A Series of Unfortunate Mysteries

Wild Cars: Chapter Two

The red van screeched to a halt in the loose gravel road, the engine being killed by its driver as she and all of the passengers exited the car. The building in front of them was possibly white when it was first built, but now it was turning into a rusting orange over the years. The words "Chevra" were printed onto the front of the building, and they were starting to turn orange like the building it rested on.

The van's passengers walked to the old doors of the factory, slowly pushing them open. At least one hundred cars sat there. Some were covered in tarps, others sat uncovered.

"This isn't strange." Reagan muttered, walking over to an uncovered blue Malibu, and leaning against its hood.

"Not at all." Aunt Bree said quickly, walking slowly as she pulled a gas container and match box out of the satchel strapped around her shoulders. She tossed the small tan match box to Reagan, who barely caught it.

Vic, however, walked around all the cars and stopped in front of a sleek black Impala. She frowned as she stared down at the car. "Wrong year..." She muttered to herself quietly.

"So," Reagan said as he absentmindedly played with the match box, striking a match against the side of the box and admiring the flame produced by the action. "Do you think there's a ghost attached to every single one of these cars?"

Bree shook her head as she popped the cap on the gasoline container. "No, maybe the factory itself. The spirit could've worked some of the machinery or died in the factory." Bree tilted the container down and watched the flammable liquid pour from the top. As soon as it hit the cracked concrete floor, an engine revved to life from behind her.

Reagan and Bree turned around with a crazed look on their faces as they stared at a wide-eyed Vic. She raised her hands in surrender and shook her head. "I didn't do anything. I swear."

"Get away from it." Bree said quickly, watching after her adopted daughter as she jogged around the cars and met the two.

Bree continued to pour the gas around a bright green Camaro, and the car kept roaring tauntingly. She walked around more cars, spilling more gasoline, and suddenly the black Impala was chasing her around the cars. Surprisingly, there was enough room for the car to keep chasing her around every single stolen car.

Finally, Aunt Bree reached the edge of the building, the gas container no longer pouring gas. The car stopped quickly in front of a smirking Reagan, who was holding the lit match loosely in his hand. The car revved louder, and Reagan dropped the match into a puddle of gas. The flames carried around the edges of the shiny black Impala, and quickly spread throughout the entire factory.

Bree realized what would happen if her children stared at the burning building any longer in admiration. She grabbed their arms tightly and pulled them from the doors of the factory. "Okay kids, time to go!" The building groaned as the roof collapsed. "Trip's over!"