she’d thought.

The smell outside was far worse; the stinging odor making her eyes water. She rubbed the fogginess from her eyes, unable to comprehend the site before her.

Snake Long, and his greasy, hard, tanned body, leaned casually against the remnants of an ancient truck parked in her father’s circular gravel driveway.

“I’m all finished with your surprise present, Smella!” His dark eyes beamed with something akin to pride.

The truck shook with violent tremors while the engine made an odd choking sound. The entire backside was shrouded in a black plume of smoke. Smella hoped the veneer was actually some new kind of faux suede paint and not a thick coating of rust and sludge. Either that or a giant baby had crapped all over the truck. Maybe that explained the multitude of flies that swarmed the vehicle.

Smella bit her bottom lip, reminding herself that heroines weren’t supposed to swear in romance novels. “What the heck is that?”

The door behind her opened, and Smella’s father stepped outside wearing his archaic deputy uniform and a large Stetson. He winked at her while adjusting a bolo neck tie, his big goofy grin stretching from ear to ear.

“It’s your new truck. Like it?” He held out both hands, and shook his head, making a big show of false modesty. “Now, no need to thank me.”

After turning off the ignition, Snake approached Smella, thumbing at the rotting carcass behind him. “I found it in some toxic sludge behind the waste disposal plant.”

 “You cleaned it up good, Snake.” The deputy leaned over the railing and took the keys from Snake’s outstretched hand.

“Actually,” Snake grimaced. “I haven’t finished detailing it.”

The deputy dangled the keys above Smella’s nose. “Wanna take her for a spin?”

She shrank back. “Do I have to?”

“Don’t be shy, hunny.” The deputy latched onto Smella’s wrist and gently placed the keys in her hand, the tips of his fingers tracing the lines of her palm. “Go ahead,” he purred. “Start her up.”

Smella jerked her hand free and stomped over to the shitpile. Wrapping one hand in a delicate, embroidered handkerchief, which she’d conveniently found in her pajama pocket, Smella cautiously leaned over and pulled on the rusty handle.

She tugged once, and then jumped back, as if she expected a giant crap monster to jump out and smother her in ooze.  

The door did not budge.