Stewart got into the death carriage. It was one of a kind. There was a silver skull with red eyes on the shifting stick. Glass grabbed it with his bony hand. His fingers were longer than usual.

“This garden show you’re going to…do you really want to go?” Glass asked.

Stewart squirmed in his seat. “It means a lot to my wife.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Glass reminded him. “I’ve been watching you for a while Stewart. You don’t seem happy. How long has it been since you had a day you couldn’t forget?”

“Umm.” Stewart said.

“That long,” Glass remarked. “Well, I’m going to give you a gift.”

The engine roared like a dying beast inside the old hearse. Glass shifted into a higher gear and Stewart felt like he was going to pass out. Was he having a migraine or was the scenery moving so fast everything went blurry?

Almost in response to his question, the hearse stopped. It didn’t slow down, it just stopped. “We’re here,” Glass said. “Now I need to make a withdrawal at the bank while you get your ice cream. Hold out your hand?”

Stewart did and Glass put a quarter in his palm.

The doors opened and Stewart rolled out. He got to his feet in front of the ice cream parlor. It never looked more inviting. Perhaps he could call someone. He turned his head to look at Mr. Glass.

The old man stood upright. He was dressed in black with a short cape, clutching a walking stick. He didn’t seem to need it.

Stewart gasped for air, walking into the parlor.

“What flavors will you have sir?” Asked a smiling fat man.


“I didn’t understand you.”

“Call the police,” Stewart gasped.

“Okay, and what for?”

“My next-door-neighbor took me to get some ice cream.”

“I’d hardly call that a crime.”

“But it was how he did it. He’s a mad man, I tell you. There’s something unusual about him.”

“He sounds like a nice guy.”

“GIVE ME THE PHONE!” Stewart yelled.

4 thoughts on “Part II: The 1959 Cadillac Hearse

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