Hank the Were Rooster 04: The Were Rooster’s Awesome Car
When he was a boy, Hank lusted after Ferraris. Sometimes Lamborghinis or Jaguars. So long as it was a sports car with crazy-high top speeds, he didn’t care. Like most men, Hank grew up and had to settle for boring, adult things. Except the car.
He lives in the suburbs, close enough to walk to most stores and the bus stop which gets him to work. Given his… problems… Hank has thus far lived without a car. Until now.
Hank steps into the used car dealership, a swagger in his step. He’s been saving for years, and he’s got enough money. With a car, he can take Stacy on fancy dates, maybe spend a romantic weekend away.
Far too many boring cars fill the lots: SUVs and hatchbacks and, oh God, is that a station wagon? Do they even still make those? Hank shudders and hurries past.
They’ve got a Mustang which will fit his budget. It’s old, has too many miles already, and the engine makes a noise more annoying than sexy, but Hank can live with all that. So long as he has a fast car, everything else is fine. He listens to the prattle from the salesman (most of it lies), dreaming of the world rushing past along a long, straight road.
When on a quick trip to the bathroom, he sees it. It hides behind a Toyota, shy. It probably started life as a normal jeep. Since then, the roof and doors have been taken off, and the new engine is too big to fit under the hood. It sticks out, the exhaust unnecessarily wide.
Hank pets it with a trembling hand. Can a car like this go faster than an old Mustang? God, he wants to find out.
“Oh, that thing?” The salesman slithers over, his smile too wide. “Farmer brought that in a few days ago. It’s crazy, but we bought it off him. We haven’t had a chance to clean it yet, so it still smells.”
Maybe it’s the smell that drew Hank. It’s feathers and eggs and seeds and outdoors. Until now, he hadn’t missed the smell of feathers. He needs that smell in his life. Not just during the full moon, but every day. “What did the farmer transport?”
The salesman checks something. “Chickens and turkeys, I think. Yeah, there’s a feather.” He yanks it out from beneath the passenger seat.
Faster than he can see, Hank snatches the feather away from him. “I want this one.”
“Are you sure? The Mustang is much better.” The salesman rubs his hands together.
The Mustang costs more. Not that Hank cares about such things, not when a foul smell of fowl smell pervades his nostrils. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
A few hours later, he drives the jeep out of the dealership. It’s bumpy and cold and the gears switch slowly. He doesn’t care.
Two days later, he takes Stacy out for the first time and she says, “I thought you were going to buy something… sportier.”
“This is better than sporty.” Hank pats the steering wheel. He put a few more feathers in the back and under the seats, making the stench more pronounced. He’s thinking about doing the same in his home. Stacy leans her head closer to the window in silent but obvious protest. Hank still doesn’t care. For once, his condition has brought him something good, and he’s going to keep it.
