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      The car crept along the quiet neighborhood street looking and waiting for a victim.

      The sedan had been terrorizing the suburbs for over a month now, and had plowed over almost everyone in the cul-de-sac. 

      Mrs. Smith peaked from her window as the devil infected dodge rolled along past her home. She’d lost her husband a week earlier when he made an ill advised attempt to run for help. The dodge ran him over. It ran over her dog, her neighbor Mr. Poole, and everything else that was unlucky enough to cross its path.

      Mrs. Smith wondered if she could communicate with the rolling death machine. She gathered all her strength and slowly approached the vehicle. It slowed when it sensed her presence.

      It actually allowed her to get close enough to touch the door handle. Before she could open the door, it opened on its own.

      She looked inside and saw what she’d been afraid of the entire time- there was no driver.

      As she stood there, she knew that getting into the car was a bad idea. But she also knew that this could be the only way she would get an answer to what was happening. Slowly, she climbed inside, and the door slowly closed.

      Later, at a motel miles away, the car had its way with Mrs. Smith.

      It was as sexy as it was painful to hear.